Short Fiction by Vladimir Korolenko (ready player one ebook TXT) 📕

Jew,” he thought. “It was I who made his children orphans, and now what dreadful things am I plotting against the widow’s daughter?”

“Would it be right for us to do it?” he asked of Kharko.

“Why not? Of course there are some people who won’t eat honey. Perhaps you are one of them.”

“No, I’m not one of them, but still⁠—well, goodbye!”

“Goodbye!”

The miller started down the hill, and once more Kharko whistled after him. Although he did not whistle as insultingly as he had the year before, it flicked the miller on the raw.

“What do you mean by whistling, you rascal?” he asked, turning round.

“What, mayn’t a man even whistle?” Kharko retorted crossly. “I used to whistle when I was orderly to the Captain, and yet I mayn’t do it here!”

“After all, why shouldn’t he whistle?” the miller thought. “Only why does everything happen just as it did that evening?”

So he walked away down the hill and Kharko went on whistling, only more softly. The miller passed the garden where the cherry trees grew, and once more what seemed to be two great birds rose out of the grass. Once more a tall hat and a girl’s white blouse gleamed in the darkness and someone gave a smack that resounded through the bushes. Ugh, out upon you! But this time the miller did not stop to scold the shameless youngster; he was afraid he might get the very same answer he had had the year before. So our Philip went his way quietly toward the widow’s cottage.

There stood the little khata shimmering under the moon; the tiny window was winking, and the tall poplar seemed to be bathing in the moonlight. The miller stopped at the stile, scratched his head under his hat, and again threw his leg across the hedge.

“Knock⁠—knock!”

“Okh, there is sure to be a fuss as there was last time, only worse,” thought the miller. “That infernal Kharko with his infernal talk told me just what to say, but now, when I remember what he told me, it doesn’t somehow seem right. It doesn’t sound common sense. But what will be, will be!” and he knocked again.

A pale face and a pair of black eyes gleamed for an instant at the window.

“Mother, mother mine!” whispered Galya. “Here’s that wicked miller again standing at the window and tapping on the pane.”

“Ah, she doesn’t lean out to put her arms around me and kiss me this time, even by mistake,” thought the miller sadly.

The girl came out softly and stood a long way off with her arms folded on her white breast.

“What do you mean by knocking again?”

Alas, it is bitter for a man to hear such cold words from the girl who has been his darling love! The miller longed to embrace her girlish form and show her why he had knocked. To tell you the truth, he was already beginning to sidle toward her when he remembered what Kharko had told him, and answered instead:

“Why should I not knock when you owe me so much that you will never be able to pay me? Your hut isn’t worth the debt.”

“If you know we shall never pay you, don’t come knocking at the window by night, you godless man! You will drive my old mother into her grave.”

“Who the devil is driving her into her grave, Galya? If you only would let me, I would give your mother a peaceful old age.”

“You’re lying!”

“No, I’m not lying! Oi, Galya, Galya! I can’t live without loving you!”

“You lie like a dog! Who was it sent the matchmakers to Makogon?”

“Whether I sent them or not, I’ll tell you the whole truth and swear to it if you like. I’m pining and fading away without you. And I’m going to tell you just what we’ll do, and if you’re a sensible girl you’ll listen to me. But I make one condition: listen with your ears and answer with your tongue. No hand play this time! If there is, I’ll be angry.”

“You’ve a funny way of doing things,” said Galya, folding her arms. “However, I’ll listen to you; but I warn you, if you begin to talk nonsense don’t call on your God to help you!”

“It won’t be nonsense. You see⁠—oh, how did Kharko begin?”

“Kharko? What has Kharko to do with you and me?”

“Oh, do be quiet or I won’t be able to get anything straight. Listen to me: used you to love me?”

“Would I have kissed an ugly face like yours if I hadn’t?”

“And what was I then, a workman in the mill or not?”

“A workman, of course. I wish to goodness you had never become a miller!”

“Tut, tut, don’t talk so much or I’ll get mixed up! So you see it is clear that you loved a workman once and that therefore you ought to marry a workman now and live at the mill. And I shall go on loving you as I always have, even if I marry ten Motrias.”

Galya actually rubbed her eyes; she thought she was dreaming.

“What nonsense are you talking, man? Either I’m absolutely crazy or else there’s a screw loose in your head. How can I marry a workman now that you are a miller? And how can you marry me when you’re sending the matchmakers to Motria? What nonsense you’re talking, man! Cross yourself with your left hand!”

“What do you mean?” answered the miller. “Do you think I haven’t a workman at the mill? What about Gavrilo? Isn’t he one? He’s a little stupid, I know, but that will be all the better for us, Galya, my darling.”

Only then did the girl at last understand what the miller was driving at with his cunning talk. You should have seen her throw up her arms and heard her scream!

“Oi, mother, dear mother, listen to what he is saying! He wants to turn Turk and to keep two wives! Fetch the pitchfork out of the cottage quick, while I settle him with my hands!”

So she fell upon