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

how could you say we didn’t, when we made it right here in this very place? Perhaps you don’t remember what the bet was, as I do. You said: Jews are usurers, Jews sell the people vodka, Jews have pity on their own people but on no one else; that’s why everyone wishes them to the devil. Of course, perhaps you didn’t say that, and perhaps I didn’t say in answer: there stands a miller behind that very sycamore tree who, if he had any pity for Jews, would shout to you now and say: ‘Drop him, Mr. Devil; he has a wife, he has children!’ But he won’t do it. That was number one!”

“How could the wretch have guessed that?” thought the miller; but the devil said:

“Very well; number one!”

“And then I said⁠—don’t you remember?⁠—I said: as soon as I’ve gone the miller will open a tavern and will begin selling diluted vodka. He lends money already at a fine rate of interest. That was number two!”

“All right; number two!” the devil agreed, but the miller scratched his head and thought:

“How could the infernal brute have guessed all that?”

“And I went on to say that, as a matter of fact, Christians did wish us to the devil. But do you think, said I, that if one of us Jews were here now and saw what you want to do to me he wouldn’t raise a fine riot? But everyone you ask will say of the miller in a year: the devil fly away with him! That was number three!”

“All right; number three. I don’t deny it.”

“And a fine business it would be if you did deny it! What sort of an honest Hebrew devil would you be after that? Tell me now what you agreed to do on your part.”

“I have done all I agreed. I have left you alive for a year; number one. I have brought you back here; number two⁠—”

“And what about number three? What are you going to do about that?”

“What do you think I’m going to do? If you win the bet I’ll let you go scot free.”

“And my losses? Don’t you know that you owe me for my losses?”

“Losses? What losses can you have had when we allowed you to do business with us for a whole year without paying a license? You wouldn’t have made as much profit in three years on earth. Just think for yourself: I carried you off in your shirt without even a pair of shoes to your feet, and look what a big bundle you’ve brought back! Where did you get it from if you made nothing but losses?”

“Oi, vei! There you are scolding me about my bundle again! Whatever I made there by trading is my own business. Did you count my profits? I tell you I made nothing but losses out of my dealings with you, besides losing a year here on earth.”

“Oh, you swindler you!” shouted the devil.

“I a swindler? No, you’re a swindler yourself, you thief, you liar, you scab!”

And they began again to wrangle so violently that their words became quite unintelligible. They waved their arms, their skullcaps quivered, and they stood up on tiptoe like two cocks preparing to fight. The devil was the first to regain control of himself.

“But we don’t yet know who has won the bet! It is true that the miller didn’t take pity on you, but we haven’t decided the other points yet. We haven’t asked the people whether he opened a tavern or not.”

“I have opened two!” the miller thought, scratching his head again. “Oh, why didn’t I wait a year? Then Yankel would have been sent to the devil for good, but now something disagreeable may come of it.”

He looked round at his mill. Couldn’t he possibly slip away to the village by crawling behind it? But just as he was contemplating this move, the sound of muttering and of uncertain footsteps came to his ears from the wood. Yankel threw his bundle over his shoulder, and ran to the very sycamore tree where the miller was hiding. The miller hardly had time to slip behind a big willow tree before the devil and Yankel were both under the sycamore, and at that moment Gavrilo appeared at the far end of the dam. Gavrilo’s coat was in tatters and was hanging off one shoulder; his hat was on one side of his head, and his bare feet were continually quarrelling with one another. If one wanted to go to the right, the other, out of contrariness, tried to go to the left. One pulled one way and the other the other, until the poor man’s head and feet nearly flew off in opposite directions. So the poor lad staggered along, weaving patterns all across the dam from one side to the other, but not progressing forward very fast.

The devil saw that Gavrilo was full, so he came out and stood in the middle of the dam just as he was. Why the devil need anyone stand on ceremony with a drunkard?

“Good evening, good fellow!” he called. “Where did you get so full?”

As he said this, the miller noticed for the first time how miserable and ragged Gavrilo had grown during the last year. And it was all because he drank up at his master’s tavern everything that he earned from his master. It was long since he had seen any money; he took it all out in vodka.

The workman walked right up to the devil, saying:

“Whoa there! What has come over these devilish feet of mine? When I want them to walk, they stop; when they see anyone standing under my very nose, they rush on ahead. Who are you?”

“With your permission, I am the devil.”

“Wha-at? I believe you’re lying. Well, I never! But perhaps you are right after all! There are your horns and your tail, just as they ought to be. But why do you wear ringlets hanging down your cheeks?”

“To tell you