Short Fiction by Leo Tolstoy (book reader for pc TXT) 📕

on their left was that same barn with the snow flying from it, and farther on the same line with the frozen washing, shirts and trousers, which still fluttered desperately in the wind.

Again they drove into the street and again it grew quiet, warm, and cheerful, and again they could see the manure-stained street and hear voices and songs and the barking of a dog. It was already so dark that there were lights in some of the windows.

Halfway through the village Vasíli Andréevich turned the horse towards a large double-fronted brick house and stopped at the porch.

Nikíta went to the lighted snow-covered window, in the rays of which flying snowflakes glittered, and knocked at it with his whip.

“Who is there?” a voice replied to his knock.

“From Krestý, the Brekhunóvs, dear fellow,” answered Nikíta. “Just come out for a minute.”

Someone moved from the window, and a minute or two later there was the sound of the passage door as it came unstuck, then the latch of the outside door clicked and a tall white-bearded peasant, with a sheepskin coat thrown over his white holiday shirt, pushed his way out holding the door firmly against the wind, followed by a lad in a red shirt and high leather boots.

“Is that you, Andréevich?” asked the old man.

“Yes, friend, we’ve gone astray,” said Vasíli Andréevich. “We wanted to get to Goryáchkin but found ourselves here. We went a second time but lost our way again.”

“Just see how you have gone astray!” said the old man. “Petrúshka, go and open the gate!” he added, turning to the lad in the red shirt.

“All right,” said the lad in a cheerful voice, and ran back into the passage.

“But we’re not staying the night,” said Vasíli Andréevich.

“Where will you go in the night? You’d better stay!”

“I’d be glad to, but I must go on. It’s business, and it can’t be helped.”

“Well, warm yourself at least. The samovar is just ready.”

“Warm myself? Yes, I’ll do that,” said Vasíli Andréevich. “It won’t get darker. The moon will rise and it will be lighter. Let’s go in and warm ourselves, Nikíta.”

“Well, why not? Let us warm ourselves,” replied Nikíta, who was stiff with cold and anxious to warm his frozen limbs.

Vasíli Andréevich went into the room with the old man, and Nikíta drove through the gate opened for him by Petrúshka, by whose advice he backed the horse under the penthouse. The ground was covered with manure and the tall bow over the horse’s head caught against the beam. The hens and the cock had already settled to roost there, and clucked peevishly, clinging to the beam with their claws. The disturbed sheep shied and rushed aside trampling the frozen manure with their hooves. The dog yelped desperately with fright and anger and then burst out barking like a puppy at the stranger.

Nikíta talked to them all, excused himself to the fowls and assured them that he would not disturb them again, rebuked the sheep for being frightened without knowing why, and kept soothing the dog, while he tied up the horse.

“Now that will be all right,” he said, knocking the snow off his clothes. “Just hear how he barks!” he added, turning to the dog. “Be quiet, stupid! Be quiet. You are only troubling yourself for nothing. We’re not thieves, we’re friends.⁠ ⁠…”

“And these are, it’s said, the three domestic counsellors,” remarked the lad, and with his strong arms he pushed under the pent-roof the sledge that had remained outside.

“Why counsellors?” asked Nikíta.

“That’s what is printed in Paulson. A thief creeps to a house⁠—the dog barks, that means ‘Be on your guard!’ The cock crows, that means, ‘Get up!’ The cat licks herself⁠—that means, ‘A welcome guest is coming. Get ready to receive him!’ ” said the lad with a smile.

Petrúshka could read and write and knew Paulson’s primer, his only book, almost by heart, and he was fond of quoting sayings from it that he thought suited the occasion, especially when he had had something to drink, as today.

“That’s so,” said Nikíta.

“You must be chilled through and through,” said Petrúshka.

“Yes, I am rather,” said Nikíta, and they went across the yard and the passage into the house.

IV

The household to which Vasíli Andréevich had come was one of the richest in the village. The family had five allotments, besides renting other land. They had six horses, three cows, two calves, and some twenty sheep. There were twenty-two members belonging to the homestead: four married sons, six grandchildren (one of whom, Petrúshka, was married), two great-grandchildren, three orphans, and four daughters-in-law with their babies. It was one of the few homesteads that remained still undivided, but even here the dull internal work of disintegration which would inevitably lead to separation had already begun, starting as usual among the women. Two sons were living in Moscow as water-carriers, and one was in the army. At home now were the old man and his wife, their second son who managed the homestead, the eldest who had come from Moscow for the holiday, and all the women and children. Besides these members of the family there was a visitor, a neighbour who was godfather to one of the children.

Over the table in the room hung a lamp with a shade, which brightly lit up the tea-things, a bottle of vodka, and some refreshments, besides illuminating the brick walls, which in the far corner were hung with icons on both sides of which were pictures. At the head of the table sat Vasíli Andréevich in a black sheepskin coat, sucking his frozen moustache and observing the room and the people around him with his prominent hawk-like eyes. With him sat the old, bald, white-bearded master of the house in a white homespun shirt, and next him the son home from Moscow for the holiday⁠—a man with a sturdy back and powerful shoulders and clad in a thin print shirt⁠—then the second son, also broad-shouldered, who acted as head of the house, and