Meanwhile the old couple - Nikolay's parents - had returned. They were skinny, hunchbacked, toothless and the same height. Marya and Fyokla, his sisters-in-law, who worked for a landowner on the other side of the river, had returned too. Marya - the wife of his brother Kiryak - had six children, while Fvokla (married to Denis, who was away on military service) had two. When Nikolay came into the hut and saw all the family there, all those bodies large and small sprawling around on their bunks, cradles, in every comer; when he saw how ravenously the old man and the woman ate their black bread, dipping it frst in water, he realized that he had made a mistake coming here, ill as he was, without any 46 money and with his family into the bargain - a real blunder!
'And where's my brother Kiryak?' he asked when they had greeted each other.
'He's living in the forest, working as a night watchman for some merchant. Not a bad sort, but he can't half knock it back!'
'He's no breadwinner!' the old woman murmured tearfully. 'Our men are a lousy lot of drunkards, they don't bring their money back home! Kiryak's a drinker. And the old man knows the way to the pub as well, there's no harm in saying it! The Blessed Virgin must have it in for us!'
They put the samovar on especially for the guests. The tea smelled of fish, the sugar was grey and had been nibbled at, and cockroaches ran all over the bread and crockery. The tea was revolting, just like the conversation, which was always about illness and how they had no money. But before they even managed to drink the fi.rst cup a loud, long drawn-out, drunken cry came from outside.
'Ma-arya!'
'Sounds like Kiryak's back,' the old man said. 'Talk of the devil.'
Everyone went quiet. And a few moments later they heard that cry again, coarse and drawling, as though it was coming from under the earth.
'Ma-arya!'
Marya, the elder sister, turned pale and huddled closer to the stove, and it was somehow strange to see fear written all over the face of that strong, broad-shouldered womar:. Sud- denly her daughter - the same little girl who had been sitting over the stove looking so apathetic - sobbed out loud. 47
'And what's the matter with you, you silly cow.?' Fyokla shouted at her - she was strong and broad-shouldered as well. 'I don't suppose he's going to kill you.'
Nikolay learned from the old man that Marya didn't live in the forest, as she was scared of Kiryak, and that whenever he was drunk he would come after her, make a geat racket and always beat her mercilessly.
'Ma-arya!' came the cry - this time right outside the door.
'Please, help me, for Christ's sake, my own dear ones . . .' Marya mumbled breathlessly, panting as though she had just been dropped into freezing water. 'Please protect me .. .'
Every single child in the hut burst out crying, and Sasha gave them one look and followed suit. There was a drunken coughing, and a tall man with a black beard and a fur cap came into the hut. As his face was not visible in the dim lamplight, he was quite terrifying. It was Kiryak. He went over to his wife, swung his arm and hit her across the face with his fist. She was too stunned to cry out and merely sank to the ground; the blood immediately gushed from her nose.
'Should be ashamed of yourself, bloody ashamed!' the old man muttered as he climbed up over the stove. 'And in front of guests. A damned disgrace!'
But the old woman sat there without saying a word, all hunched up, and seemed to be thinking; Fyokla went on rocking the cradle. Clearly pleased at the terrifying effect he had on everyone, Kiryak seized Marya's hand, dragged her to the door and howled like a wild animal, so that he seemed even more terrifying. But then he suddenly saw the guests 48 and stopped short in his tracks.
'Oh, so you've arrived . . .' he muttered, letting go of his wife. 'My own brother, with family and all . . .'
He reeled from side to side as he said a prayer in front of the ikon, and his drunken red eyes were wide open. Then he continued, 'So my dear brother's come back home with his family . . . from Moscow. The great capital, that is, Moscow, mother of cities . .. Forgive me . . .'
He sank down on a bench by the samovar and started drinking tea, noisily gulping from a saucer, while no one else said a word. He drank about ten cups, then slumped down on the bench and started snoring.
They prepared for bed. As Nikolay was ill, they put him over the stove with the old man. Sasha lay down on the fl.oor, while Olga went into the barn with the other women.
'Well, dear,' Olga said, lying down on the straw next to Marya. 'It's no good crying. You've got to grin and bear The Bible says: "Whosoever shall smite thee on the right cheek, tum to him the other also . . ." Yes, dear!'
Then she told her about her life in Moscow, in a whisper- ing, sing-song voice, about her job as a maid in some furnished flats.
'The houses are very big there and built of stone,' she said. 'There's ever so many churches - scores and scores of them, my dear, and them that live in the houses are all gentlefolk, so handsome and respectable!'
Marya replied that she had never been further than the county town, let alone Moscow. She was illiterate, did not know any prayers - even 'Our Father'. Both she and Fyokla, the other sister-in-law, who was sitting not very far away, 49
listening, were extremely backward and understood nothing. Neither loved her husband. Marya was frightened of Kiryak and whenever he stayed with her she would tremble all over. And he stank so much of tobacco and vodka she nearly went out of her mind. If anyone asked Fyokla if she got bored when her husband was away, she would reply indignantly, 'to hell with him!' They kept talking a little longer and then fell silent . . .
It was cool and they could not sleep because of a cock crowing near the bam for all it was worth. When the hazy- blue light of morning was already filtering through every chink in the woodwork, Fyokla quietly got up and went outside. Then they heard her running off somewhere, her bare feet thudding over the ground.
2
Olga went to church, taking Marya with her. Both of them felt cheerful as they went down the path to the meadow. Olga liked the wide-open spaces, while Marya sensed that her sister-in-law was someone near and dear to her. The sun was rising and a sleepy hawk flew low over the meadows. The river looked gloomy, with patches of mist here and there. But a strip of sunlight already stretched along the hill on the far side of the river, the church shone brightly and crows cawed furiously in the manor-house garden.
'The old man's all right,' Marya was telling her, 'only 5o Grannie's very strict and she's always on the warpath. Our
own bread lasted until Shrovetide, then we had to go and buy some flour at the inn. That put her in a right temper, said we were eating too much.'
'Oh, what ofit, dear! You just have to grin and bear it. As it says in the Bible: "Come unto me, all ye that labou: and are heavy laden."'
Olga had a measured, sing-song voice and she walked like a pilgrim, quick and bustling. Every day she read out loud from the Gospels, like a priest, and there was much she did not understand. However, the sacred words moved her to tears and she pronounced 'if whomsoever' and 'whither' with a sweet sinking feeling in her heart. She believed in God, the Holy Virgin and the saints. She believed that it was wrong to harm anyone in the wide world - whether they were simple people, Germans, gipsies or Jews - and woe betide those who were cruel to animals! She believed that all this was written down in the sacred books and this was why, when she repeated words from the Bible - even words she did not understand - her face became compassionate, radiant and full of tenderness.
'Where are you from.?' Marya asked.
'Vladimir. But my parents took me with them to Moscow a long time ago, when I was only eight.'
They went down to the river. On the far side a woman stood at the water's edge, undressing herself.