The old man did not believe in God because he hardly ever gave Him a thought. He recognized the supernatural, but thought it was women's business. When the subject of religion or miracles came up and he was asked what he thought, he would scratch himself. 'How should I know?' he would say reluctantly.
Gran believed, but somewhat vaguely. It was all jumbled up in her mind. No sool}er had she started thinking about sin, death and salva- tion, than hardship and worries took over, whereupon she forgot what she had been thinking about. She had forgotten her prayers and usually stood in front of the icons at bedtime, whispering, 'To the Virgin of Kazan, to the Virgin ofSmolensk, to the Virgin ofthe Three Arms....'
Marya and Fyokla crossed themselves and took co^munion once a year, but it meant nothing to them. They did not teach their children to pray, never spoke to them of God and taught them no principles. They only told them not to eat the wrong things during fasts. It was much the same with other families—few believed, few understood. Yet they all loved the Scriptures, loved them dearly and revered them, but they had neither books nor anyone to read and explain things. They respected Olga for reading the Gospels to them sometimes and always treated her and Sasha with deference.
Olga often went to church festivals and special services in near-by villages and the local county town, which had two monasteries and twenty-seven churches. She was rather vague and forgot al about her family on these pilgrimages. Only when she came home did she suddenly discover to her great delight that she had a husband and daughter. 'God has been good to me,' she would say, smiling and radiant.
The viUage goings-on pained and sickened her. On Elijah's Day they drank. On the Feast of the Assumption they drank. On Holy
Cross Day they drank. The Feast of the Intercession was the parish holiday for Zhnkovo and the villagers seized the chance to druik for three days. They drank thcir way through ftfty roubles of communal funds and then the vilage had a whip-round for more vodka. Thc Chikildeyevs kiUed a sheep on the first day and ate vast helpings of it morning, noon and night, aid even then the children got up at night for a bite. Kiryak was terribly drunk on all three days. He drank the cap off his head and the boots oft" his feet, and beat Marya so hard that she had to be doused with water. Later on everyone fclt ashamed and sick.
But even Zhukovo or 'Lower Flunkey' had one true religious ceremony—in August when the Icon ofthe Blessed Life-giving Virgin was carried roiUld the whole district from vilage to village. It was on a quiet, overcast day that it was expected in Zhukovo. The girls in their bright Sunday dresses had gone to meet the icon in the morning and it had been brought in with singing and a procession in the late afternoon while bells pealed across the river. A great crowd of people from the vilage and elsewhete blocked the street. There was noise, dust and a great crush of people.
The old man, Gran and Kiryak—all stretched out their hands to the icon, feasting their eyes on it. 'Intercessor, Holy Mother! Pray for us!' they said tearfuly.
Everyone ^emed to Wlderstand at once that there was no yoid be- tween heaven and earth, that the lich and strong had not yet grabbed everything, that there was still someone to protect them against iU- treatment, slavery and bondage, against intolerable, grinding poverty and the demon vodka.
'Intercessor, Holy Mother!' sobbed Marya. 'Holy Mother!'
But the service ended, the icon was taken off, and everything was as before. Harsh, drunken voices once more came from the inn.
Only the rich peasants feared death. The richer they grew, the less they believed in God and salvation, and if they gave candles and had special masses said, it was only for fear of their earthly end and to be on the safe side. Poorer peasants were not afraid to die. People told Gran and the old man to their faces that their day was done and it was time they were dead. They didn't care. And people thought nothing of telling Fyokla in Nicholas's presence that when he died her husband Denis would get his discharge and be sent home from the army. Far from fearing death, Marya wished that it would come quicker and was glad when her children died.
Though not afraid of death they did have an exaggerated horror of all illnesses. The slightest thing—an upset stomach, a mild chill— was enough to make Gran lie on the stove, wrap herself up and embark on a series of heartv groans. 'I'm dy-ing!' The old man would rush off for the priest and Gran would be given the sacrament and extreme uncnon.
They were always talking about colds, tape-worms and tmnours going round the stomach and moving up to the heart. They were more frightened of catchiiig cold than of anything, so wrapped up well and warmed themselves on the stove even in summer. Gran liked seeing the doctor and often went to hospital, giving her age as fifty- eight instead of seventy. She thought that if the doctor knew her real age he would refuse to treat her, and say she ought to be dead—not consulting him. She usually left for hospital in the early morning, taking two or three of the little girls, and came back in the evening, hungry and cross, with drops for herself and ointment for the children. She once took Nicholas as well and for a fortnight afterwards he was taking drops and said they did him good.
Gran knew all the doctors, medical assistants and quacks for twenty niles around and disliked the lot. At the Feast of the Intercession, when the priest went round the huts with his cross, the parish clerk told her of an old fellow living near the prison in town, a former army medical orderly \vho was good at cures. He advised her to consult him. Gran did. She drove off to town at first snowfall and brought back a little bearded old man in a long coat, a converted Jew whose whole face was covered with blue veins. There happened to be some jobbing craftsmen working in the hut at the time. An old tailor, wearing awe- inspiring spectacles, was cutting a waistcoat out of odd bits and pieces and two young fellows were making felt boots out of wool. Having been sacked for dr^&ng, Kiryak lived at home these days and was sit- ting beside the tailor mending a horse-collar. It was crowded, stuffy and smelly in the hut. The Jew examined Nicholas and said that he must be bled.
He put on the cups. The old tailor, Kiryak and the little girls stood watching and thought that they could see the iless coming out of Nicholas. Nicholas also \vatched the cups stuck to his chest graduaUy filling witl dark blood. He felt that something really was leaving him and smilci with pleasure.
'Good thing, this,' said the tailor. 'Let's hope it's some use.'
The Jew put on twelve cups and then twelve more, had some tea and Ieft. Nicholas started to shiver. His face looked peaked and seemed 'clenched like a fist', the women said. His fingers turned blue. He wrapped himself in a blanket and shcepskin, but grew coldcr and colder. By evening he felt very low. He wanted to be put on the floor and asked the tailor not to smoke. Then he went quiet inside his sheepskin and by morning he was dead.
IX
What a hard winter it was and what a long one!
Their own grain ran out by Christmas and they had to buy flour. Now that Kiryak lived at home he made such a din in the evenings that everyone was scared. He had such frightful headaches and felt so ashamed of himself in the mornings that it was painful to look at him. The starving cow could be heard Iowing in the shed day and night, a heart-breaking sound to Gran and Marya. Needless to say, there were hard frosts all the time and deep snowdrifts. Winter dragged on. On Lady Day a real blizzard blew up and it snowed at Easter.