Forty Stories - Anton Chekhov [91]
“He said she died in prison. She poisoned her husband.”
Varvara lay down beside Sophia, deep in thought, and then she said softly: “I could kill Alyoshka and never regret it.”
“God help you, you are talking nonsense!”
When Sophia was dropping asleep, Varvara pressed close to her and whispered in her ear: “Let’s kill Dyudya and Alyoshka!”
Sophia shuddered and said nothing, but her eyes were open wide and for a long time she gazed steadily at the sky.
“People might find out,” she murmured.
“No, they would never find out. Dyudya is old, and it’s time for him to die, and they’d say Alyoshka had croaked from drinking!”
“It’s terrible.… God would strike us dead.…”
“I don’t care.”
Neither of them slept; they went on thinking in silence.
“It’s cold,” Sophia said, and she was beginning to shiver all over. “It will soon be light. Are you sleeping?”
“No.… Don’t listen to me, my dear,” Varvara whispered. “I get so mad with those damned swine, and sometimes I don’t know what I am saying. Go to sleep—the dawn will be coming up soon.… Are you asleep?”
They were both quiet, and soon they grew calm and fell asleep.
Old Afanasyevna was the first to wake up. She woke Sophia, and they both went to the cowshed to milk the cows. Then the hunchback Alyoshka walked in, hopelessly drunk, without his concertina, and with his knees and chest all covered with dust and straw—he must have fallen down on the road. Swaying from side to side, he went into the cowshed, and without undressing he rolled over on a sleigh and a moment later was snoring. And when the rising sun shone with a clear flame on the gold crosses of the church, and silvered the windows, and the shadows of the trees and the wellhead were strewn across the courtyard over the dew-wet grass, then Matvey Savvich rose and attended to business.
“Kuzka, get up!” he shouted. “Time to harness the horses! Get going!”
The morning uproar was about to begin. A young Jewess in a flounced brown dress led a horse to the yard for water. The pulley of the well creaked painfully, the bucket rattled. Still tired and sleepy, his clothes covered with dew, Kuzka sat up in the cart, and lazily slipping on his overcoat, he listened to the water splashing out of the bucket into the well, and all the time he was shivering from cold.
“Auntie!” shouted Matvey Savvich. “Tell that brat of mine to harness the horses!”
At the same moment Dyudya shouted from the window: “Sophia, make that Jewess pay a kopeck for watering the horses! They’re making a habit of it, the slobs!”
Up and down the street ran the bleating sheep; the peasant women were screeching at the shepherd, who played on his reed pipe, cracked his whip, and replied to them in his rough sleepy bass voice. Three sheep came running into the yard; not finding the gate, they butted the fence. Varvara was awakened by the noise, and taking up her bedding in her hands, she wandered into the house.
“You ought at least to drive the sheep out,” the old woman shouted after her. “Ladylike, eh?”
“What’s more, you needn’t think I’m going to work for a lot of Herods,” Varvara said as she entered the house.
The axles were greased and the horses harnessed. Dyudya emerged from the house with his accounts in his hands, sat down on the step, and began reckoning how much the travelers owed for oats, the night’s lodging, and watering the horses.
“Grandfather, you charged a lot for the oats,” Matvey Savvich said.
“If it’s too much, you don’t have to take it. We’re not forcing you!”
Just when the travelers were about to get into the cart and ride off, an accident occurred. Kuzka lost his cap.
“Where did you put it, you little swine?” Matvey Savvich roared at the boy. “Where is it?”
Kuzka’s face was contorted with terror; he searched all round the cart, and not finding it, he ran to the gate and then to the cowshed. The old woman and Sophia helped him look for it.
“I’ll rip your ears off!” Matvey Savvich shouted. “Filthy little brat!”
The cap was found at the bottom of the cart. Kuzka brushed off the straw, put