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A.P. Chekhov
- In the Ravine
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I
THE village of Ukleevo lay in a ravine so
that only the belfry and the chimneys of the printed cottons
factories could be seen from the high road and the
railway-station. When visitors asked what village this was, they
were told:
"That's the village where the deacon ate all the caviare at the
funeral."
It had happened at the dinner at the funeral of Kostukov that
the old deacon saw among the savouries some large-grained
caviare and began eating it greedily; people nudged him, tugged
at his arm, but he seemed petrified with enjoyment: felt
nothing, and only went on eating. He ate up all the caviare, and
there were four pounds in the jar. And years had passed since
then, the deacon had long been dead, but the caviare was still
remembered. Whether life was so poor here or people had not been
clever enough to notice anything but that unimportant incident
that had occurred ten years before, anyway the people had
nothing else to tell about the village Ukleevo.
The village was never free from fever, and there was boggy mud
there even in the summer, especially under the fences over which
hung old willow-trees that gave deep shade. Here there was
always a smell from the factory refuse and the acetic acid which
was used in the finishing of the cotton print.
The three cotton factories and the tanyard were not in the
village itself, but a little way off. They were small factories,
and not more than four hundred workmen were employed in all of
them. The tanyard often made the water in the little river
stink; the refuse contaminated the meadows, the peasants' cattle
suffered from Siberian plague, and orders were given that the
factory should be closed. It was considered to be closed, but
went on working in secret with the connivance of the local
police officer and the district doctor, who was paid ten roubles
a month by the owner. In the whole village there were only two
decent houses built of brick with iron roofs; one of them was
the local court, in the other, a two-storied house just opposite
the church, there lived a shopkeeper from Epifan called Grigory
Petrovitch Tsybukin.
Grigory kept a grocer's shop, but that was only for appearance'
sake: in reality he sold vodka, cattle, hides, grain, and pigs;
he traded in anything that came to hand, and when, for instance,
magpies were wanted abroad for ladies' hats, he made some thirty
kopecks on every pair of birds; he bought timber for felling,
lent money at interest, and altogether was a sharp old man, full
of resources.
He had two sons. The elder, Anisim, was in the police in the
detective department and was rarely at home. The younger, Stepan,
had gone in for trade and helped his father: but no great help
was expected from him as he was weak in health and deaf; his
wife Aksinya, a handsome woman with a good figure, who wore a
hat and carried a parasol on holidays, got up early and went to
bed late, and ran about all day long, picking up her skirts and
jingling her keys, going from the granary to the cellar and from
there to the shop, and old Tsybukin looked at her
good-humouredly while his eyes glowed, and at such moments he
regretted she had not been married to his elder son instead of
to the younger one, who was deaf, and who evidently knew very
little about female beauty.
The old man had always an inclination for family life, and he
loved his family more than anything on earth, especially his
elder son, the detective, and his daughter-in-law. Aksinya had
no sooner married the deaf son than she began to display an
extraordinary gift for business, and knew who could be allowed
to run up a bill and who could not: she kept the keys and would
not trust them even to her husband; she kept the accounts by
means of the reckoning beads, looked at the horses' teeth like a
peasant, and was always laughing or shouting; and whatever she
did or said the old man was simply delighted and muttered:
"Well done, daughter-in-law! You are a smart wench!"
He was a widower, but a year after his son's marriage he could
not resist getting married himself. A girl was found for him,
living twenty miles from Ukleevo, called Varvara Nikolaevna, no
longer quite young, but good-looking, comely, and belonging to a
decent family. As soon as she was installed into the
upper-storey room everything in the house seemed to brighten up
as though new glass had been put into all the windows. The lamps
gleamed before the ikons, the tables were covered with
snow-white cloths, flowers with red buds made their appearance
in the windows and in the front garden, and at dinner, instead
of eating from a single bowl, each person had a separate plate
set for him. Varvara Nikolaevna had a pleasant, friendly smile,
and it seemed as though the whole house were smiling, too.
Beggars and pilgrims, male and female, began to come into the
yard, a thing which had never happened in the past; the
plaintive sing-song voices of the Ukleevo peasant women and the
apologetic coughs of weak, seedy-looking men, who had been
dismissed from the factory for drunkenness were heard under the
windows. Varvara helped them with money, with bread, with old
clothes, and afterwards, when she felt more at home, began
taking things out of the shop. One day the deaf man saw her take
four ounces of tea and that disturbed him.
"Here, mother's taken four ounces of tea," he informed his
father afterwards; "where is that to be entered?"
The old man made no reply but stood still and thought a moment,
moving his eyebrows, and then went upstairs to his wife.
"Varvarushka, if you want anything out of the shop," he said
affectionately, "take it, my dear. Take it and welcome; don't
hesitate."
And the next day the deaf man, running across the yard, called
to her:
"If there is anything you want, mother, take it."
There was something new, something gay and light-hearted in her
giving of alms, just as there was in the lamps before the ikons
and in the red flowers. When at Carnival or at the church
festival, which lasted for three days, they sold the peasants
tainted salt meat, smelling so strong it was hard to stand near
the tub of it, and took scythes, caps, and their wives'
kerchiefs in pledge from the drunken men; when the factory hands
stupefied with bad vodka lay rolling in the mud, and sin seemed
to hover thick like a fog in the air, then it was a relief to
think that up there in the house there was a gentle, neatly
dressed woman who had nothing to do with salt meat or vodka; her
charity had in those burdensome, murky days the effect of a
safety valve in a machine.
The days in Tsybukin's house were spent in business cares.
Before the sun had risen in the morning Aksinya was panting and
puffing as she washed in the outer room, and the samovar was
boiling in the kitchen with a hum that boded no good. Old
Grigory Petrovitch, dressed in a long black coat, cotton
breeches and shiny top boots, looking a dapper little figure,
walked about the rooms, tapping with his little heels like the
father-in-law in a well-known song. The shop was opened. When it
was daylight a racing droshky was brought up to the front door
and the old man got jauntily on to it, pulling his big cap down
to his ears; and, looking at him, no one would have said he was
fifty-six. His wife and daughter-in-law saw him off, and at such
times when he had on a good, clean coat, and had in the droshky
a huge black horse that had cost three hundred roubles, the old
man did not like the peasants to come up to him with their
complaints and petitions; he hated the peasants and disdained
them, and if he saw some peasants waiting at the gate, he would
shout angrily:
"Why are you standing there? Go further off."
Or if it were a beggar, he would say:
"God will provide!"
He used to drive off on business; his wife, in a dark dress and
a black apron, tidied the rooms or helped in the kitchen.
Aksinya attended to the shop, and from the yard could be heard
the clink of bottles and of money, her laughter and loud talk,
and the anger of customers whom she had offended; and at the
same time it could be seen that the secret sale of vodka was
already going on in the shop. The deaf man sat in the shop, too,
or walked about the street bare-headed, with his hands in his
pockets looking absent-mindedly now at the huts, now at the sky
overhead. Six times a day they had tea; four times a day they
sat down to meals; and in the evening they counted over their
takings, put them down, went to bed, and slept soundly.
All the three cotton factories in Ukleevo and the houses of the
factory owners -- Hrymin Seniors, Hrymin Juniors, and Kostukov
-- were on a telephone. The telephone was laid on in the local
court, too, but it soon ceased to work as bugs and beetles bred
there. The elder of the rural district had had little education
and wrote every word in the official documents in capitals. But
when the telephone was spoiled he said:
"Yes, now we shall be badly off without a telephone."
The Hrymin Seniors were continually at law with the Juniors, and
sometimes the Juniors quarrelled among themselves and began
going to law, and their factory did not work for a month or two
till they were reconciled again, and this was an entertainment
for the people of Ukleevo, as there was a great deal of talk and
gossip on the occasion of each quarrel. On holidays Kostukov and
the Juniors used to get up races, used to dash about Ukleevo and
run over calves. Aksinya, rustling her starched petticoats, used
to promenade in a low-necked dress up and down the street near
her shop; the Juniors used to snatch her up and carry her off as
though by force. Then old Tsybukin would drive out to show his
new horse and take Varvara with him.
In the evening, after the races, when people were going to bed,
an expensive concertina was played in the Juniors' yard and, if
it were a moonlight night, those sounds sent a thrill of delight
to the heart, and Ukleevo no longer seemed a wretched hole.
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