“Guten Abend, schöne Müllerin…,” he said, gazing at the dark sky hanging over the snowy field.
He smoked his cigarette, stubbed it out on the windowsill, got in bed, and fell into a deep, dreamless slumber.
Crouper also slept soundly. He fell asleep as soon as he got up on the warm oven bed, put a log under his head, and covered himself with the patchwork quilt. Falling asleep to the sound of the doctor’s strong, nasal voice chatting with the miller’s wife, he thought of the toy elephant that his late father had brought six-year-old Kozma from the fair. The elephant could walk, move its trunk, flap its ears, and sing an English song:
Love me tender, love me sweet,
Never let me go.
You have made my life complete,
And I love you so.
After the elephant he thought of the horse the drunken miller kept harping on. Vavila, the late merchant Riumin’s groom, had entrusted Crouper with the horse. This was at the fair in Pokrovskoye, before Kozma got married, but when he was already known as “Crouper.” Vavila had a year-old colt for sale, and he had been walking around the fair with him all morning, trying to sell him. He got greedy, and thought some Chinese people and Gypsies were trying to cheat him. He asked Kozma to hold on to the colt, said he was going to “stuff his face and take a dump.” He gave Kozma five kopecks. Kozma found a spot by the willow, near where the saddler’s stalls began. He stood there with the colt and cracked sunflower seeds. Right about then some movie people from Khliupin put up two receivers and stretched “tableau vivant” screens between them. They displayed dolphins. It turned out that the picture wasn’t just lifelike, but touchable; the dolphins swam from one screen to the other and you could touch them. First kids and then men and women came up to touch the dolphins. Crouper tied the colt to the willow and waded through the crowd. He reached out and touched a dolphin. He liked it. The dolphin was smooth and cool, and it made friendly, squeaky noises. And the sea was nice and warm. Pushing his way forward, Crouper entered the water up to his chest and kept on touching and touching. The dolphins dove down in one monitor and swam over to the other one. Crouper touched their backs and stomachs, and grabbed them with his hands, trying to hold on to them. But they were agile and slipped right out of his grasp. He felt happy and fell in love with dolphins then and there. When the movie fellows turned the picture off and went around the crowd with a hat out, Crouper threw in his five-kopeck coin without a thought. Then he remembered the colt and went back to the willow: there was no trace of the horse. Vavila chased Crouper through the fair and landed a few good punches. The merchant Riumin sacked Vavila. They never found the colt.
The doctor awoke to the sound of Crouper’s voice:
“Yur ’onor, sir, it’s time.”
“What is it?” the doctor grumbled with his eyes closed.
“The dawn’s up.”
“Let me sleep.”
“You asked me to wake ye.”
“Go away.”
Crouper left.
Two hours later the miller’s wife climbed up to the doctor’s room and touched his shoulder:
“It’s time for you to go, doctor.”
“What?” the doctor murmured with his eyes closed.
“It’s already eleven o’clock.”
“Eleven?” He opened his eyes and turned over.
“Time for you to get up.” She looked at him with a smile.
The doctor fumbled for his pince-nez on the side table, placed it on his wrinkled face, and looked up. The miller’s wife hung over him—large, nicely dressed in a fur-lined top with a string of viviparous pearls on her neck, braids circling her head, and a pleased, smiling face.
“What do you mean, eleven?” the doctor asked more calmly, finally remembering everything that had happened during the night.
“Come and have tea.” She squeezed his wrist, turned, and disappeared behind the door, her long blue skirt rustling.
“Damn…” The doctor stood up and looked at his watch. “It really is eleven.”
He looked at the window. Daylight flooded through it.
“The idiot didn’t wake me.” The doctor remembered Crouper and his magpie-shaped head.
He dressed quickly and went downstairs. The kitchen was bustling: Avdotia was sliding a large kettle into the recently lit Russian oven with a long-handled poker; her husband was making something on the bench in the corner; and at the far table the miller’s wife sat majestically alone. The doctor headed for the washbasin that stood in the corner to the right of the oven, splashed his face with cold water, and dried it with a fresh towel that the miller’s wife had hung there especially for him. He wiped his pince-nez, looked at himself in the small, round mirror, and touched the stubble on his cheeks:
“Hmm…”
“Doctor, come have a cup of tea,” the strong voice of the miller’s wife sounded from the other side of the room.
Platon Ilich went to her.
“Good morning.”
“And a very fine morning to you, too.” She smiled.
The doctor crossed himself before the icon and sat down at the table. The same little samovar stood on the table and the same ham lay on a dish.
The miller’s wife poured tea into a large cup with a portrait of Peter the Great, and dropped in two sugar cubes without asking.
“Where’s my driver?” asked the doctor, looking at her hands.
“On the other side. He’s been up for quite a while now.”
“Why didn’t he wake me?”
“Can’t say.” She smiled pleasantly. “Some fresh blini?”
The doctor noticed a stack of piping-hot pancakes on the table.
“Gladly.”
“With jam, honey, or sour cream?”
“With … honey.”
He frowned. He felt uncomfortable with the woman now.
“What drama…,” he thought as he sipped the tea.
“How’s the weather?” He glanced at the windows.
“Better than yesterday,” answered the miller’s wife, looking him straight in the eye.
“A strong woman…,” he thought, and remembering her little husband, he cast his eyes about the room.
The miller was nowhere to be seen.
“He’s still sleeping,” she said, as though she’d read the doctor’s mind. “Got a hangover. Eat up.”
She set a plate of blini in front of him and slid the honeypot over. The doctor began eating the delicious, warm blini. Crouper entered the room and stopped at the door. He was dressed for the road and held his hat in hand.
“There’s our hero…,” the doctor grumbled. He swallowed a piece of pancake and almost shouted:
“Why didn’t you wake me?”
Crouper smiled his birdlike smile:
“How’s that I didn’t wake ye? Went right upstairs come first light.”
“And…?”
“I says: Doctor, time to go. And you says: Let me sleep.”
The miller’s wife laughed and poured tea into her saucer.
“That’s impossible!” The doctor banged his fist on the table.
“As the Lord’s my witness,” Crouper said, waving his hat toward the icon.
“Well then, that means you were having a good sleep.” The miller’s wife blew on the tea in the saucer.
The doctor met her pleasant eyes and glanced at the other people in the room, as though seeking their support. Avdotia was busy at the oven, looking for all the world like she knew everything that had happened the night before, and her husband was sitting in the corner with a sort of ambiguous smile on his face, it seemed to the doctor.
“How could they possibly know?” he thought. “Ah, to hell with them…”
“You could have given me a shake,” the doctor said a bit more softly, realizing that he was going to be driving all the way to Dolgoye with this fellow.
“Cain’t worry someone who’s sleeping. It’s a pity.” Crouper stood, holding his hat in two hands over his stomach.
“Of course it’s a pity,” said the miller’s wife with smiling eyes, as she sipped tea from her saucer.