“What about the sled?” the doctor said, to change the subject.
“Fixed it. We’ll get there.”
“You wouldn’t have a phone, would you?” the doctor asked the miller’s wife.
“We do, but it doesn’t work in winter.” She dunked a sugar cube into the saucer and put it in her mouth.
“Very well, I’ll finish my tea and come out,” the doctor said to Crouper, as though dismissing him. Crouper left silently.
The doctor ate his blini, washing them down with tea.
“Tell me, this blackness, where’d it come from?” asked the miller’s wife as she rolled the piece of sugar around in her mouth and slurped her tea.
“From Bolivia,” said the doctor with distaste.
“From so far? How’d that happen? Someone brought it?”
“Someone brought it.”
She shook her head:
“My, my. But how do they rise from the grave in winter? I mean, the ground is frozen through and through.”
“The virus transforms the human body, making the muscles considerably stronger,” the doctor muttered, glancing aside.
“Markovna, them’s got claws like a bear’s!” the worker suddenly said in a loud voice. “I seen it on the radio: they can crawl through earth, through the floor if’n they wants, like moles. They get through and rip people to shreds!”
Avdotia crossed herself.
The miller’s wife set the saucer on the table, sighed, and also crossed herself. Her face grew serious and immediately seemed heavier and less attractive.
“Doctor, now you make sure to be careful out there,” she said.
Platon Ilich nodded. His nose was red from drinking tea. He retrieved his handkerchief and wiped his lips.
“They’s mighty vicious.” The worker shook his head.
“The Lord is merciful,” said the miller’s wife, her chest heaving.
“Time for me to go,” said the doctor, squeezing his fists and rising from the table. “I thank you for your hospitality.”
He bowed his head slightly.
“Always welcome.” The miller’s wife rose and bowed to him.
The doctor went over to the coatrack, and Avdotia awkwardly tried to help him put on his coat. The miller’s wife came over and stood nearby, her arms crossed.
“Farewell,” nodded the doctor as he put on his fur hat and pulled the earflaps down.
“Goodbye,” she said, bowing her head.
He walked out into the courtyard. The sled was already there, and Crouper sat holding the reins. Someone was busy in the barn, and the gates were open wide. The doctor looked at the sky: overcast, windy, but no snow.
“Thank God.” The doctor took out his cigarette case, lit up, and began to settle in. Crouper waited until he was wrapped and buttoned up; then he smacked his lips and jerked the reins. Inside the hood the doctor could hear snorting and the already familiar clatter of tiny hooves. The sled set off and Crouper took hold of the steering rod.
“You know the road?” asked the doctor, inhaling the invigorating cigarette smoke with pleasure.
“There ain’t but one hereabouts.”
The sled moved slowly out of the courtyard, the runners squeaking.
“How much farther?” The doctor tried to remember.
“Roundabout nine versts. The road’ll take us through New Forest, then there’s Old Market, then there’s fields—a baby could make it ’cross.”
“Drive safely!” came a familiar female voice.
The miller’s wife stood on the porch.
The doctor silently waved his hat, holding it by the earflap, which was rather awkward, and Crouper smiled and waved his mitten:
“S’long Markovna!”
The miller’s wife watched them as they moved farther and farther away.
“She’s an interesting woman, I have to admit,” thought the doctor. “How quickly everything happened … But did I want it to? Yes, I did. And I don’t regret a thing…”
“The miller’s got hisself a good woman.” Crouper smiled.
The doctor nodded.
“Luck, that’s what,” said Crouper thoughtfully, pushing his hat back off his forehead. “Like they says, ‘On lucky days, even a rooster lays.’ So there ye go: one fellow’s kind and loving, but luck don’t shine on him. Then some drunk with a foul mouth catches hisself a wife of gold.”
“But how did that drunk manage to get the mill?”
“He got lucky.”
“How so? The mill just fell straight from heaven?”
“Don’t know ’bout heaven, but his papa, he’s one of the little fellers, too, made hisself a fortune on taxes and bought that mill, and put his son in it. And that was that.”
The doctor had nothing to add, and for that matter, he didn’t feel like chatting with Crouper first thing in the morning.
“Markovna, she does all the work. He just shouts at everthin’ in sight.”
“Ah, to hell with him…” the doctor said, putting an end to the conversation.
Speeding along the riverbank, where the night before they’d trudged behind the broken sled, they passed willows and haystacks. They moved along smoothly at a clip, and the fresh, untouched snow whooshed softly under the runners. Soon, that same bridge appeared. Crouper kept to the left, turning onto the road. Though covered in new-fallen snow, it was quite discernible.
“How d’ye like that, ain’t nobody passed by after us!” Crouper nodded at the road. “All gone and hid ’emselves from the blizzard.”
“Maybe they drove by and then the tracks were covered.”
“Don’t look like it.”
The sled moved swiftly along the road. Bushes, bushes, and more bushes began to appear. The wind blew at their backs, giving the sled some help.
“Zilberstein is probably cursing me. But what could I do? There isn’t even a telephone here. ‘It doesn’t work in winter!’ Ridiculous! Nine—no, eight—versts now. Getting closer … I’ll start the vaccinations straightaway, the delay won’t matter…”
Before them a birch grove came into view.
“C’mon now, faster.” Crouper clicked and whistled. “Get a move on.”
The little horses increased their pace obediently.
They entered the grove at full tilt. Birch trunks lined the road.
“What a beautiful grove,” muttered the doctor.
“Eh?” Crouper turned toward him.
“I said the grove is beautiful.”
“Beautiful. If’n ye just chop it down.”
The doctor chuckled.
“Why chop it down? It’s pretty just the way it is.”
“Pretty,” Crouper agreed. “Won’t last long. They’ll cut it down anyway.”
Snow began to fall, at first lightly, but by the time they’d passed through the birch grove, large flakes fell thick and fast.
“Wouldn’t ye know it!” Crouper laughed.
The road led through a field, but there weren’t any markers to be seen. Neither were there any traces of runners on the road. The field lay ahead, lost in the snowstorm; only here and there overgrown weeds or the rare bush stuck out.
They had driven half a verst when the sled slid into deep snow.
“Whoa!” Crouper pulled back on the reins.
The horses stopped.
“I’ll go look for the road.” Crouper jumped down, grabbed the whip, and walked back.
The doctor remained alone in the sled. Snowflakes continued falling in a dense veil as though they’d never stopped. Under the hood the horses snorted and stamped their hooves.
About ten minutes passed, and Crouper returned:
“Found it!”
He turned the sled around, leading it along his own tracks, while he tramped next to it, his legs plowing deep swaths through the snow.
They regained the road. But the doctor would never have guessed that this was a road; only Crouper could distinguish it in the snowy field.
“We won’t go fast, yur ’onor, sir, else we’ll up and drive off it!” Crouper shouted, wiping the snow off his face.
“Drive as you see fit,” the doctor replied. “What about the runner?”
“Still holding. I nailed it together.”