"Who will care for us now you have gone, Anisim Grigorich, our bright falcon. . . .''
The dogs began barking in alarm. Varvara ran to the window, and rushing about in distress, shouted to the cook with all her might, straining her voice:
"Sto-op, Stepanida, sto-op! Don't harrow us, for Christ's sake!"
They forgot to set the samovar, they could think of nothing. Only Lipa could not make out what it was all about and went on playing with her baby.
When the old father arrived from the station they asked him no questions. He greeted them and walked through all the rooms in silence; he had no supper.
'There was no one to see about things . . .'' Varvara began when they were alone. "I said you should have asked some of the gentry, you would not listen to me at the time. . . . A petition would . . .''
"I saw to things," said her husband with a wave of his hand. "When Anisim was condemned I went to the gentleman who was defending him. 'It's no use now,' he said, 'it's too late'; and Anisim said the same; it's too late. But all the same as I came out of court I engaged a lawyer and gave him an advance. I'll wait a week and then I'll go again. It is as God wills."
Again the old man walked through all the rooms, and when he went back to Varvara he said:
"I must be ill. My head's in a sort of ... fog. My thoughts are mixed up.''
He closed the door that Lipa might not hear, and went on softly:
"I am worried about the money. Do you remember before his wedding Anisim's bringing me some new rubles and half-rubles? One parcel I put away at the time, but the others I mixed with my own money. When my uncle Dmitri Filatych—the kingdom of Heaven be his—was alive, he used to go to Moscow and to the Crimea to buy goods. He had a wife, and this same wife, when he was away buying goods, used to take up with other men. They had half a dozen children. And when uncle was in his cups he would laugh and say: 'I never can make out,' he used to say, 'which are my children and which are other people's.' An easy-going disposi- tion, to be sure; and so now I can't tell which are gen- uine rubles and which are false ones. And they all seem false to me." "Nonsense, God bless you."
"I buy a ticket at the station, I give the man three rubles, and I keep fancying they are counterfeit. And I am frightened. I must be ill.''
"There's no denying it, we are all in God's hands. . . . Oh dear, dear . . ." said Varvara, and she shook her head. "You ought to think about this, Grigory Petro- vich: you never know, anything may happen, you are not a young man. See they don't wrong your grandchild when you are dead and gone. Oh, I am afraid they will be unfair to Nikifor! He is as good as fatherless, his mother's young and foolish . . . You ought to settle something on the poor little boy, at least the land, Bu- tyokino, Grigory Petrovich, really! Think it over!" Var- vara went on persuading him. "He's such a pretty boy, it's a pity! You go tomorrow and make out a deed; why put it off?"
'Td forgotten my grandson," said Tzybukin. "I must go and have a look at him. So you say the boy is all right? Well, let him grow up, please God."
He opened the door and, crooking his finger, beck- oned to Lipa. She went up to him with the baby in her arms.
"If there is anything you want, Lipynka, you ask for it," he said. "And eat anything you like, we don't grudge it, so long as it does you good. . . ." He made the sign of the cross over the baby. "And take care of my grand- child. My son is gone, but my grandson is left."
Tears rolled down his cheeks; he gave a sob and went away. Soon afterwards he went to bed and slept soundly after seven sleepless nights.
vn
Old Tzybukin went to the town for a short visit. Someone told Aksinya that he had gone to the notary to make his will and that he was leaving Butyokino, the very place where she had set up a brickyard, to Nikifor, his grandson. She was informed of this in the morning when old Tzybukin and Varvara were sitting near the steps under the birch-tree, having their tea. She closed the shop in the front and at the back, gathered together all the keys she had, and flung them at her father-in- law's feet.
"I am not going on working for you," she began in a loud voice, and suddenly broke into sobs. "It seems I am not your daughter-in-law, but a servant! Every- body's jeering and saying, 'See what a servant the Tzy- bukins have got hold of!' I did not hire myself out to you! I am not a beggar, I am not a homeless wench, I have a father and mother."
She did not wipe away her tears; she fixed upon her father-in-law eyes full of tears, vindictive, squinting
with anger; her face and neck were red and tense, and
she was shouting at the top of her voice.
"I don't mean to go on slaving for you!" she con- tinued. "I am worn out. When it is work, when it is sitting in the shop day in and day out, sneaking out at night for vodka—then it is my share, but when it is giving away the land then it is for that convict's wife and her imp. She is mistress here, and I am her servant. Give her everything, the convict's wife, and may it choke her! I am going home! Find yourselves some other fool, you damned bloodsuckers!"
The old man had never in his life scolded or punished his children, and had never dreamed that one of his family could speak to him rudely or behave disrespect- fully; and now he was very much frightened; he ran into the house and hid behind the cupboard. And Var- vara was so much flustered that she could not get up from her seat, and only waved her hands before her as though she were warding off a bee.
"Oh, Holy Saints! What's the meaning of it?" she mut- tered in horror. ''What is she shouting? Oh, dear, dear! • . . People will hear! Hush. Oh, hush!"
''You have given Butyokino to the convict's wife," Aksinya went on bawling. "Give her everything now, I don't want anything from you! Go to hell! You are all a gang of thieves here! I have seen enough, I have had my fiU of it! You have robbed people coming and going; you have robbed old and young alike, you brigands! And who has been selling vodka without a license? And false money? You've stuffed your coffers fuU of false coins, and now I am no more use!"
By now a crowd had collected at the open gate and was staring into the yard.
"Let the people look," bawled Aksinya. "I'U put you all to shame! You shall burn up with shame! You'll grovel at my feet. Hey! Stepan," she called to the deaf man, "let us go home this minute! Let us go to my father and mother; I don't want to live with convicts. Get ready!"
Clothes were hanging on lines stretched across the yard; she snatched off her petticoats and blouses still wet and flung them into the deaf man's arms. Then in her fury she dashed about the yard where the linen hung, tore down all of it, and what was not hers she threw on the ground and trampled upon.
"Holy Saints, stop her," moaned Varvara.
"What a woman! Give her Butyokino! Give it to her, for Christ's sake!"
"Well! Wha-at a woman!" people were saying at the gate. "She's a wo-oman! She's going it—something like!"
Aksinya ran into the kitchen where laundering was being done. Lipa was washing alone, the cook had gone to the river to rinse the clothes. Steam was rising from the trough and from the caldron near the stove, and the air in the kitchen was close and thick with vapor. On the floor was a heap of unwashed clothes, and Nikifor, kicking up his little red legs, lay on a bench near them, so that if he fell he should not hurt himself. Just as Aksinya went in Lipa took fhc former's chemise out of the heap and put it in the trough, and was just stretch- ing out her hand to a big pitcher of boiling water which was standing on the table.
"Give it here," said Aksinya, looking at her with hatred, and snatching the chemise out of the trough; "it is not your business to touch my linen! You are a convict's wife, and ought to know your place and who you are!"
Lipa gazed at her, taken aback, and did not under- 500 the portable chekhov
stand, but suddenly she caught the look Aksinya turned upon the child, and at once she understood and went numb all over.