"Grandfather," Lipa asked, "when anyone dies, how many days does his soul walk the earth?"
"Who can telll Ask Vavila here, he has been to school. Now they teach them everything. Vavila!" the old man called to him.
"Yes!"
"Vavila, when anyone dies how long docs his soul walk the earth?"
Vavila stopped the horse and only then answered:
"Nine days. After my uncle Kirilla died, his soul lived in our cottage thirteen days."
"How do you know?"
"For thirteen days there was a knocking in the stove."
"Well, all right. Go on," said the old man, and it could be seen that he 'did not believe a word of all that.
Near Kuzmenki the cart turned into the highroad while Lipa walked straight on. By now it was getting light. As she went down into the ravine the Ukleyevo houses and the church were hidden in fog. It was cold, and it seemed to her that the same cuckoo was calling still.
When Lipa reached home the cattle had not yet been driven out; everyone was asleep. She sat do^ on the steps and waited. The old man was the first to come out; he understood what had happened from the first glance at her, and for a long time he could not utter a word, but only smacked his lips.
"Oh, Lipa," he said, "you did not take care of my grandchild. . . ."
Varvara was awakened. She struck her hands to- gether and broke into sobs, and immediately began lay- ing out the baby.
"And he was a pretty child . . ." she said. "Oh, dear, dear. . . . You had the one child, and you did not take enough care of him, you silly thing. • • ."
There was a requiem service in the morning and again in the evening. The funeral took place the next day, and after it the guests and the priests ate a great deal, and with such greed that one might have thought that they had not tasted food for a long time. Lipa waited at table, and the priest, lifting his fork on which there was a salted mushroom, said to her:
"Don't grieve for the babe. For of such is the king- dom of Heaven."
And only when they had all left Lipa realized fully that there was no Nikifor and never would be, she real- ized it and broke into sobs. And she did not know what room to go into to sob, for she felt that now that her child was dead there was no place for her in the house, that she had no reason to be there, tha't she was in the way; and the others felt it, too.
"Now what are you bellowing for?" Aksinya shouted, suddenly appearing in the doorway; because of the fu- neral she was dressed all in new clothes and had pow- dered her face. "Shut up!"
Lipa tried to stop but could not, and sobbed louder than ever.
"Do you hear?" shouted Aksinya, and stamped her foot in violent anger. "Who is it I am speaking to? Get out of the house and don't set foot here again, you con- vict's wife. Get out."
"There, there, there," the old man put in fussily. "Aksinya, don't make such an outcry, my dear. . . . She is crying, it is only natural . . . her child is dead. ..."
" 'It's only natural,' " Aksinya mimicked him. "Let her stay the night here, and don't let me see a trace of her here tomorrow! 'It's only natural!' • . ," she mimicked him again, and, laughing, went into the shop.
Early the next morning Lipa went off to her mother at Torguyevo.
IX
The roof and the front door of the shop have now been repainted and are as bright as though they were new, there are gay geraniums in the windows as of old, and what happened in Tzybukin's house and yard three years ago is almost forgotten.
Grigory Petrovich is still looked upon as the master, but in reality everything has passed into Aksinya's hands; she buys and sells, and nothing can be done with- out her consent. The brickyard is working well; and as bricks are wanted for the railway the price has gone up to twenty-four rubles a thousand; peasant women and girls cart the bricks to the station and load them up in cars and earn a quarter-ruble a day for the work.
Aksinya has gone into partnership with the Hrymin Juniors, and their mill is now called Hrymin Juniors and Co. They have opened a tavern near the station, and now the expensive accordion is played not at the mill but at the tavern, and the postmaster, who is engaged in some sort of business, too, often goes there, and so does the stationmaster. Hrymin Juniors have presented the deaf man with a gold watch, and he is constantly taking it out of his pocket and putting it to his ear.
People say of Aksinya that she has become a person of power; and it is true that when she drives to her brick- yard in the morning, handsome and happy, with the naive smile on her face, and afterwards when she gives orders there, one is aware of her great power. Everyone is afraid of her in the house and in the village and in the brickyard. When she goes to the post the postmaster jumps up and says to her:
"I humbly beg you to be seated, Aksinya Abramovna!"
A certain landowner, middle-aged but foppish, in a tunic of fine cloth and high patent leather boots, sold her a horse, and was so carried away by talking to her that he knocked down the price to meet her wishes. He held her hand a long time and, looking into her merry, sly, naive eyes, said:
"For a woman like you, Aksinya Abramovna, I should be ready to do anything you please. Only say when we can meet where no one will interfere with us."
"\Vhy, whenever you like."
And since then the elderly fop has been driving up to the shop almost every day to drink beer. And the beer is horrid, bitter as wormwood. The landowner wags his head, but drinks it.
Olc;l Tzybukin does not have anything at all to do with the business now. He does not keep any money be- cause he cannot tell good from counterfeit coins, but he is silent, he says nothing of this weakness. He has be- come forgetful, and if they don't give him food he does not ask for it. They have grown used to having dinner without him, and Varvara often says:
"He went to bed again yesterday without eating any- thing."
And she says it unconcernedly because she is used to it. For some reason, summer and winter alike, he wears a fur coat, and only in very hot weather he does not go out but sits at home. As a rule he puts on his fur coat, wraps it round him, turns up his collar, and walks about the village, along the road to the station, or sits from morning till night on the seat near the church gates. He sits there without stirring. Passers-by bow to him, but he does not respond, for as of old he dislikes the peasants. If he is asked a question he answers quite rationally and politely, but briefly.
There is a rumor going about in the village that his daughter-in-law has turned him out of the house and gives him nothing to eat, and that he is fed by charitable folk; some are glad, others are sorry for him.
Varvara has gro^ even fatter and her skin whiter. and as before she is active in good works, and Aksinya does not interfere with her.
There is so much jam now that they have not time to eat it before the fresh fruit comes in; it goes sugary, and Varvara almost sheds tears, not knowing what to do with it.
They have begun to forget about Anisim. Some time ago there came a letter from him written in verse on a big sheet of paper as though it were a petition, all in the same splendid handwriting. Evidently his friend Samorodov was doing time with him. Under the verses in an ugly, scarcely legible handwriting there was a single line: "I am ill here all the time; I am wretched, for Christ's sake help me!"