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Updated: June 28, 2025
His little short-legged nag set off, and sank up to its stomach in the drift at once. Kalashnikov was white all over with the snow, and soon vanished from sight with his horse. When Yergunov went back into the room, Lyubka was creeping about the floor picking up her beads; Merik was not there. "A splendid girl!" thought Yergunov, as he lay down on the bench and put his coat under his head.
"It was like this . . ." said Merik, and he laughed. "Filya carried off three horses from the Samoylenka tenants, and they pitched upon me.
The little lamp gave a last flicker, spluttered, and went out. Someone, it must have been Merik, came into the room and sat down on the bench. He puffed at his pipe, and for an instant lighted up a dark cheek with a patch on it. Yergunov's throat was irritated by the horrible fumes of the tobacco smoke. "What filthy tobacco you have got damnation take it!" said Yergunov.
"You are a fine set of fellows in Bogalyovka!" he said, and wagged his head. "In what way fine fellows?" enquired Kalashnikov. "Why, about horses, for instance. Fine fellows at stealing!" "H'm! fine fellows, you call them. Nothing but thieves and drunkards." "They have had their day, but it is over," said Merik, after a pause. "But now they have only Filya left, and he is blind."
"What about Merik?" asked Lyubka. "Merik is not one of us," said Kalashnikov. "He is a Harkov man from Mizhiritch. But that he is a bold fellow, that's the truth; there's no gainsaying that he is a fine fellow." Lyubka looked slily and gleefully at Merik, and said: "It wasn't for nothing they dipped him in a hole in the ice." "How was that?" asked Yergunov.
Merik gave himself the airs of a bravo. He saw that Lyubka and Kalashnikov were admiring him, and looked upon himself as a very fine fellow, and put his arms akimbo, squared his chest, or stretched so that the bench creaked under him. . . .
His sleepy face softened and a look of envy came into it. "Look, Merik," Lyubka said to him; "get me such horses and I will drive to heaven." "Sinners can't drive to heaven," said Kalashnikov. "That's for holiness."
The thread broke and the beads were scattered all over the floor, the green kerchief slipped off, and Lyubka was transformed into a red cloud flitting by and flashing black eyes, and it seemed as though in another second Merik's arms and legs would drop off. But finally Merik stamped for the last time, and stood still as though turned to stone.
I'll keep droves of horses and flocks of sheep. . . ." Lyubka made no answer, but only looked at him with a guilty air, and asked: "And is it nice in Kuban, Merik?" He said nothing, but went to the chest, sat down, and sank into thought; most likely he was dreaming of Kuban. "It's time for me to be going," said Kalashnikov, getting up. "Filya must be waiting for me. Goodbye, Lyuba."
The light before the holy images flickered so much that it hurt his eyes, and patches of light danced on the ceiling, on the floor, and on the cupboard, and among them he had visions of Lyubka, buxom, full-bosomed: now she was turning round like a top, now she was exhausted and breathless. . . . "Oh, if the devils would carry off that Merik," he thought.
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