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Updated: May 13, 2025
"That old man, the one with the bundle, a house-serf of General Zhukov's.... He was cook at our general's, God rest his soul! He came over this evening: 'Let me stay the night, says he.... Well, we had a glass, to be sure.... The wife got the samovar she was going to give the old fellow a cup of tea, and in an unlucky hour she set the samovar in the entrance.
Yes... yes.... The writing-table and the mahogany cupboard here were made for my father by a self-taught cabinet-maker Glyeb Butyga, a serf of General Zhukov's. Yes... a great artist in his own way." Listlessly and in the tone of a man dropping asleep, he began telling me about cabinet-maker Butyga. I listened.
And Granny told them something, too. She remembered everything, positively everything. And remembering all this, Granny positively began to shed tears. All at once someone knocked at the door, and they all started. "Uncle Osip, give me a night's lodging." The little bald old man, General Zhukov's cook, the one whose cap had been burnt, walked in.
And the larks trilled unceasingly, the corncrakes called to one another, and the landrail cried as though someone were really scraping at an old iron rail. At midday Olga and Sasha reached a big village. There in the broad street they met the little old man who was General Zhukov's cook. He was hot, and his red, perspiring bald head shone in the sunshine.
As they separated, the peasants laughed and made jokes about General Zhukov's cook and his cap which had been burnt; they already wanted to turn the fire into a joke, and even seemed sorry that it had so soon been put out. "How well you extinguished the fire, sir!" said Olga to the student. "You ought to come to us in Moscow: there we have a fire every day."
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