The inn lady said not a word, and the other woman went on teasing her flax. “What was that for?” I asked. “Don’t go poking your nose in where you’re not wanted,” the tradesman said, and landed me one on the other ear to match. Well, I thought, I’ve got nothing to lose, and I swung round and socked him one on the back of his neck. Knocked him fair and square under the table, I did. When he crawled out from under it he was groaning fit to burst. He pushed his hair back with one hand and then made straight for the bottle. “Do you want to meet your end right here and now?” he said. I saw that no one was saying anything, and that his mate was saying nothing either. “No,” I said, “I don’t want to meet my end.” “All right, drink some vodka, then,” he said. “I don’t want to drink your vodka either,” I replied. “Drink!” he said. “The Father Superior won’t see, he won’t make you do penance.” “I don’t want any vodka.” “Well, go to the Devil then; pay for what you’ve drunk and go to bed.” “How much do I owe you?” I said. “All you’ve got,” he replied. “Ours is expensive stuff, lad – it’s called ‘the bitter Russian lot’, and it’s made from tears, water, pepper and the hearts of sons-of-bitches.” I tried to make a joke out of it, but it was no good; no sooner had I taken my purse out than the tradesman snatched it from me and flung it over the partition. “Right, now, off you go to bed, monk,” he said. “Where am I to sleep?” I asked. “The deaf woman’ll show you,” he replied. “Show him where he’s to sleep!” he shouted to the woman who was teasing flax. I followed her into the passage, and from there out into the courtyard. It was a beautiful night, just like tonight – the Great Bear was gleaming in the sky and a breeze was playing in the woods like a squirrel. I was really beginning to long for my nice, quiet life in the monastery, but the woman opened the door to the cellar storeroom for me – “In you go, you sickly creature,” she said; then she left. It was almost as if she felt sorry for me. I went in and felt around inside – there seemed to be something piled up in there, but what it was I couldn’t make out. I felt the centre-post. “I’ve got nothing to lose,” I thought – and I climbed up it. I got up as far as the ceiling beam and the lower roof beam, and began to move the rafters apart. My hands were soon rubbed raw, but I gradually managed to move five of the rafters. I began to dig my way through the straw thatching – and then suddenly I saw the stars. I continued my labours, made a hole, threw my bag out of it first, then crossed myself and finally somersaulted out myself.