Just three years ago I saw the lowly town clerk and district scribe shell out no less than six rubles a yard for some blue crepe de chine; the sexton, I’ve heard, commissioned wide nankeen shalwar pants and a striped worsted vest for the summer. What can I say? Every living creature wants to get on in the world, and the devil was no exception. The most grating aspect of his vile behavior was that he obviously fancied himself a sharp-looking fellow, whereas in truth it hurt one’s eyes to look at him. But then the sky and everything below it grew so hopelessly dark that we couldn’t tell you what happened between the handsome couple.
* * *
“So, kum,* you haven’t seen the deacon’s new place yet?” Chub addressed the tall, thin peasant in a short sheepskin, whose stubble hadn’t been touched for at least two weeks by the piece of scythe that muzhiks use for a razor. “We’ll have us a nice party there, I bet. I just don’t want to be late.” Chub tightened his belt, pulled down his hat, picked up his riding crop—the chief enemy of the idle village dogs—and was about to step off the porch when the sudden blackness stopped him in his tracks.
“What the . . . Look, Panas, the moon’s gone.”
“So it is,” kum agreed phlegmatically.
“Right, and you just accept it, like that’s the way it should be?”
“Well, what else can I do about it?”
“What devil has done this to the moon, I want to know? May he never have a shot of vodka in the morning,” Chub cursed, wiping his moustache. “As if to mock us! I checked right before going out—a beautiful night, brighter than daylight. Now I put one foot out the door, and it’s as if I’ve gone blind.”
Chub grumbled for a while, considering the next step. He was dying to have a good chat with the deacon’s other guests: Mikita the tar trader, for one, who traveled to Poltava every two weeks and brought back such jokes that all villagers split their sides from laughter. A full bottle of spiced vodka also caressed his imagination. The overall picture was very tempting, but the blackness of the night provoked his bottomless laziness, and he pictured even more vividly his warm cot and himself in it, smoking a pipe and listening through the doze to the carolers outside. If he had been alone he would have stayed, without a doubt, but kum’s presence made such an obvious display of laziness rather awkward. Chub finished cursing and addressed his kum again. “So no moon, eh?”
“None.”
“Wonders. Can I have a pinch of your snuff? Such nice tobacco you always have; where do you buy it?”
“Nice? Wouldn’t make an old chicken sneeze,” kum complained, closing his bark snuffbox.
“I remember old innkeeper Zozulia once brought tobacco from Nezhin. What a tobacco it was! So, what shall we do, kum? Dark outside.”
“Let’s stay in,” kum decided, and placed a hand on the door.
If kum hadn’t said that, Chub would have certainly stayed, but now he just had to do the opposite. He took a decisive step off the porch. Immediately he regretted it but consoled himself that at least he had made the decision. Kum expressed no disappointment or surprise; he just sighed, scratched his back with a stick, and the two kums set off for the deacon’s.
* * *
Now, let’s see what Chub’s beautiful daughter is up to.
Oksana wasn’t yet seventeen. The whole world—that is, both sides of Dikanka—talked about her beauty. Young men followed her in hordes, and even if she wore a potato sack she would have outshined all other girls. Oksana knew her reputation and behaved accordingly. Little by little her admirers lost patience and settled for less unattainable objects—all except Vakula, who continued his pursuit despite being treated as badly as the rest.
After her father left, Oksana sat for a long time at her little mirror, transfixed by her charming reflection. “Why did people decide to call me pretty? They just made it up; I’m not pretty at all.” But the fresh face in the mirror with its shining black eyes and a charming smirk immediately proved the opposite. “Still, do they really think my eyes have no equals? And my lips? My nose? And what’s so good about my raven braids? At night one might get scared by the way they wrap around my head like two serpents. No, I know I’m not beautiful at all.” But the stunning reflection caught her eye again. “Of course I’m beautiful! How happy I’ll make my husband! He’ll forget himself, he’ll choke me with kisses.”
“Incredible,” Vakula said to himself, entering the house quietly. “For a whole hour she’s been staring at herself and still hasn’t had enough.”
“Is there anyone worthy of my beauty among those clowns?” Oksana continued. “Look how gracefully I walk, look at the ribbons in my hair, look at the rich gold braid my father bought me so I could marry the first among men!” At this she smirked again, turned around, and saw Vakula.
1 comment