Michael Pearce - Dmitri and the One-Legged Lady

‘The carpenter,’ said Dmitri. ‘And you’re Nikita?’ he said to the other man.

‘Your Honour,’ managed the man, hardly able to speak.

‘He’s the carter,’ said Dmitri, ‘he brings logs in to the Monastery. And what do you take out?’ he asked the man.

‘Take out. Your Honour?’

‘He doesn’t take out anything,’ said the carpenter.

‘I saw some frames?’

‘Oh, those. It’s a bit of a sideline. Your Honour. When they’ve got a big job on. I sometimes help them out.’

‘What’s this?’ said Dmitri, looking at the contraption they were supporting.

‘It’s for the Old Lady, Your Honour. When she gets back.’

‘The Old Lady?’ said Volkov. ‘The Icon?’

‘That’s right, Your Honour. It’s for when they want to carry her. You see, she’s very big and heavy, and if you tried to lift her up on to your shoulders, so that everyone could get a good look at her, you’d never manage it. She’d be too much for you. So what I’ve done is build a frame, which makes it a bit easier. I’ve put a couple of long struts on the back so that those behind can take a bit of the weight –’

‘One of the struts needs a bit of work on it,’ said the carter, finding his voice. ‘Otherwise we won’t be able to carry her out at Easter.’

‘Out?’ said Volkov.

‘Yes, Your Honour. In the Easter processions, we go round all the villages and –’

‘Out?’ said Volkov. ‘You take her out?’

As they were leaving the Chapel, Father Kiril came towards them, eyes blazing.

‘Keep them in chains, I say,’ he said. ‘Keep them in chains!’

‘Oh, yes?’

‘That’s what you’ve got to do. Otherwise they’re up to no end of tricks. Down in the field, I’ve seen them. At it!’

‘Yes, well, –’

‘They’re all the same. Give them half a chance.’ He nodded towards the space on the iconostasis. ‘She’s no different.’

‘She?’

‘They took the chains off her. That was their mistake. She’s no different from any of the others. Take the chains off them and off they go. Down to the fields.’

‘Ye-es,’ said Volkov, edging away.

There was a sudden commotion at the gates. Old Grusha’s cart, on its way out, had skidded. The wheels had slipped round and into a snowdrift and now the cart was trapped against one of the posts.

‘It’s those damned fools there!’ Old Grusha was shouting, pointing at a group of pilgrims. ‘They wouldn’t get out of the way! You’ve got no more sense than the horse, you haven’t! Do you think it can skip around like you can when it’s pulling a bloody great wagon? You –’

‘Grusha, Grusha!’ chided Father Sergei, running out of the gate-house.

‘I’ll break their bloody necks!’ shouted Grusha, jumping down.

One of the pilgrims caught her.

‘Father –?’ he looked at Father Sergei.

‘Just get her out of the way!’ said another of the pilgrims. ‘We’ll sort this out in a second.’

Father Sergei took hold of the still-raging Grusha and began to pull her towards the gate-house.

‘Come on in here, Grusha, and warm up. There’s a nice bit of a fire in the stove –’

Gradually, he got her to calm down.

‘A spot of tea, Grusha, to warm the inside?’

‘I’d prefer a spot of something else.’

‘You’ve had that already!’ said Father Sergei sternly.

‘Me? Me? The horse, perhaps –’

Dmitri followed them into the gate-house. The old woman stopped, befuddled, in mid-shout, as the warmth hit her.

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