Tatyana Tolstaya - The Slynx

But Olenka laughed softly. "I'm not your wife, am I?…"

"But in the decree…"

"And without the decree?…"

Benedikt started sweating again: here it was, Women's Day, Woman's Holiday, that's what it was all about… Oh, that Fyodor Kuzmich, Glorybe… Just wait, next thing she'd be inviting him for bliny…

"… And without the Decree you mean there's no happiness in life?"

"Olenka… Olenka, I want happiness in life without the decree…"

"Well then?"

"I offer you my hand, heart, and pudendal," whispered Benedikt. He didn't expect such fine, frightening words from himself: they just leapt out of him.

"I accept," whispered Olenka.

"You accept?!"

"I accept… I accept it all…"

They sat in silence for a moment… What else was there to say… His heart was jumping… Oy, he did it!… He did it! What a day!

Glorybe to Fyodor Kuzmich!

So it's farewell to the bachelor life! You didn't sow your wild oats for very long, Benedikt Karpich! But that's just fine! Time to settle down. Benedikt ran home: it was still early, the coals in the stove hadn't gone out, he had to collect them and fire up the bath… Whew! He hadn't bathed since last year! In the new style, that is. January first used to be the New Year, but now they'd moved it, it turns out… He ran, nodded to women he met along the way-not his habit, but today you had to. He shouted out congratulations. He wished them all happiness in life. Nikita Ivanich trundled by, lugging a log-and Benedikt shouted to him, jokingly: "A peaceful sky above your head, Nikita Ivanich! No rain, nothing!" The old man jerked, turned around, and spat on the ground. Aha, he's thinking Benedikt took him for a woman!… But it was just a joke!

Olenka lives in a different settlement… not in ours… We're way over here, and she's right there. They agreed that he'd visit her on the May Holiday to meet her parents. Let's hope the weather will be good, bright… A peaceful sky overhead!… Not like today: lots of mud and a freezing rain…

He ran past a sleigh stuck in the mud: hopeless to travel in this weather. Three furry Degenerators stood on the roadside: a troika. They were resting with their boots off, smoking rusht, grinning at the Golubchiks. When they saw Benedikt they burst into laughter. "Running away from a heart attack, are you?…"

"If he don't catch up, at least he'll warm up!"

"Faster, faster, they'll close the garage!"

Shameless beasts. They harass people. But it's not worth paying them back in kind: they swear a sight better than we do. No one gets involved with them, not with Degenerators.

From hill to hill, along the lanes, sometimes through gardens, scrambling under a fence for a shortcut, Benedikt ran all the way home, threw open the bolts, rushed into the izba, flung open the stove damper: the coals are smoldering! Smoldering, Golubchik! He made it in time! Put in a little rusht, some firewood, bark chips; blow on the fire, let it play for a while; and as soon as it catches, take it to the bathhouse. Haul the water, find the branches from last year that were in the shed somewhere. There ought to be a brand-new washcloth… it was here… Now if he were married, he'd run home from work-and everything would be ready, the spiders swept away, the branches steamed up. Yes, but married men can't really go visiting women… "Where are you going, Benedikt? It's nighttime." "Well, you see… I have to… to talk about art…" "We know your art!… Huh! A real artful one you are." And she'd take the branches and thrash him six ways from Sunday… Would he and Olenka really fight like that? Nooo. Everything would be fine between them-otherwise, what was the point?

You'd get home-everything's ready, only you wouldn't have the same freedom. Well, so what. But his wife was a real beauty! And freedom-well, what's freedom… Right now he was free, but he couldn't find the washcloth-could they really have pinched it? No, he was in luck again: he found the cloth in the bathhouse under a stone; a little moldy, but he found it. What a day today: everything is working out.

He sat and enjoyed the steam, rubbed himself all over with the washcloth, beat himself red with the branches, and inspected his body from every angle his eyes could reach: gorgeous! If a neighbor glanced in the window right now, he'd be envious. Benedikt even envied himself. No wonder the women praised him: "Marvelously developed, we expect a lot from you!" Just wait, I'll dry off and-I'm all yours. Would all six be there, or what? Never mind, God willing, I'll manage! They sit on top of each other… whew!

He scraped the coals in a pile: maybe they'd last longer that way. Probably not till morning, though. He could get some coals from Varvara. But why? In the morning he had to go to work, anyway. Oh, what a lot of fuss and bother! Benedikt scattered the coals again: God forbid there should be a fire. It was a tricky thing, fire: if it went out, you might as well lie down and die; if it flared up too much, it would burn everything right down to the ground like nothing was ever there! That's fire for you. It's skittish. It needs food, it's always hungry, just like a man. Gimme, gimme, gimme! But if you overfeed it, it'll gobble you up.

If there's a fire somewhere, the Golubchiks come running from all around, from all the settlements, sometimes from the farthest reaches. A huge crowd gathers like on the October Holiday. They surround the burning house and stand there, arms folded on their chests, watching… No one talks out loud, they just whisper: "Yikes, look at that pillar of flame…" "Look, look, over there the corner's caught!"… And the flames rush and tear about, not exactly like pillars, but like a tree, like the jeopard tree in spring-it dances and hums, twists and turns, but stays put. You turn to look at the Golubchiks: they stand there staring and the fire dances in their eyes too, it's reflected like in water, it splashes. The crowd has a thousand eyes, and water and fire lap in each and every one, like dawn rising on the river. It makes you feel strange and wild inside, no mistake, water and fire don't mix, but here they are together!

And if there's Oldeners nearby, they run back and forth tearing at their hair and shouting: "Put it out! Put out the fire!" But how? How can you put it out? You can put out a little flame with a bucket of water, but if the fire has showed its strength, that's it. All you can do is wait till it's over.

If the other izbas don't catch that's lucky. When the fire has eaten everything and starts to die down and settle, the Golubchiks move in with buckets, pots, whatever they've got, to collect coals to take home. Maybe their stove is warm, anyway-it doesn't matter. No point in letting good coals go to waste.

Sometimes a whole settlement burns. Well, you just have to start life all over again.

Spic and span and pleased with himself, Benedikt knocked on Varvara's door. She opened it, all decked out, and sweaty.

"Oh, it's you. How nice. What is this you've brought? Rusht? You needn't have gone to all that trouble…"

He looked around: there weren't any other frolickers there yet. He could wait. The table was set. There were two bowls and two spoons. A pot of soup.

"Have a seat. I'll be right there." She took a griddle of mice out of the oven. "I think they're done."

"Stick them with a splinter."

"That's it. They're done. Fresh, I caught them today."

"Great."

They poured some rusht. Took a bite.

"To your health."

They poured some more. It went down smooth.

"What lovely rusht. It has such a distinctive bouquet."

"I know where to pick it."

"And where is that, if it's not a secret?"

"In the bog. Behind the Cockynork settlement."

"Near the Garden Ring?"

"That's right."