Vladimir Sorokin - The Blizzard

The miller was nowhere to be seen.

“He’s still sleeping,” she said, as though she’d read the doctor’s mind. “Got a hangover. Eat up.”

She set a plate of blini in front of him and slid the honeypot over. The doctor began eating the delicious, warm blini. Crouper entered the room and stopped at the door. He was dressed for the road and held his hat in hand.

“There’s our hero…,” the doctor grumbled. He swallowed a piece of pancake and almost shouted:

“Why didn’t you wake me?”

Crouper smiled his birdlike smile:

“How’s that I didn’t wake ye? Went right upstairs come first light.”

“And…?”

“I says: Doctor, time to go. And you says: Let me sleep.”

The miller’s wife laughed and poured tea into her saucer.

“That’s impossible!” The doctor banged his fist on the table.

“As the Lord’s my witness,” Crouper said, waving his hat toward the icon.

“Well then, that means you were having a good sleep.” The miller’s wife blew on the tea in the saucer.

The doctor met her pleasant eyes and glanced at the other people in the room, as though seeking their support. Avdotia was busy at the oven, looking for all the world like she knew everything that had happened the night before, and her husband was sitting in the corner with a sort of ambiguous smile on his face, it seemed to the doctor.

“How could they possibly know?” he thought. “Ah, to hell with them…”

“You could have given me a shake,” the doctor said a bit more softly, realizing that he was going to be driving all the way to Dolgoye with this fellow.

“Cain’t worry someone who’s sleeping. It’s a pity.” Crouper stood, holding his hat in two hands over his stomach.

“Of course it’s a pity,” said the miller’s wife with smiling eyes, as she sipped tea from her saucer.

“What about the sled?” the doctor said, to change the subject.

“Fixed it. We’ll get there.”

“You wouldn’t have a phone, would you?” the doctor asked the miller’s wife.

“We do, but it doesn’t work in winter.” She dunked a sugar cube into the saucer and put it in her mouth.

“Very well, I’ll finish my tea and come out,” the doctor said to Crouper, as though dismissing him. Crouper left silently.

The doctor ate his blini, washing them down with tea.

“Tell me, this blackness, where’d it come from?” asked the miller’s wife as she rolled the piece of sugar around in her mouth and slurped her tea.

“From Bolivia,” said the doctor with distaste.

“From so far? How’d that happen? Someone brought it?”

“Someone brought it.”

She shook her head:

“My, my. But how do they rise from the grave in winter? I mean, the ground is frozen through and through.”

“The virus transforms the human body, making the muscles considerably stronger,” the doctor muttered, glancing aside.

“Markovna, them’s got claws like a bear’s!” the worker suddenly said in a loud voice. “I seen it on the radio: they can crawl through earth, through the floor if’n they wants, like moles. They get through and rip people to shreds!”

Avdotia crossed herself.

The miller’s wife set the saucer on the table, sighed, and also crossed herself. Her face grew serious and immediately seemed heavier and less attractive.

“Doctor, now you make sure to be careful out there,” she said.

Platon Ilich nodded. His nose was red from drinking tea. He retrieved his handkerchief and wiped his lips.

“They’s mighty vicious.” The worker shook his head.

“The Lord is merciful,” said the miller’s wife, her chest heaving.

“Time for me to go,” said the doctor, squeezing his fists and rising from the table. “I thank you for your hospitality.”

He bowed his head slightly.

“Always welcome.” The miller’s wife rose and bowed to him.

The doctor went over to the coatrack, and Avdotia awkwardly tried to help him put on his coat. The miller’s wife came over and stood nearby, her arms crossed.

“Farewell,” nodded the doctor as he put on his fur hat and pulled the earflaps down.

“Goodbye,” she said, bowing her head.

He walked out into the courtyard. The sled was already there, and Crouper sat holding the reins. Someone was busy in the barn, and the gates were open wide. The doctor looked at the sky: overcast, windy, but no snow.

“Thank God.” The doctor took out his cigarette case, lit up, and began to settle in. Crouper waited until he was wrapped and buttoned up; then he smacked his lips and jerked the reins. Inside the hood the doctor could hear snorting and the already familiar clatter of tiny hooves. The sled set off and Crouper took hold of the steering rod.

“You know the road?” asked the doctor, inhaling the invigorating cigarette smoke with pleasure.

“There ain’t but one hereabouts.”

The sled moved slowly out of the courtyard, the runners squeaking.

“How much farther?” The doctor tried to remember.

“Roundabout nine versts. The road’ll take us through New Forest, then there’s Old Market, then there’s fields—a baby could make it ’cross.”

“Drive safely!” came a familiar female voice.

The miller’s wife stood on the porch.

The doctor silently waved his hat, holding it by the earflap, which was rather awkward, and Crouper smiled and waved his mitten:

“S’long Markovna!”

The miller’s wife watched them as they moved farther and farther away.

“She’s an interesting woman, I have to admit,” thought the doctor. “How quickly everything happened … But did I want it to? Yes, I did. And I don’t regret a thing…”

“The miller’s got hisself a good woman.” Crouper smiled.

The doctor nodded.

“Luck, that’s what,” said Crouper thoughtfully, pushing his hat back off his forehead. “Like they says, ‘On lucky days, even a rooster lays.’ So there ye go: one fellow’s kind and loving, but luck don’t shine on him. Then some drunk with a foul mouth catches hisself a wife of gold.”

“But how did that drunk manage to get the mill?”

“He got lucky.”

“How so? The mill just fell straight from heaven?”

“Don’t know ’bout heaven, but his papa, he’s one of the little fellers, too, made hisself a fortune on taxes and bought that mill, and put his son in it. And that was that.”

The doctor had nothing to add, and for that matter, he didn’t feel like chatting with Crouper first thing in the morning.

“Markovna, she does all the work. He just shouts at everthin’ in sight.”

“Ah, to hell with him…” the doctor said, putting an end to the conversation.

Speeding along the riverbank, where the night before they’d trudged behind the broken sled, they passed willows and haystacks. They moved along smoothly at a clip, and the fresh, untouched snow whooshed softly under the runners. Soon, that same bridge appeared. Crouper kept to the left, turning onto the road. Though covered in new-fallen snow, it was quite discernible.

“How d’ye like that, ain’t nobody passed by after us!” Crouper nodded at the road. “All gone and hid ’emselves from the blizzard.”

“Maybe they drove by and then the tracks were covered.”

“Don’t look like it.”

The sled moved swiftly along the road. Bushes, bushes, and more bushes began to appear. The wind blew at their backs, giving the sled some help.

“Zilberstein is probably cursing me. But what could I do? There isn’t even a telephone here. ‘It doesn’t work in winter!’ Ridiculous! Nine—no, eight—versts now. Getting closer … I’ll start the vaccinations straightaway, the delay won’t matter…”