Collected Shorter Fiction, Volume 2

‘We never saw anything of it. The Lord be thanked, our own hens started laying long ago. We collect our own eggs and have no need of other people’s! And we don’t go looking for eggs in other people’s yards, lass!’

The young woman was offended, and said more than she should have done. Her neighbour answered back with interest, and the women began abusing each other. Iván’s wife, who had been to fetch water, happening to pass just then, joined in too. Gabriel’s wife rushed out, and began reproaching the young woman with things that had really happened and with other things that never had happened at all. Then a general uproar commenced, all shouting at once, trying to get out two words at a time, and not choice words either.

‘You’re this!’ and ‘You’re that!’ ‘You’re a thief!’ and ‘You’re a slut!’ and ‘You’re starving your old father-in-law to death!’ and ‘You’re a good-for-nothing!’ and so on.

‘And you’ve made a hole in the sieve I lent you, you jade! And it’s our yoke you’re carrying your pails on – you just give back our yoke!’

Then they caught hold of the yoke, and spilt the water, snatched off one another’s shawls, and began fighting. Gabriel, returning from the fields, stopped to take his wife’s part. Out rushed Iván and his son, and joined in with the rest. Iván was a strong fellow; he scattered the whole lot of them, and pulled a handful of hair out of Gabriel’s beard. People came to see what was the matter, and the fighters were separated with difficulty.

That was how it all began.

Gabriel wrapped the hair torn from his beard in a paper, and went to the District Court to have the law on Iván. ‘I didn’t grow my beard,’ said he, ‘for pockmarked Iván to pull it out!’ And his wife went bragging to the neighbours, saying they’d have Iván condemned and sent to Siberia. And so the feud grew.

The old man, from where he lay on the top of the oven, tried from the very first to persuade them to make peace, but they would not listen. He told them, ‘It’s a stupid thing you are after, children, picking quarrels about such a paltry matter. Just think! The whole thing began about an egg. The children may have taken it – well, what matter? What’s the value of one egg? God sends enough for all! And suppose your neighbour did say an unkind word – put it right; show her how to say a better one! If there has been a fight – well, such things will happen; we’re all sinners, but make it up, and let there be an end of it! If you nurse your anger it will be worse for you yourselves.’

But the younger folk would not listen to the old man. They thought his words were mere senseless dotage. Iván would not humble himself before his neighbour.

‘I never pulled his beard,’ he said, ‘he pulled the hair out himself. But his son has burst all the fastenings on my shirt, and torn it.… Look at it!’

And Iván also went to law. They were tried by the Justice of the Peace and by the District Court. While all this was going on, the coupling-pin of Gabriel’s cart disappeared. Gabriel’s womenfolk accused Iván’s son of having taken it. They said: ‘We saw him in the night go past our window, towards the cart; and a neighbour says he saw him at the pub, offering the pin to the landlord.’

So they went to law about that. And at home not a day passed without a quarrel or even a fight. The children, too, abused one another, having learnt to do so from their elders; and when the women happened to meet by the river-side, where they went to rinse the clothes, their arms did not do as much wringing as their tongues did nagging, and every word was a bad one.

At first the peasants only slandered one another; but afterwards they began in real earnest to snatch anything that lay handy, and the children followed their example. Life became harder and harder for them. Iván Stcherbakóf and Limping Gabriel kept suing one another at the Village Assembly, and at the District Court, and before the Justice of the Peace, until all the judges were tired of them. Now Gabriel got Iván fined or imprisoned; then Iván did as much to Gabriel; and the more they spited each other the angrier they grew – like dogs that attack one another and get more and more furious the longer they fight. You strike one dog from behind, and it thinks it’s the other dog biting him, and gets still fiercer. So these peasants: they went to law, and one or other of them was fined or locked up, but that only made them more and more angry with each other. ‘Wait a bit,’ they said, ‘and I’ll make you pay for it.’ And so it went on for six years. Only the old man lying on the top of the oven kept telling them again and again: ‘Children, what are you doing? Stop all this paying back; keep to your work, and don’t bear malice – it will be better for you. The more you bear malice, the worse it will be.’

But they would not listen to him.