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which stretched the length of the whole wall and consisted of a dirty
feather…bed； coarse grey pillows； a quilt； and nameless rags of various
sorts。 The bed was a shapeless ugly mass which suggested the shock of
hair that always stood up on Savely's head whenever it occurred to him to
oil it。 From the bed to the door that led into the cold outer room stretched
the dark stove surrounded by pots and hanging clouts。 Everything；
including the absent Savely himself； was dirty； greasy； and smutty to the
last degree； so that it was strange to see a woman's white neck and delicate
skin in such surroundings。
Raissa ran up to the bed； stretched out her hands as though she wanted
to fling it all about； stamp it underfoot； and tear it to shreds。 But then； as
though frightened by contact with the dirt； she leapt back and began
pacing up and down again。
When Savely returned two hours later； worn out and covered with
snow； she was undressed and in bed。 Her eyes were closed； but from the
slight tremor that ran over her face he guessed that she was not asleep。 On
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his way home he had vowed inwardly to wait till next day and not to touch
her； but he could not resist a biting taunt at her。
〃Your witchery was all in vain： he's gone off；〃 he said； grinning with
malignant joy。
His wife remained mute； but her chin quivered。 Savely undressed
slowly； clambered over his wife； and lay down next to the wall。
〃To…morrow I'll let Father Nikodim know what sort of wife you are！〃
he muttered； curling himself up。
Raissa turned her face to him and her eyes gleamed。
〃The job's enough for you； and you can look for a wife in the forest；
blast you！〃 she said。 〃I am no wife for you； a clumsy lout； a slug…a…bed；
God forgive me！〃
〃Come； come 。 。 。 go to sleep！〃
〃How miserable I am！〃 sobbed his wife。 〃If it weren't for you； I might
have married a merchant or some gentleman！ If it weren't for you； I should
love my husband now！ And you haven't been buried in the snow； you
haven't been frozen on the highroad； you Herod！〃
Raissa cried for a long time。 At last she drew a deep sigh and was still。
The storm still raged without。 Something wailed in the stove； in the
chimney； outside the walls； and it seemed to Savely that the wailing was
within him； in his ears。 This evening had completely confirmed him in his
suspicions about his wife。 He no longer doubted that his wife； with the aid
of the Evil One； controlled the winds and the post sledges。 But to add to
his grief； this mysteriousness； this supernatural； weird power gave the
woman beside him a peculiar； incomprehensible charm of which he had
not been conscious before。 The fact that in his stupidity he unconsciously
threw a poetic glamour over her made her seem； as it were； whiter； sleeker；
more unapproachable。
〃Witch！〃 he muttered indignantly。 〃Tfoo； horrid creature！〃
Yet； waiting till she was quiet and began breathing evenly； he touched
her head with his finger 。 。 。 held her thick plait in his hand for a minute。
She did not feel it。 Then he grew bolder and stroked her neck。
〃Leave off！〃 she shouted； and prodded him on the nose with her elbow
with such violence that he saw stars before his eyes。
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THE WITCH AND OTHER STORIES
The pain in his nose was soon over； but the torture in his heart
remained。
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PEASANT WIVES
IN the village of Reybuzh； just facing the church； stands a two…
storeyed house with a stone foundation and an iron roof。 In the lower
storey the owner himself； Filip Ivanov Kashin； nicknamed Dyudya； lives
with his family； and on the upper floor； where it is apt to be very hot in
summer and very cold in winter； they put up government officials；
merchants； or landowners； who chance to be travelling that way。 Dyudya
rents some bits of land； keeps a tavern on the highroad； does a trade in tar；
honey； cattle； and jackdaws； and has already something like eight thousand
roubles put by in the bank in the town。
His elder son； Fyodor； is head engineer in the factory； and； as the
peasants say of him； he has risen so high in the world that he is quite out
of reach now。 Fyodor's wife； Sofya； a plain； ailing woman； lives at home at
her father…in…law's。 She is for ever crying； and every Sunday she goes over
to the hospital for medicine。 Dyudya's second son； the hunchback
Alyoshka； is living at home at his father's。 He has only lately been married
to Varvara； whom they singled out for him from a poor family。 She is a
handsome young woman； smart and buxom。 When officials or merchants
put up at the house； they always insist on having Varvara to bring in the
samovar and make their beds。
One June evening when the sun was setting and the air was full of the
smell of hay； of steaming dung…heaps and new milk； a plain…looking cart
drove into Dyudya's yard with three people in it： a man of about thirty in a
canvas suit； beside him a little boy of seven or eight in a long black coat
with big bone buttons； and on the driver's seat a young fellow in a red
shirt。
The young fellow took out the horses and led them out into the street
to walk them up and down a bit； while the traveller washed； said a prayer；
turning towards the church； then spread a rug near the cart and sat down
with the boy to supper。 He ate without haste； sedately； and Dyudya； who
had seen a good many travellers in his time； knew him from his manners
for a businesslike man； serious and aware of his own value。
Dyudya was sitting on the step in his waistcoat without a cap on；
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waiting for the visitor to speak first。 He was used to hearing all kinds of
stories from the travellers in the evening； and he liked listening to them
before going to bed。 His old wife； Afanasyevna； and his daughter…in…law
Sofya； were milking in the cowshed。 The other daughter…in…law； Varvara；
was sitting at the open window of the upper storey； eating sunflower seeds。
〃The little chap will be your son； I'm thinking？〃 Dyudya asked the
traveller。
〃No； adopted。 An orphan。 I took him for my soul's salvation。〃
They got into conversation。 The stranger seemed to be a man fond of
talking and ready of speech； and Dyudya learned from him that he was
from the town； was of the tradesman class； and had a house of his own；
that his name was Matvey Savitch； that he was on his way now to look at
some gardens that he was renting from some German colonists； and that
the boy's name was Kuzka。 The evening was hot and close； no one felt
inclined for sleep。 When it was getting dark and pale stars began to
twinkle here and there in the sky； Matvey Savitch began to tell how he had
come by Kuzka。 Afanasyevna and Sofya stood a little way off； listening。
Kuzka had gone to the gate。
〃It's a complicated story； old man；〃 began Matvey Savitch； 〃and if I
were to tell you all just as it happened； it would take all night and more。
Ten years ago in a little house in our street； next door to me； where now
there's a tallow and oil factory； there was living an old widow； Marfa
Semyonovna Kapluntsev； and she had two sons： one was a guard on the
railway； but the other； Vasya； who was just my own age； lived at home
with his mother。 Old Kapluntsev had kept five pair of horses and sent
carriers all over the town； his widow had not given up the business； but
managed the carriers as well as her husband had done； so that some days
they would bring in as much as five roubles from their rounds。
〃The young fellow； too； made a trifle on his own account。 He used to
breed fancy pigeons and sell them to fanciers； at times he would stand for
hours on the roof； waving a broom in the air and whistling； his pigeons
were right up in the clouds； but it wasn't enough for him；