My Ántonia

by Willa Cather

  III

  ON Sunday morning Otto Fuchs was to drive us over to make the acquaintanceof our new Bohemian neighbors. We were taking them some provisions, asthey had come to live on a wild place where there was no garden orchicken-house, and very little broken land. Fuchs brought up a sack ofpotatoes and a piece of cured pork from the cellar, and grandmother packedsome loaves of Saturday's bread, a jar of butter, and several pumpkin piesin the straw of the wagon-box. We clambered up to the front seat andjolted off past the little pond and along the road that climbed to the bigcornfield.

  I could hardly wait to see what lay beyond that cornfield; but there wasonly red grass like ours, and nothing else, though from the highwagon-seat one could look off a long way. The road ran about like a wildthing, avoiding the deep draws, crossing them where they were wide andshallow. And all along it, wherever it looped or ran, the sunflowers grew;some of them were as big as little trees, with great rough leaves and manybranches which bore dozens of blossoms. They made a gold ribbon across theprairie. Occasionally one of the horses would tear off with his teeth aplant full of blossoms, and walk along munching it, the flowers nodding intime to his bites as he ate down toward them.

  The Bohemian family, grandmother told me as we drove along, had bought thehomestead of a fellow-countryman, Peter Krajiek, and had paid him morethan it was worth. Their agreement with him was made before they left theold country, through a cousin of his, who was also a relative of Mrs.Shimerda. The Shimerdas were the first Bohemian family to come to thispart of the county. Krajiek was their only interpreter, and could tellthem anything he chose. They could not speak enough English to ask foradvice, or even to make their most pressing wants known. One son, Fuchssaid, was well-grown, and strong enough to work the land; but the fatherwas old and frail and knew nothing about farming. He was a weaver bytrade; had been a skilled workman on tapestries and upholstery materials.He had brought his fiddle with him, which would n't be of much use here,though he used to pick up money by it at home.

  "If they're nice people, I hate to think of them spending the winter inthat cave of Krajiek's," said grandmother. "It's no better than a badgerhole; no proper dugout at all. And I hear he's made them pay twentydollars for his old cookstove that ain't worth ten."

  "Yes'm," said Otto; "and he's sold 'em his oxen and his two bony oldhorses for the price of good work-teams. I'd have interfered about thehorses--the old man can understand some German--if I'd 'a' thought it woulddo any good. But Bohemians has a natural distrust of Austrians."

  Grandmother looked interested. "Now, why is that, Otto?"

  Fuchs wrinkled his brow and nose. "Well, ma'm, it's politics. It wouldtake me a long while to explain."

  The land was growing rougher; I was told that we were approaching SquawCreek, which cut up the west half of the Shimerdas' place and made theland of little value for farming. Soon we could see the broken, grassyclay cliffs which indicated the windings of the stream, and the glitteringtops of the cottonwoods and ash trees that grew down in the ravine. Someof the cottonwoods had already turned, and the yellow leaves and shiningwhite bark made them look like the gold and silver trees in fairy tales.

  As we approached the Shimerdas' dwelling, I could still see nothing butrough red hillocks, and draws with shelving banks and long roots hangingout where the earth had crumbled away. Presently, against one of thosebanks, I saw a sort of shed, thatched with the same wine-colored grassthat grew everywhere. Near it tilted a shattered windmill-frame, that hadno wheel. We drove up to this skeleton to tie our horses, and then I saw adoor and window sunk deep in the draw-bank. The door stood open, and awoman and a girl of fourteen ran out and looked up at us hopefully. Alittle girl trailed along behind them. The woman had on her head the sameembroidered shawl with silk fringes that she wore when she had alightedfrom the train at Black Hawk. She was not old, but she was certainly notyoung. Her face was alert and lively, with a sharp chin and shrewd littleeyes. She shook grandmother's hand energetically.

  "Very glad, very glad!" she ejaculated. Immediately she pointed to thebank out of which she had emerged and said, "House no good, house nogood!"

  Grandmother nodded consolingly. "You'll get fixed up comfortable afterwhile, Mrs. Shimerda; make good house."

  My grandmother always spoke in a very loud tone to foreigners, as if theywere deaf. She made Mrs. Shimerda understand the friendly intention of ourvisit, and the Bohemian woman handled the loaves of bread and even smelledthem, and examined the pies with lively curiosity, exclaiming, "Much good,much thank!"--and again she wrung grandmother's hand.

  The oldest son, Ambroz,--they called it Ambrosch,--came out of the cave andstood beside his mother. He was nineteen years old, short andbroad-backed, with a close-cropped, flat head, and a wide, flat face. Hishazel eyes were little and shrewd, like his mother's, but more sly andsuspicious; they fairly snapped at the food. The family had been living oncorncakes and sorghum molasses for three days.

  The little girl was pretty, but An-tonia-- they accented the name thus,strongly, when they spoke to her--was still prettier. I remembered what theconductor had said about her eyes. They were big and warm and full oflight, like the sun shining on brown pools in the wood. Her skin wasbrown, too, and in her cheeks she had a glow of rich, dark color. Herbrown hair was curly and wild-looking. The little sister, whom they calledYulka (Julka), was fair, and seemed mild and obedient. While I stoodawkwardly confronting the two girls, Krajiek came up from the barn to seewhat was going on. With him was another Shimerda son. Even from a distanceone could see that there was something strange about this boy. As heapproached us, he began to make uncouth noises, and held up his hands toshow us his fingers, which were webbed to the first knuckle, like a duck'sfoot. When he saw me draw back, he began to crow delightedly, "Hoo,hoo-hoo, hoo-hoo!" like a rooster. His mother scowled and said sternly,"Marek!" then spoke rapidly to Krajiek in Bohemian.

  "She wants me to tell you he won't hurt nobody, Mrs. Burden. He was bornlike that. The others are smart. Ambrosch, he make good farmer." He struckAmbrosch on the back, and the boy smiled knowingly.

  At that moment the father came out of the hole in the bank. He wore nohat, and his thick, iron-gray hair was brushed straight back from hisforehead. It was so long that it bushed out behind his ears, and made himlook like the old portraits I remembered in Virginia. He was tall andslender, and his thin shoulders stooped. He looked at us understandingly,then took grandmother's hand and bent over it. I noticed how white andwell-shaped his own hands were. They looked calm, somehow, and skilled.His eyes were melancholy, and were set back deep under his brow. His facewas ruggedly formed, but it looked like ashes--like something from whichall the warmth and light had died out. Everything about this old man wasin keeping with his dignified manner. He was neatly dressed. Under hiscoat he wore a knitted gray vest, and, instead of a collar, a silk scarfof a dark bronze-green, carefully crossed and held together by a red coralpin. While Krajiek was translating for Mr. Shimerda, Antonia came up to meand held out her hand coaxingly. In a moment we were running up the steepdrawside together, Yulka trotting after us.

  When we reached the level and could see the gold tree-tops, I pointedtoward them, and Antonia laughed and squeezed my hand as if to tell me howglad she was I had come. We raced off toward Squaw Creek and did not stopuntil the ground itself stopped--fell away before us so abruptly that thenext step would have been out into the tree-tops. We stood panting on theedge of the ravine, looking down at the trees and bushes that grew belowus. The wind was so strong that I had to hold my hat on, and the girls'skirts were blown out before them. Antonia seemed to like it; she held herlittle sister by the hand and chattered away in that language which seemedto me spoken so much more rapidly than mine. She looked at me, her eyesfairly blazing with things she could not say.

  "Name? What name?" she asked, touching me on the shoulder. I told her myname, and she repeated it after me and made Yulka say it. She pointed intothe gold cottonwood tree behind whose top we stood and said again, "W
hatname?"

  We sat down and made a nest in the long red grass. Yulka curled up like ababy rabbit and played with a grasshopper. Antonia pointed up to the skyand questioned me with her glance. I gave her the word, but she was notsatisfied and pointed to my eyes. I told her, and she repeated the word,making it sound like "ice." She pointed up to the sky, then to my eyes,then back to the sky, with movements so quick and impulsive that shedistracted me, and I had no idea what she wanted. She got up on her kneesand wrung her hands. She pointed to her own eyes and shook her head, thento mine and to the sky, nodding violently.

  "Oh," I exclaimed, "blue; blue sky."

  She clapped her hands and murmured, "Blue sky, blue eyes," as if it amusedher. While we snuggled down there out of the wind she learned a score ofwords. She was quick, and very eager. We were so deep in the grass that wecould see nothing but the blue sky over us and the gold tree in front ofus. It was wonderfully pleasant. After Antonia had said the new words overand over, she wanted to give me a little chased silver ring she wore onher middle finger. When she coaxed and insisted, I repulsed her quitesternly. I did n't want her ring, and I felt there was something recklessand extravagant about her wishing to give it away to a boy she had neverseen before. No wonder Krajiek got the better of these people, if this washow they behaved.

  While we were disputing about the ring, I heard a mournful voice calling,"An-tonia, An-tonia!" She sprang up like a hare. "Tatinek, Tatinek!" sheshouted, and we ran to meet the old man who was coming toward us. Antoniareached him first, took his hand and kissed it. When I came up, he touchedmy shoulder and looked searchingly down into my face for several seconds.I became somewhat embarrassed, for I was used to being taken for grantedby my elders.

  We went with Mr. Shimerda back to the dugout, where grandmother waswaiting for me. Before I got into the wagon, he took a book out of hispocket, opened it, and showed me a page with two alphabets, one Englishand the other Bohemian. He placed this book in my grandmother's hands,looked at her entreatingly, and said with an earnestness which I shallnever forget, "Te-e-ach, te-e-ach my An-tonia!"