My Ántonia

by Willa Cather

  V

  WE knew that things were hard for our Bohemian neighbors, but the twogirls were light-hearted and never complained. They were always ready toforget their troubles at home, and to run away with me over the prairie,scaring rabbits or starting up flocks of quail.

  I remember Antonia's excitement when she came into our kitchen oneafternoon and announced: "My papa find friends up north, with Russianmans. Last night he take me for see, and I can understand very much talk.Nice mans, Mrs. Burden. One is fat and all the time laugh. Everybodylaugh. The first time I see my papa laugh in this kawn-tree. Oh, verynice!"

  I asked her if she meant the two Russians who lived up by the bigdog-town. I had often been tempted to go to see them when I was riding inthat direction, but one of them was a wild-looking fellow and I was alittle afraid of him. Russia seemed to me more remote than any othercountry--farther away than China, almost as far as the North Pole. Of allthe strange, uprooted people among the first settlers, those two men werethe strangest and the most aloof. Their last names were unpronounceable,so they were called Pavel and Peter. They went about making signs topeople, and until the Shimerdas came they had no friends. Krajiek couldunderstand them a little, but he had cheated them in a trade, so theyavoided him. Pavel, the tall one, was said to be an anarchist; since hehad no means of imparting his opinions, probably his wild gesticulationsand his generally excited and rebellious manner gave rise to thissupposition. He must once have been a very strong man, but now his greatframe, with big, knotty joints, had a wasted look, and the skin was drawntight over his high cheek-bones. His breathing was hoarse, and he alwayshad a cough.

  Peter, his companion, was a very different sort of fellow; short,bow-legged, and as fat as butter. He always seemed pleased when he metpeople on the road, smiled and took off his cap to every one, men as wellas women. At a distance, on his wagon, he looked like an old man; his hairand beard were of such a pale flaxen color that they seemed white in thesun. They were as thick and curly as carded wool. His rosy face, with itssnub nose, set in this fleece, was like a melon among its leaves. He wasusually called "Curly Peter," or "Rooshian Peter."

  The two Russians made good farmhands, and in summer they worked outtogether. I had heard our neighbors laughing when they told how Peteralways had to go home at night to milk his cow. Other bachelorhomesteaders used canned milk, to save trouble. Sometimes Peter came tochurch at the sod schoolhouse. It was there I first saw him, sitting on alow bench by the door, his plush cap in his hands, his bare feet tuckedapologetically under the seat.

  After Mr. Shimerda discovered the Russians, he went to see them almostevery evening, and sometimes took Antonia with him. She said they camefrom a part of Russia where the language was not very different fromBohemian, and if I wanted to go to their place, she could talk to them forme. One afternoon, before the heavy frosts began, we rode up theretogether on my pony.

  The Russians had a neat log house built on a grassy slope, with a windlasswell beside the door. As we rode up the draw we skirted a big melon patch,and a garden where squashes and yellow cucumbers lay about on the sod. Wefound Peter out behind his kitchen, bending over a washtub. He was workingso hard that he did not hear us coming. His whole body moved up and downas he rubbed, and he was a funny sight from the rear, with his shaggy headand bandy legs. When he straightened himself up to greet us, drops ofperspiration were rolling from his thick nose down on to his curly beard.Peter dried his hands and seemed glad to leave his washing. He took usdown to see his chickens, and his cow that was grazing on the hillside. Hetold Antonia that in his country only rich people had cows, but here anyman could have one who would take care of her. The milk was good forPavel, who was often sick, and he could make butter by beating sour creamwith a wooden spoon. Peter was very fond of his cow. He patted her flanksand talked to her in Russian while he pulled up her lariat pin and set itin a new place.

  After he had shown us his garden, Peter trundled a load of watermelons upthe hill in his wheelbarrow. Pavel was not at home. He was off somewherehelping to dig a well. The house I thought very comfortable for two menwho were "batching." Besides the kitchen, there was a living-room, with awide double bed built against the wall, properly made up with blue ginghamsheets and pillows. There was a little storeroom, too, with a window,where they kept guns and saddles and tools, and old coats and boots. Thatday the floor was covered with garden things, drying for winter; corn andbeans and fat yellow cucumbers. There were no screens or window-blinds inthe house, and all the doors and windows stood wide open, letting in fliesand sunshine alike.

  Peter put the melons in a row on the oilcloth-covered table and stood overthem, brandishing a butcher knife. Before the blade got fairly into them,they split of their own ripeness, with a delicious sound. He gave usknives, but no plates, and the top of the table was soon swimming withjuice and seeds. I had never seen any one eat so many melons as Peter ate.He assured us that they were good for one--better than medicine; in hiscountry people lived on them at this time of year. He was very hospitableand jolly. Once, while he was looking at Antonia, he sighed and told usthat if he had stayed at home in Russia perhaps by this time he would havehad a pretty daughter of his own to cook and keep house for him. He saidhe had left his country because of a "great trouble."

  When we got up to go, Peter looked about in perplexity for something thatwould entertain us. He ran into the storeroom and brought out a gaudilypainted harmonica, sat down on a bench, and spreading his fat legs apartbegan to play like a whole band. The tunes were either very lively or verydoleful, and he sang words to some of them.

  Before we left, Peter put ripe cucumbers into a sack for Mrs. Shimerda andgave us a lard-pail full of milk to cook them in. I had never heard ofcooking cucumbers, but Antonia assured me they were very good. We had towalk the pony all the way home to keep from spilling the milk.