My Antonia

by Willa Cather

  V

  WE KNEW THAT THINGS were hard for our Bohemian neighbours, but the twogirls were lighthearted 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 muchtalk. Nice mans, Mrs. Burden. One is fat and all the time laugh.Everybody laugh. The first time I see my papa laugh in this kawntree.Oh, very nice!'

  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 ridingin that direction, but one of them was a wild-looking fellow and I wasa little afraid of him. Russia seemed to me more remote than any othercountry--farther away than China, almost as far as the North Pole. Ofall the strange, uprooted people among the first settlers, those twomen were the strangest and the most aloof. Their last names wereunpronounceable, so they were called Pavel and Peter. They went aboutmaking signs to people, and until the Shimerdas came they had nofriends. Krajiek could understand them a little, but he had cheated themin a trade, so they avoided him. Pavel, the tall one, was said to be ananarchist; since he had no means of imparting his opinions, probably hiswild gesticulations and his generally excited and rebellious manner gaverise to this supposition. He must once have been a very strong man, butnow his great frame, with big, knotty joints, had a wasted look, and theskin was drawn tight over his high cheekbones. His breathing was hoarse,and he always had 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 everyone, men as wellas women. At a distance, on his wagon, he looked like an old man; hishair and beard were of such a pale flaxen colour that they seemed whitein the sun. They were as thick and curly as carded wool. His rosy face,with its snub nose, set in this fleece, was like a melon among itsleaves. He was usually called 'Curly Peter,' or 'Rooshian Peter.'

  The two Russians made good farm-hands, and in summer they worked outtogether. I had heard our neighbours laughing when they told howPeter always 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, sittingon a low bench by the door, his plush cap in his hands, his bare feettucked apologetically 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 themfor me. 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 awindlass well beside the door. As we rode up the draw, we skirted a bigmelon patch, and a garden where squashes and yellow cucumbers layabout on the sod. We found Peter out behind his kitchen, bending overa washtub. He was working so hard that he did not hear us coming. Hiswhole body moved up and down as he rubbed, and he was a funny sightfrom the rear, with his shaggy head and bandy legs. When he straightenedhimself up to greet us, drops of perspiration were rolling from histhick nose down onto his curly beard. Peter dried his hands and seemedglad to leave his washing. He took us down to see his chickens, andhis cow that was grazing on the hillside. He told Antonia that in hiscountry only rich people had cows, but here any man could have one whowould take care of her. The milk was good for Pavel, who was often sick,and he could make butter by beating sour cream with a wooden spoon.Peter was very fond of his cow. He patted her flanks and talked to herin Russian while he pulled up her lariat pin and set it in a new place.

  After he had shown us his garden, Peter trundled a load of watermelonsup the hill in his wheelbarrow. Pavel was not at home. He was offsomewhere helping to dig a well. The house I thought very comfortablefor two men who were 'batching.' Besides the kitchen, there was aliving-room, with a wide double bed built against the wall, properlymade up with blue gingham sheets and pillows. There was a littlestoreroom, too, with a window, where they kept guns and saddles andtools, and old coats and boots. That day the floor was covered withgarden things, drying for winter; corn and beans and fat yellowcucumbers. There were no screens or window-blinds in the house, and allthe doors and windows stood wide open, letting in flies and sunshinealike.

  Peter put the melons in a row on the oilcloth-covered table and stoodover them, brandishing a butcher knife. Before the blade got fairly intothem, they split of their own ripeness, with a delicious sound. He gaveus knives, but no plates, and the top of the table was soon swimmingwith juice and seeds. I had never seen anyone eat so many melons asPeter ate. He assured us that they were good for one--better thanmedicine; in his country people lived on them at this time of year. Hewas very hospitable and jolly. Once, while he was looking at Antonia,he sighed and told us that if he had stayed at home in Russia perhapsby this time he would have had a pretty daughter of his own to cook andkeep house for him. He said he had left his country because of a 'greattrouble.'

  When we got up to go, Peter looked about in perplexity for somethingthat would entertain us. He ran into the storeroom and brought out agaudily painted harmonica, sat down on a bench, and spreading his fatlegs apart began to play like a whole band. The tunes were either verylively or very doleful, and he sang words to some of them.

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