Peasant Tales of RussiaNemirovich-Danchenko, Vasilii Ivanovich
General
Peasant Tales of Russia
Nemirovich-Danchenko, Vasilii Ivanovich
Tales -- Russia
The next day was a Saturday, and he had to break as much ore possible
and convey it, together with the piles already prepared, to the
principal gallery, where the overseer of the mine would take it over. In
the evening he would receive his pay, the whole of which he would take
to an old woman living in the village. She looked after him, prepared
his meagre repasts, mended his clothes, and bought his boots. People
said she was his sister, but he felt doubtful about it. He knew that he
had passed his childhood far away from her, for while he was always in
the mine with his mother, she was growing up in a strange family who
took care of her. He never spoke to her. When he entered in the evening
he silently placed his money on the table, let his head drop in his
hands, and remained sitting in this attitude. When she called him to sit
down at table, he rose and obeyed, otherwise he would have remained as
he was till the morning, as motionless as a log. When he happened to
remain in the mine for the night, his sister was not anxious about it;
she knew that he had taken with him a large chunk of bread and a handful
of salt; as for water, there was no lack of that in the mine! She knew
also that in a corner of the sepulchral vault, where he worked like a
mole from morning to night, there was a can of oil, and that he could
re-light his lamp whenever it went out.
Ivan stooped down, looked for his pickaxe, found it, and sat down to
break pieces from a block of ore which projected from the wall. This
ferruginous earth was as hard to break as stone. Ivan worked slowly,
sparing his strength because he could not do otherwise; care had been
taken to show him a place where the rock was not so hard as elsewhere.
Fragments of yellowish earth fell on the ground, and the rays of the
little lamp lit up the particles of copper which glittered here and
there in the pieces of rock. After two hours' work the pickaxe fell from
the old man's hand. Feeling quite exhausted, he squatted down on the
ground, cut himself a large slice of bread, sprinkled it plentifully
with salt, and began to munch the soft part of it with the remnants of
his teeth.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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