The next day, I left Mr. Porudgin, a good Hakka.
Ermolai Mill Housewives
It was first published in the fifth issue of Modern People’s Magazine in 1847.
In the evening, I hunter Ermolai went to ambush together, but what is ambush may not be clear to me, so let’s listen to me.
In spring, don’t take your gun with you to the Woods at a quarter of an hour before sunset. You can find a place by the forest and look around to check the ignition cap for a change of eyes.
A quarter of an hour later, the sun goes down, but the Woods are still bright and clear. Birds are chirping and young grass is shining like emeralds. Just wait.
The Woods are getting dark, and the sunset glow slowly slides from the roots and trunks, rising higher and higher, moving from the low and almost bare branches to the motionless sleeping treetops.
Finally, the treetops are dark, the crimson sky is turning blue, and the smell of the forest is getting stronger and stronger. When the wind blows in, it will stop. The birds gradually fall asleep, not all the birds go to sleep together, but all kinds of birds fall asleep first. It is the finch, then the oriole. It is getting darker and darker in the forest, and the trees gradually blend into black and a large blue sky. Now the first stars and birds are all asleep, and the red-tailed owl is still chirping shyly.
Finally, the little red-tailed owl woodpecker is quiet, and once again it rings above your head. The crisp sound of the warbler, Oriole, I don’t know where it is, cries mournfully for a while. You are anxious to wait until the hunter understands my words. Suddenly, there is a very special croak and rustling in the silence. You can hear the rhythm of agile wings, and the woodchuck bends its long mouth gracefully and flies from behind the black and gloomy birch tree to meet your bullets.
This is called an ambush
That is to say, I’m going to ambush in Ermolai, but you guys trust me to introduce Ermolai to you first.
This man is forty-five years old, tall and thin, with a long narrow nose and a narrow forehead, with gray eyes and unkempt hair and wide lips with an air of ridicule. This man talks about wearing a yellow German-style homespun jacket in winter and summer, but he always wears a wide belt, blue knickerbockers and a lamb fur hat at his waist. It was a pleasure for the ruined landlord to give him his belt with two bags, one of which was cleverly tied in half in front to split the gunpowder and the other was packed with cotton wool at the back, while Ermolai pulled it out from his magic bag-like hat. It’s easy for him to sell his prey and buy an ammunition bag, but he never thought of buying this kind of thing. It’s safe to install his gun in the old way, and it won’t scatter shotgun powder or mix it up. It’s amazing to see how clever it is.
His shotgun is loaded with flint in a single barrel and has a bad temper after being born fierce, so Ermolai’s right cheek is always fatter than his left cheek. How can he hit wild things with this shotgun even the cleverest person can imagine, but he often hits it.
He is also a hunting dog named Jack, which is a very strange thing. Ermolai never feeds him, and I don’t feed the dog. He flatly said that besides, dogs are clever animals and can find something to eat. Indeed, although the dog is so thin that even indifferent passers-by are surprised to see it, it still lives and lives for a long time. No matter how pitiful the situation is, it never runs away once and never wants to leave its owner to act young and fall in love once. After two days, the stupidity passed quickly.
Jack’s greatest feature is that he is indifferent to everything in the world. This is not a dog, so I’m going to be pessimistic. He often sits with his short tail curled under his body, frowning and shivering from time to time. Everyone knows that dogs can laugh and laugh very cute. He looks uglier than servants when they are idle. He laughs at him rudely, but he takes a beating at this kind of ridicule, but he doesn’t care at all. Whenever he puts his hungry mouth into the half-closed door of the warm and delicious kitchen because of his weakness, the chefs immediately throw away their work and call it again.
When hunting, it never feels tired and its sense of smell is extremely sensitive, but when it accidentally catches up with a wounded rabbit, it stays away from all kinds of dialects that it can understand or not. Ermolai drills into the cool trees and eats the rabbit with relish.
Ermolai is a family member of an old landlord in my neighboring village. The old landlord usually eats poultry instead of snipes. On special days, birthdays, naming days and election days, the old landlord cooks long-billed birds. The Russians always don’t know how to make them more and more energetic, and once they get excited, they will burn them in various ways, so that most guests can stare at the delicious food on the table curiously and never dare to try it.
According to the regulations, Ermolai sends two pairs of grouse and quail to the owner’s kitchen every month, and everything else is left to him to go wherever he wants and do whatever he wants. People don’t recognize him. As we in orel say, cowardly gunpowder is not sent to him. This is a rule to follow, just like he doesn’t feed the dog.
Ermolai is a very eccentric person, worried and talking like a bird. On the surface, he looks lazy and clumsy. He drinks very much. He doesn’t live in one place for a long time. He walks with his feet rubbed and wobbled all day and night. He can walk 50 or 60 miles as much as he can. He has experienced all kinds of thrilling things. He has slept at the bottom of a tree roof bridge in the moor and lost his gun in the attic cellar shed more than once. The dog’s last dress was beaten up for a long time. However, it wasn’t long before he came home again, dressed well and carrying a gun dog.
It can’t be said that Ermolai is a happy person, although he always looks in a good mood. On the whole, he is an eccentric. Ermolai is very cultured and talks, especially when drinking, but he often gets up and leaves soon. Where the hell are you going? It’s already dark in Chaplin village. What are you doing in Chaplin village for a dozen miles? Why don’t you stay here for the night? So Ermolai took his jack into the heavy night and walked forward through the ditches. The farmer sophron might not let him in, and he might have to slap him twice.
However, there are some things in Ermolai that no one can compare with fishermen catching shrimps in the spring flood season, looking for wild things by smell, attracting quails and training falcons to catch nightingales who can sing magic flutes. These names are familiar to those who fly in. This is the most beautiful aria to describe the singing of birds. Like nightingales, he will not just train dogs. He has no patience.
Ermolai’s wife goes to her place once a week. She lives in a shabby little house that is about to collapse. She barely lives. Today, I don’t know if I can eat enough. I always have a hard day. Ermolai, a worried and kind person, treats her with affection and rudeness. He shows a dignified and stern attitude at home. My poor wife doesn’t know how to win his heart. Her eyes tremble at the sight of him. She often buys him wine at the last penny. When he lies down to the kang and sleeps soundly, she always does. I’ve seen a gloomy and fierce look on his face more than once. I don’t like the look on his face when he killed an injured wild bird. But Ermolai never stayed at home for a day. When he went somewhere else, he became Ermol Ka Ermolai, which is a homonym. In Russian, when 100 Russians called him like this, he also called himself the lowest servant, and he felt more noble than this wave man. Perhaps because of this, many farmers were very affectionate to him at first. I chased him away like a rabbit in the field and arrested him for fun. After a while, I let him go. When I learned that he was an eccentric, I stopped touching him and even gave him bread to chat with him. I just took this man to hunt him and ambush him in a big birch forest on the Hista River.
Many rivers in Russia, like the Volga River, have mountains on one side and grasslands on the other, and so does the Istar River. This river twists and turns, and it is not half a mile straight. Looking from a steep hill, there are more than a dozen rivers in Russia, along with dams, ponds, mills, pieces of firecrackers, willows as fences and lush gardens as far as the eye can see. The fish in the Hista River are really multipolar, especially the Yarrowfish farmers often catch this kind of fish at the bottom of trees in hot days. Little shore snipes are chirping and flying on the rocky shore dotted with a cold and clear spring, and wild ducks are floating
We ambushed for about an hour and hit two pairs of woodchucks. We wanted to try our luck again in front of the Sun Mountain. We could also ambush in the morning and decided to spend the night in a nearby mill. We walked in the Woods. The dark blue wave gas was rolling in the river on the hill. As the night moisture was getting stronger and stronger, we knocked on the gate, and several dogs barked together. Who sounded a hoarse and sleepy voice to hunt? We came to borrow a night and didn’t answer us to pay. I went to tell my owner that we should kill the dogs. We heard the hired hand go. He’s gone into the house. He’ll be back at the gate soon. No, the owner said he wouldn’t let him in. He’s afraid you’re hunting. Maybe you’ll burn down the mill because you brought gunpowder. Nonsense. My mill burned once the year before last. A group of cattle dealers came to spend the night, but somehow it burned up. Dude, we can’t spend the night outside. Then it’s up to you. He left with his boots rattling.
Ermolai scolded him for being difficult to obey. Let’s go to the village. At the end, he said with a sigh, but it’s two miles from the village. Let’s spend the night here. I said it’s very warm tonight. I gave some money to the miller to send some wheat straw to Ermolai, and I agreed.
We knocked on the door again. What are you doing? The hired voice already said no, so we told him what we meant. He went to the owner to discuss it, and then he came back with the owner. When the door creaked, the miller came tall, fat, round and big, and he agreed to my request.
A hundred paces away from the mill, in a small open shed with ventilation on all sides, he brought us some wheat straw and hay and carried it into the open shed. The employee set up a tea cooker on the grass by the river, squatted down and enthusiastically took charge of blowing and making a fire. The coals flashed and lit up his young face.
The mill owner ran to wake up his wife, and finally asked me to sleep in the house, but I was still willing to spend the night outside. The mill owner sent us milk, eggs, potatoes and bread, and the tea pot soon burned. We started to drink tea, and there was a fog on the river. There was no wind, and the crake clucked around, and there was a slight sound at the water wheel of the mill. That was the water dripping from the wheel wing and seeping out from the dam gate.
We started a small fire when Ermolai was baking potatoes in the ashes. I dozed off and whispered softly. I woke up. I looked up and saw the owner of the mill sitting by the fire with a wooden bucket upside down. My companion was talking. I had already seen from her acting accent that she was a landlord’s maid, not a peasant woman or an ordinary citizen’s daughter. Now I have seen her face clearly. She is thirty years old, thin and pale, and her face still retains a charming charm. I especially have those big melancholy eyes. She puts her elbows on her knees and holds her cheeks. Ermolai is sitting with her back to me.
There is another plague in Doukhi village. The proprietress of the mill said that two cows died in Father Ivan’s house. God bless you.
How about your pig? Ermolai asked after a moment’s silence.
Alive
I wish I could have a little pig.