My Antonia Read online

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  FOR SEVERAL WEEKS after my sleigh-ride, we heard nothing from theShimerdas. My sore throat kept me indoors, and grandmother had a coldwhich made the housework heavy for her. When Sunday came she was gladto have a day of rest. One night at supper Fuchs told us he had seen Mr.Shimerda out hunting.

  'He's made himself a rabbit-skin cap, Jim, and a rabbit-skin collar thathe buttons on outside his coat. They ain't got but one overcoat among'em over there, and they take turns wearing it. They seem awful scaredof cold, and stick in that hole in the bank like badgers.'

  'All but the crazy boy,' Jake put in. 'He never wears the coat. Krajieksays he's turrible strong and can stand anything. I guess rabbits mustbe getting scarce in this locality. Ambrosch come along by the cornfieldyesterday where I was at work and showed me three prairie dogs he'dshot. He asked me if they was good to eat. I spit and made a face andtook on, to scare him, but he just looked like he was smarter'n me andput 'em back in his sack and walked off.'

  Grandmother looked up in alarm and spoke to grandfather. 'Josiah, youdon't suppose Krajiek would let them poor creatures eat prairie dogs, doyou?'

  'You had better go over and see our neighbours tomorrow, Emmaline,' hereplied gravely.

  Fuchs put in a cheerful word and said prairie dogs were clean beastsand ought to be good for food, but their family connections were againstthem. I asked what he meant, and he grinned and said they belonged tothe rat family.

  When I went downstairs in the morning, I found grandmother and Jakepacking a hamper basket in the kitchen.

  'Now, Jake,' grandmother was saying, 'if you can find that old roosterthat got his comb froze, just give his neck a twist, and we'll take himalong. There's no good reason why Mrs. Shimerda couldn't have got hensfrom her neighbours last fall and had a hen-house going by now. I reckonshe was confused and didn't know where to begin. I've come strange to anew country myself, but I never forgot hens are a good thing to have, nomatter what you don't have.

  'Just as you say, ma'm,' said Jake, 'but I hate to think of Krajiekgetting a leg of that old rooster.' He tramped out through the longcellar and dropped the heavy door behind him.

  After breakfast grandmother and Jake and I bundled ourselves up andclimbed into the cold front wagon-seat. As we approached the Shimerdas',we heard the frosty whine of the pump and saw Antonia, her head tiedup and her cotton dress blown about her, throwing all her weight on thepump-handle as it went up and down. She heard our wagon, looked backover her shoulder, and, catching up her pail of water, started at a runfor the hole in the bank.

  Jake helped grandmother to the ground, saying he would bring theprovisions after he had blanketed his horses. We went slowly up the icypath toward the door sunk in the drawside. Blue puffs of smoke came fromthe stovepipe that stuck out through the grass and snow, but the windwhisked them roughly away.

  Mrs. Shimerda opened the door before we knocked and seized grandmother'shand. She did not say 'How do!' as usual, but at once began to cry,talking very fast in her own language, pointing to her feet which weretied up in rags, and looking about accusingly at everyone.

  The old man was sitting on a stump behind the stove, crouching over asif he were trying to hide from us. Yulka was on the floor at his feet,her kitten in her lap. She peeped out at me and smiled, but, glancing upat her mother, hid again. Antonia was washing pans and dishes in adark corner. The crazy boy lay under the only window, stretched ona gunny-sack stuffed with straw. As soon as we entered, he threw agrain-sack over the crack at the bottom of the door. The air in the cavewas stifling, and it was very dark, too. A lighted lantern, hung overthe stove, threw out a feeble yellow glimmer.

  Mrs. Shimerda snatched off the covers of two barrels behind the door,and made us look into them. In one there were some potatoes that hadbeen frozen and were rotting, in the other was a little pile of flour.Grandmother murmured something in embarrassment, but the Bohemian womanlaughed scornfully, a kind of whinny-laugh, and, catching up an emptycoffee-pot from the shelf, shook it at us with a look positivelyvindictive.

  Grandmother went on talking in her polite Virginia way, not admittingtheir stark need or her own remissness, until Jake arrived with thehamper, as if in direct answer to Mrs. Shimerda's reproaches. Then thepoor woman broke down. She dropped on the floor beside her crazy son,hid her face on her knees, and sat crying bitterly. Grandmother paid noheed to her, but called Antonia to come and help empty the basket. Tonyleft her corner reluctantly. I had never seen her crushed like thisbefore.

  'You not mind my poor mamenka, Mrs. Burden. She is so sad,' shewhispered, as she wiped her wet hands on her skirt and took the thingsgrandmother handed her.

  The crazy boy, seeing the food, began to make soft, gurgling noisesand stroked his stomach. Jake came in again, this time with a sack ofpotatoes. Grandmother looked about in perplexity.

  'Haven't you got any sort of cave or cellar outside, Antonia? This is noplace to keep vegetables. How did your potatoes get frozen?'

  'We get from Mr. Bushy, at the post-office what he throw out. We got nopotatoes, Mrs. Burden,' Tony admitted mournfully.

  When Jake went out, Marek crawled along the floor and stuffed up thedoor-crack again. Then, quietly as a shadow, Mr. Shimerda came out frombehind the stove. He stood brushing his hand over his smooth grey hair,as if he were trying to clear away a fog about his head. He was cleanand neat as usual, with his green neckcloth and his coral pin. He tookgrandmother's arm and led her behind the stove, to the back of the room.In the rear wall was another little cave; a round hole, not much biggerthan an oil barrel, scooped out in the black earth. When I got up on oneof the stools and peered into it, I saw some quilts and a pile of straw.The old man held the lantern. 'Yulka,' he said in a low, despairingvoice, 'Yulka; my Antonia!'

  Grandmother drew back. 'You mean they sleep in there--your girls?' Hebowed his head.

  Tony slipped under his arm. 'It is very cold on the floor, and thisis warm like the badger hole. I like for sleep there,' she insistedeagerly. 'My mamenka have nice bed, with pillows from our own geese inBohemie. See, Jim?' She pointed to the narrow bunk which Krajiek hadbuilt against the wall for himself before the Shimerdas came.

  Grandmother sighed. 'Sure enough, where WOULD you sleep, dear! Idon't doubt you're warm there. You'll have a better house after while,Antonia, and then you will forget these hard times.'

  Mr. Shimerda made grandmother sit down on the only chair and pointedhis wife to a stool beside her. Standing before them with his handon Antonia's shoulder, he talked in a low tone, and his daughtertranslated. He wanted us to know that they were not beggars in the oldcountry; he made good wages, and his family were respected there. Heleft Bohemia with more than a thousand dollars in savings, after theirpassage money was paid. He had in some way lost on exchange in New York,and the railway fare to Nebraska was more than they had expected. By thetime they paid Krajiek for the land, and bought his horses and oxenand some old farm machinery, they had very little money left. He wishedgrandmother to know, however, that he still had some money. If theycould get through until spring came, they would buy a cow and chickensand plant a garden, and would then do very well. Ambrosch and Antoniawere both old enough to work in the fields, and they were willing towork. But the snow and the bitter weather had disheartened them all.

  Antonia explained that her father meant to build a new house for them inthe spring; he and Ambrosch had already split the logs for it, but thelogs were all buried in the snow, along the creek where they had beenfelled.

  While grandmother encouraged and gave them advice, I sat down on thefloor with Yulka and let her show me her kitten. Marek slid cautiouslytoward us and began to exhibit his webbed fingers. I knew he wantedto make his queer noises for me--to bark like a dog or whinny like ahorse--but he did not dare in the presence of his elders. Marek wasalways trying to be agreeable, poor fellow, as if he had it on his mindthat he must make up for his deficiencies.

  Mrs. Shimerda grew more calm and reasonable before our visit was over,and
, while Antonia translated, put in a word now and then on her ownaccount. The woman had a quick ear, and caught up phrases whenever sheheard English spoken. As we rose to go, she opened her wooden chest andbrought out a bag made of bed-ticking, about as long as a flour sack andhalf as wide, stuffed full of something. At sight of it, the crazy boybegan to smack his lips. When Mrs. Shimerda opened the bag and stirredthe contents with her hand, it gave out a salty, earthy smell, verypungent, even among the other odours of that cave. She measured a teacupfull, tied it up in a bit of sacking, and presented it ceremoniously tograndmother.

  'For cook,' she announced. 'Little now; be very much when cook,'spreading out her hands as if to indicate that the pint would swell toa gallon. 'Very good. You no have in this country. All things for eatbetter in my country.'

  'Maybe so, Mrs. Shimerda,' grandmother said dryly. 'I can't say but Iprefer our bread to yours, myself.'

  Antonia undertook to explain. 'This very good, Mrs. Burden'--she claspedher hands as if she could not express how good--'it make very much whenyou cook, like what my mama say. Cook with rabbit, cook with chicken, inthe gravy--oh, so good!'

  All the way home grandmother and Jake talked about how easily goodChristian people could forget they were their brothers' keepers.

  'I will say, Jake, some of our brothers and sisters are hard tokeep. Where's a body to begin, with these people? They're wanting ineverything, and most of all in horse-sense. Nobody can give 'em that,I guess. Jimmy, here, is about as able to take over a homestead as theyare. Do you reckon that boy Ambrosch has any real push in him?'

  'He's a worker, all right, ma'm, and he's got some ketch-on about him;but he's a mean one. Folks can be mean enough to get on in this world;and then, ag'in, they can be too mean.'

  That night, while grandmother was getting supper, we opened the packageMrs. Shimerda had given her. It was full of little brown chips thatlooked like the shavings of some root. They were as light as feathers,and the most noticeable thing about them was their penetrating, earthyodour. We could not determine whether they were animal or vegetable.

  'They might be dried meat from some queer beast, Jim. They ain't driedfish, and they never grew on stalk or vine. I'm afraid of 'em. Anyhow, Ishouldn't want to eat anything that had been shut up for months with oldclothes and goose pillows.'

  She threw the package into the stove, but I bit off a corner of one ofthe chips I held in my hand, and chewed it tentatively. I never forgotthe strange taste; though it was many years before I knew that thoselittle brown shavings, which the Shimerdas had brought so far andtreasured so jealously, were dried mushrooms. They had been gathered,probably, in some deep Bohemian forest....