Lyonushka and Ruble Bill

There was a girl called Lyonushka who lived in our village. She was of average height but nicely put together. Her hair was blonde, flaxen-blonde – bleached flax, that is, and the Russian word for “bleached” is belyony, so her name fit her perfectly. And she had beautiful eyes, cool as river water. She was an odd one, though – more of a spectacle than a miracle. A lot of people thought she was a half-wit, and nothing else. She’d collect all sorts of sick critters. Folks would bring her this, that, and the other – a squirrel, a hedgehog, and as for the cats… They needed drowning, but the womenfolk felt sorry for them and dumped them on Lyonushka, to her great delight. She fed the wee ones milk through the nipple of a baby bottle, and collected herbs out in the forest and brewed them up for the sick ones to drink. Even a little bird with a broken wing – she’d bind it up and make it well. So after that, the birds would fly and fly around her home.

Kolya the stable boy was courting Lyonushka. Hale and hearty he was, curly haired and broad shouldered. The girls were like to die for love of him. But Kolya and Lyonushka became an item. Time was, they’d go to the social club of an evening. He’d have her by the elbow and she’d be cracking sunflower seeds all the while, showing off her white teeth. And laughing her head off. She was a cheerful one.

And didn’t he love her!.. She’d be out working on the farm, and he’d go to meet her, take her something for lunch. And he fixed up her hut, kept everything in great shape. He was good with his hands, that one. And there she’d be, laughing it up.

Now one time – it was closing in on International Women’s Day – he decided to buy her a present, so she’d have something like a dowry. He saved up his money, put it inside a book. And he went to the district department store and bought her a set of dishes. The real thing, imported from Germany and unbelievably beautiful. The little plates and the soup tureen had these sheaves of rye grass braided with poppies and all wound around with golden ribbons… People from the village had been going all that way just to admire it. Way expensive, as well: two hundred and twenty rubles. So he bought it, they put it all into a box for him, pinging each plate with a pencil to make sure none of them were cracked. And they tied it up with a ribbon.

Kolya only had a beer or two, not a drop more. Then he caught the evening bus, which was packed. He found himself a place in back, put the box on his knees… and nodded off… But the bus went over a bump on Crooked Hill, and the box fell. Right onto the floor. Kolya woke up and oh, no, no, no... Everybody came over to help, untied the ribbon … and there it was, all that beauty smashed to bits. He’s sitting there nearly in tears and just about ready to put himself out of his misery. But the peasant woman sitting next to him asks, “Haven’t you any money left for a present, dearie?” Kolya shows her a ruble, meaning that’s all there is. And the woman handed him … a piglet. She hadn’t managed to sell this one, this runty little leftover. Kolya was so heartsick, he took it – because he couldn’t go and propose with empty hands, could he?

Here to this day we revere the good order that our grandfathers put in place, so it’s a formal proposal or nothing at all. Marriages would be registered at the village soviet (because hardly anybody went to church), but matchmakers still had to be sent. Kolya goes to his friends Petya and Vanya, asking them to be his matchmakers at Lyonushka’s, to ask her to marry him. But they’re snickering up their sleeves, wanting to know if he’s been stuffing himself with the henbane that makes you crazy, or worse. “Why the hell would she have you, such a looker as she is?” they ask. “Go have your fun,” they say, “’cos you’d be nuts to put a ring on it. Besides, she’s such a whack job, you’ll think you’re living in a zoo.” So they wanted nothing to do with it.

The village had a school, though, built by the master back in the day, and it had an old teacher who’d taught both Lyonushka and Kolya. And Kolya falls at his feet and begs him for help, saying something like, “I need to show my Lyonushka respect and love, but everybody’s laughing at me, and nobody’ll be my matchmaker.”

“What’s not to respect?” the old teacher said. “So much love, and you’re a good lad, and our Lyonushka’s an angel, pure and simple.”

All her life, Lyonushka had had no one but an unmarried aunt, a real old battleax on the outside and inside, an enemy to all mankind. She was glad to be getting Lyonushka off her hands. Kolya was a hard worker, didn’t drink much, and made good money, and he’d put his foot down with Lyonushka about dragging all sorts of worthless critters into the hut. So the teacher came with Kolya – in the evening, to avoid the evil eye – and brought wine and cookies. When the aunt saw all this, she nearly lost it, because she didn’t know what to use for blessing the young couple. There wasn’t an icon in the house.

They entered the hut, and the aunt says, by the book, “Why have you come?” And the teacher tells her: “You have the merchandise, we have the merchant. You have the flower, we have the vase.” And he shoves Kolya forward. But a bride price had to be given – money, or a length of fabric, or something else that we hold dear. And that harpy of an aunt plants her hands on her hips. She’d caught wind of the dish set, you see, so she asks straight out: “Then you’ve brought a piece of dress fabric or a fur coat, have you, Kolya? Or some kind of pretty dinnerware to put in the china closet?” Meanwhile, there’s a piglet grunting in the sack that Kolya’s holding.

“Here’s the bride price,” he says. “Auntie, I’ll give you a piglet for my Lyonushka, to soften your temper.”

The aunt cheers right up because at least he’s brought something useful, but for appearance’s sake, she sputters: “You’re more of a downright imbecile than Lyonushka! Instead of bringing a dish set, you’re pulling this swinish trick on us?”

Kolya’s standing there red faced, with no eyes for anyone but Lyonushka, and she’s laughing it up to herself and winking, as if to say: “Don’t be scared. What kind of dowry do I come with? – cats and songbirds and that’s it.”

The aunt gave her consent. There was no icon, but the teacher had brought a picture from the school, of some writer with a beard. They waved the picture around, with Kolya and Lyonushka kneeling, all right and proper. “God willing, all good fortune to you,” they said.

After Kolya left, the aunt’s still grumbling, but Lyonushka says to her: “If Kolya has such a soft spot for me, I’ll be fine when we’re married. He has a kind heart.”

The wedding wasn’t long in coming. The way out of the village was blocked off by young lads and girls holding hands, linking arms, and singing songs. That’s what we call “shutting up the road,” and it’s an ancient custom. When the car came, a ransom would have to be paid, in candy or wine, and some people would even give money. It being a folkway, the bosses didn’t say we couldn’t. Once the young couple has entered the hut, somebody brings them a fancy, round loaf on a linen towel, and whoever takes the biggest bite of it is going to be the head of that household. The aunt got a new padlock out of her pocket, turned the key in it, and threw the key into the well, to keep the marriage strong. And then, the singing! They’d been married, as was our way, on October 14, the old feast-day in honor of the Mother of God.

Next, everyone sat down to eat. Lyonushka had made little pancakes – with honey, no less – and her aunt had sprung for a chicken. There were boiled potatoes, pickled cucumbers, and brined mushrooms, and the wine on the table was sweet, with bubbles. They partied for two days. Only Lyonushka kept jumping up from the table and running off to doctor that lost cause out there, giving it food and drink from a nipple bottle. The guests were complaining that their wine was bitter and yelling for a kiss to sweeten it, and the bride was in the pigsty. Still, darned if she didn’t pull it through! And she called it Ruble Bill, yes she did.

They never did slaughter that little boar – Kolya wasn’t having any of that. So it sits in the pigsty to this very day, and it’s all gray and grizzled by now.