I remember Antonia’s excitement when she came into our kitchen one afternoon and announced: ‘My papa find friends up north, with Russian mans. Last night he take me for see, and I can understand very much talk. 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 big dog-town. I had often been tempted2 to go to see them when I was riding in that direction, but one of them was a wild-looking fellow and I was a little afraid of him. Russia seemed to me more remote than any other country—farther away than China, almost as far as the North Pole. Of all the strange, uprooted3 people among the first settlers, those two men were the strangest and the most aloof4. Their last names were unpronounceable, so they were called Pavel and Peter. They went about making signs to people, and until the Shimerdas came they had no friends. Krajiek could understand them a little, but he had cheated them in a trade, so they avoided him. Pavel, the tall one, was said to be an anarchist5; since he had no means of imparting his opinions, probably his wild gesticulations and his generally excited and rebellious6 manner gave rise to this supposition. He must once have been a very strong man, but now his great frame, with big, knotty7 joints8, had a wasted look, and the skin was drawn9 tight over his high cheekbones. His breathing was hoarse10, 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 met people on the road, smiled and took off his cap to everyone, men as well as women. At a distance, on his wagon11, he looked like an old man; his hair and beard were of such a pale flaxen colour that they seemed white in the sun. They were as thick and curly as carded wool. His rosy12 face, with its snub nose, set in this fleece, was like a melon among its leaves. He was usually called ‘Curly Peter,’ or ‘Rooshian Peter.’
The two Russians made good farm-hands, and in summer they worked out together. I had heard our neighbours laughing when they told how Peter always had to go home at night to milk his cow. Other bachelor homesteaders used canned milk, to save trouble. Sometimes Peter came to church at the sod schoolhouse. It was there I first saw him, sitting on a low bench by the door, his plush cap in his hands, his bare feet tucked apologetically under the seat.
After Mr. Shimerda discovered the Russians, he went to see them almost every evening, and sometimes took Antonia with him. She said they came from a part of Russia where the language was not very different from Bohemian, and if I wanted to go to their place, she could talk to them for me. One afternoon, before the heavy frosts began, we rode up there together on my pony13.
The Russians had a neat log house built on a grassy14 slope, with a windlass well beside the door. As we rode up the draw, we skirted a big melon patch, and a garden where squashes and yellow cucumbers lay about on the sod. We found Peter out behind his kitchen, bending over a washtub. He was working so hard that he did not hear us coming. His whole body moved up and down as he rubbed, and he was a funny sight from the rear, with his shaggy head and bandy legs. When he straightened himself up to greet us, drops of perspiration15 were rolling from his thick nose down onto his curly beard. Peter dried his hands and seemed glad to leave his washing. He took us down to see his chickens, and his cow that was grazing on the hillside. He told Antonia that in his country only rich people had cows, but here any man could have one who would 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 her in Russian while he pulled up her lariat16 pin and set it in a new place.
After he had shown us his garden, Peter trundled a load of watermelons up the hill in his wheelbarrow. Pavel was not at home. He was off somewhere helping17 to dig a well. The house I thought very comfortable for two men who were ‘batching.’ Besides the kitchen, there was a living-room, with a wide double bed built against the wall, properly made up with blue gingham sheets and pillows. There was a little storeroom, too, with a window, where they kept guns and saddles and tools, and old coats and boots. That day the floor was covered with garden things, drying for winter; corn and beans and fat yellow cucumbers. There were no screens or window-blinds in the house, and all the doors and windows stood wide open, letting in flies and sunshine alike.
Peter put the melons in a row on the oilcloth-covered table and stood over them, brandishing18 a butcher knife. Before the blade got fairly into them, they split of their own ripeness, with a delicious sound. He gave us knives, but no plates, and the top of the table was soon swimming with juice and seeds. I had never seen anyone eat so many melons as Peter ate. He assured us that they were good for one—better than medicine; in his country people lived on them at this time of year. He was very hospitable19 and jolly. Once, while he was looking at Antonia, he sighed and told us that if he had stayed at home in Russia perhaps by this time he would have had a pretty daughter of his own to cook and keep house for him. He said he had left his country because of a ‘great trouble.’
When we got up to go, Peter looked about in perplexity for something that would entertain us. He ran into the storeroom and brought out a gaudily20 painted harmonica, sat down on a bench, and spreading his fat legs apart began to play like a whole band. The tunes21 were either very lively or very doleful, and he sang words to some of them.
Before we left, Peter put ripe cucumbers into a sack for Mrs. Shimerda and gave us a lard-pail full of milk to cook them in. I had never heard of cooking cucumbers, but Antonia assured me they were very good. We had to walk the pony all the way home to keep from spilling the milk.
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1
quail
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| n.鹌鹑；vi.畏惧，颤抖 | |
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tempted
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| v.怂恿（某人）干不正当的事；冒…的险（tempt的过去分词） | |
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3
uprooted
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| v.把（某物）连根拔起( uproot的过去式和过去分词 )；根除；赶走；把…赶出家园 | |
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aloof
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| adj.远离的；冷淡的，漠不关心的 | |
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5
anarchist
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| n.无政府主义者 | |
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rebellious
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| adj.造反的，反抗的，难控制的 | |
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7
knotty
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| adj.有结的，多节的，多瘤的，棘手的 | |
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8
joints
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| 接头( joint的名词复数 )； 关节； 公共场所（尤指价格低廉的饮食和娱乐场所） （非正式）； 一块烤肉 （英式英语） | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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10
hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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11
wagon
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| n.四轮马车，手推车，面包车；无盖运货列车 | |
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12
rosy
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| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
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pony
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| adj.小型的；n.小马 | |
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14
grassy
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| adj.盖满草的；长满草的 | |
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15
perspiration
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| n.汗水；出汗 | |
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16
lariat
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| n.系绳，套索；v.用套索套捕 | |
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17
helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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18
brandishing
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| v.挥舞( brandish的现在分词 )；炫耀 | |
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19
hospitable
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| adj.好客的；宽容的；有利的，适宜的 | |
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20
gaudily
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| adv.俗丽地 | |
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21
tunes
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| n.曲调，曲子( tune的名词复数 )v.调音( tune的第三人称单数 )；调整；（给收音机、电视等）调谐；使协调 | |
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