There was not much fresh air. Every morning my
grandmother went out to buy otchkza and pickled onions. The man who sold
them was very old. He had a cast in each eye. He inquired of my
grandmother if she would allow him to be my husband, but she refused.
His name I do not remember.
Our neighbours were very pleasant people, kindly and simple. There was a
half-witted youth called Krop. He used to fill his mouth with large
brass-headed nails. I did not dare to go near him, for he always tried
to bite my arms. One day I learned that he had died. My grandmother
bought me black silk mittens to wear at his funeral. I was very proud,
and ran out into the road to show them to the other children. But in my
haste I split them across from seam to seam, and my grandmother whipped
me and put me to bed.
My grandmother's chief friend was a woman who sold toasted cheese. It
was her custom to bring round the delicacy on a small hand-cart and sell
to the children for a few kopecks. This woman was reputed to be very
rich. She was not beautiful, for she had no teeth, and had hair on her
face. The first time I saw her I ran into the house and hid behind the
large barrel of butter-milk. My grandmother took me by the ear and led
me to her friend.
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