Free The Slynx by Tatyana Tolstaya Page A

Izba, passersby, everyone ran out to see. They all crowded around, fell down on their faces, and Benedikt with them, so that when the retinue arrived and got out of the sleigh, exactly what happened and what kind of ceremony or fuss there was--Benedikt couldn't tell. He could only hear his heart thumping in his ears: thub-dub, thub-dub. He came to when they kicked him to get up out of the snowdrift and herded him into the izba to pay obeisance. Inside it even seemed warmer: how beautiful, everything covered with rugs, even the stools. Rugs on the benches, the windows festooned with transparent lace, all the garbage swept into a corner and covered with bark so you couldn't see it, though it did stink a little. But horrors, there were candles everywhere, only none were lit. No fire. No Nikita Ivanich. Someone nudged Benedikt in the back: Sit down, Golubchik, Fyodor Kuzmich doesn't like it when people stand. Benedikt sat down, rooted to the spot, and watched.
    Everyone froze. It was quiet as the grave. Outside the door they heard little footsteps: trip-trap, trip-trap. Fyodor Kuzmich, Glorybe, stepped onto the crimson rug, into the twilight of the izba.
    "It's me, Golubchiks," he said.
    From the fear and joy in his head Benedikt felt a rush of heat, and in his chest it was like a space had opened up, but a clenched
    fist was stuck smack in the middle of that space, and he couldn't breathe. Benedikt felt like he was looking through a fog and was amazed: Fyodor Kuzmich was not much taller than Kitty, he barely reached Benedikt's knee. But Kitty had teeny hands and pink fingers, and Fyodor Kuzmich's hands were the size of stove dampers, and they never kept still.
    "Weren't expecting me, were you?" said Fyodor Kuzmich, laughing. "I want to paint a painting like that: They Didn't Expect Him, that's right. I think you'll like it. It's got one fellow coming into the room, and the others, you see, have jumped up out of their seats in surprise. Well, then, let's have a little chat. How is life, how's work going, what are you doing?"
    "We're copying, Fyodor Kuzmich," the Golubchiks clamored, and Fyodor Kuzmich laughed. A lot of people laughed with him, like they were relieved: Fyodor Kuzmich, Glorybe, turned out to be a simple fellow. Maybe there's nothing to be afraid of, except for those hands that keep clenching and unclenching.
    "Why don't I sit down too," said Fyodor Kuzmich, laughing again. "I want to get closer to the people, you know."
    He looked all around and then jumped up on Olenka's lap. She caught him around the stomach, like Kitty, and held him. She wasn't afraid.
    "Hold me tighter, or else I'll tumble off. That's it," said Fyodor Kuzmich. "Hold me with two hands, under my arms. But no tickling."
    "We're happy to meet you, Fyodor Kuzmich! Long May You Live!" said the Golubchiks. "You deserve it! Thanks be to you!"
    "Thank you, Fyodor Kuzmich, for your art!" cried Vasiuk the Earful.
    "Thank you for being! Thank you," added the women.
    "I'm always glad to meet with the intelligentsia, don't you know," Fyodor Kuzmich said, turning his head and looking up at Olenka's face from below. "Especially when you've got such sweetie pies to hold me under the arms. Only no tickling, now."
    "That's right, Fyodor Kuzmich," replied the Golubchiks.
    "I'm thinking of painting a lot of paintings," said Fyodor Kuzmich. "If, of course, there's enough rusht."
    Everyone had a good laugh; whatever you said, there was always enough rusht to go around.
    "I'll build an enormous-humongous izba, make a lot of paintings, and hang them on the walls with nails," Fyodor Kuzmich told them. "And I'll name it after myself: Kablukov Gallery. In case you don't know, Kablukov is my last name."
    Everyone chuckled: Who doesn't know that?
    "Do you have any questions? Maybe I said something you didn't understand, you just ask me. No harm in asking, isn't that right?"
    "That's right! Oh, that's so right, Fyodor Kuzmich, Long May You Live!" cried the Golubchiks. "Right