|
Main
- books.jibble.org
My Books
- IRC Hacks
Misc. Articles
- Meaning of Jibble
- M4 Su Doku
- Computer Scrapbooking
- Setting up Java
- Bootable Java
- Cookies in Java
- Dynamic Graphs
- Social Shakespeare
External Links
- Paul Mutton
- Jibble Photo Gallery
- Jibble Forums
- Google Landmarks
- Jibble Shop
- Free Books
- Intershot Ltd
|
books.jibble.org
Previous Page
| Next Page
Page 11
`Yes'm,' said Otto; `and he's sold 'em his oxen and his two bony old horses
for the price of good workteams. I'd have interfered about the horses--the
old man can understand some German--if I'd I a' thought it would do any
good. But Bohemians has a natural distrust of Austrians.'
Grandmother looked interested. `Now, why is that, Otto?'
Fuchs wrinkled his brow and nose. `Well, ma'm, it's politics. It would
take me a long while to explain.'
The land was growing rougher; I was told that we were approaching Squaw
Creek, which cut up the west half of the Shimerdas' place and made the land
of little value for farming. Soon we could see the broken, grassy clay
cliffs which indicated the windings of the stream, and the glittering tops
of the cottonwoods and ash trees that grew down in the ravine. Some of the
cottonwoods had already turned, and the yellow leaves and shining white
bark made them look like the gold and silver trees in fairy tales.
As we approached the Shimerdas' dwelling, I could still see nothing but
rough red hillocks, and draws with shelving banks and long roots hanging
out where the earth had crumbled away. Presently, against one of those
banks, I saw a sort of shed, thatched with the same wine-coloured grass
that grew everywhere. Near it tilted a shattered windmill frame, that had
no wheel. We drove up to this skeleton to tie our horses, and then I saw a
door and window sunk deep in the drawbank. The door stood open, and a
woman and a girl of fourteen ran out and looked up at us hopefully. A
little girl trailed along behind them. The woman had on her head the same
embroidered shawl with silk fringes that she wore when she had alighted
from the train at Black Hawk. She was not old, but she was certainly not
young. Her face was alert and lively, with a sharp chin and shrewd little
eyes. She shook grandmother's hand energetically.
`Very glad, very glad!' she ejaculated. Immediately she pointed to the
bank out of which she had emerged and said, `House no good, house no
good!'
Grandmother nodded consolingly. `You'll get fixed up comfortable after
while, Mrs. Shimerda; make good house.'
My grandmother always spoke in a very loud tone to foreigners, as if they
were deaf. She made Mrs. Shimerda understand the friendly intention of our
visit, and the Bohemian woman handled the loaves of bread and even smelled
them, and examined the pies with lively curiosity, exclaiming, `Much good,
much thank!'--and again she wrung grandmother's hand.
The oldest son, Ambroz--they called it Ambrosch-- came out of the cave and
stood beside his mother. He was nineteen years old, short and
broad-backed, with a close-cropped, flat head, and a wide, flat face. His
hazel eyes were little and shrewd, like his mother's, but more sly and
suspicious; they fairly snapped at the food. The family had been living on
corncakes and sorghum molasses for three days.
The little girl was pretty, but Antonia--they accented the name thus,
strongly, when they spoke to her--was still prettier. I remembered what
the conductor had said about her eyes. They were big and warm and full of
light, like the sun shining on brown pools in the wood. Her skin was
brown, too, and in her cheeks she had a glow of rich, dark colour. Her
brown hair was curly and wild-looking. The little sister, whom they called
Yulka (Julka), was fair, and seemed mild and obedient. While I stood
awkwardly confronting the two girls, Krajiek came up from the barn to see
what was going on. With him was another Shimerda son. Even from a
distance one could see that there was something strange about this boy. As
he approached us, he began to make uncouth noises, and held up his hands to
show us his fingers, which were webbed to the first knuckle, like a duck's
foot. When he saw me draw back, he began to crow delightedly, `Hoo,
hoo-hoo, hoo-hoo!' like a rooster. His mother scowled and said sternly,
`Marek!' then spoke rapidly to Krajiek in Bohemian.
`She wants me to tell you he won't hurt nobody, Mrs. Burden. He was born
like that. The others are smart. Ambrosch, he make good farmer.' He
struck Ambrosch on the back, and the boy smiled knowingly.
At that moment the father came out of the hole in the bank. He wore no
hat, and his thick, iron-grey hair was brushed straight back from his
forehead. It was so long that it bushed out behind his ears, and made him
look like the old portraits I remembered in Virginia. He was tall and
slender, and his thin shoulders stooped. He looked at us understandingly,
then took grandmother's hand and bent over it. I noticed how white and
well-shaped his own hands were. They looked calm, somehow, and skilled.
His eyes were melancholy, and were set back deep under his brow. His face
was ruggedly formed, but it looked like ashes--like something from which
all the warmth and light had died out. Everything about this old man was
in keeping with his dignified manner. He was neatly dressed. Under his
coat he wore a knitted grey vest, and, instead of a collar, a silk scarf of
a dark bronze-green, carefully crossed and held together by a red coral
pin. While Krajiek was translating for Mr. Shimerda, Antonia came up to me
and held out her hand coaxingly. In a moment we were running up the steep
drawside together, Yulka trotting after us.
Previous Page
| Next Page
|
|