The Jug, the Bed, and Justice

- Hrytsko, and what if the woman is older, experienced, and has already shut the door behind you? Not scared of that either? The inn went quiet. Hrytsko smiled. - Why would I be scared of her? Yavdokha slowly set her shot glass on the table. - Good. I'll remember that. The Lord gave the lad shoulders, a fine forelock, and good teeth. The instinct of self-preservation, though, He apparently decided to save for somebody else.

The next day Yavdokha waylaid him by the well. - Hrytsko, will you come by this evening? I need a man's hand. He inspected both his palms. - Won't the neighbor do? - It's yours I need. - What's so special about it? Yavdokha stepped closer. - Come and I'll show you. Yavdokha, you should know, is a widow pushing sixty, but with a walk that makes the young men straighten up in spite of themselves.

By evening she had baked pyrizhky, brought out the nalyvka, let down her braid, and put on the blouse, the one reserved for serious intentions. Hrytsko came in and stamped the dirt off his boots. - So where's the work? Yavdokha looked at him for a few seconds. Then she rolled her eyes. She jabbed a finger at the jug. - Get it down. It's up too high. Hrytsko took it down and set it on the table. - You need a lower shelf. I'll come tomorrow and nail one up.

- Hryts, any minute now I'll be nailing something myself. - What? - Nothing. Good night. - What about the pyrizhky? Yavdokha looked at her loosened braid, the nalyvka, her festive blouse. - Take them. Hrytsko went home with the pyrizhky. Now it was personal... In the morning her friends surrounded Yavdokha by the stile. - Well? - He got the jug down. - And then? - He took the pyrizhky. They fell silent, as if over a coffin. - Maybe he's shy? - Maybe he's stupid?

- Never mind, I'm patient. - Yavdokha, you're a widow, not a saint. - That's exactly why I'm patient. After those words one friend crossed herself. The other asked her to tell the whole thing again from the very beginning. A day later Yavdokha's bed suddenly began to creak. Hrytsko arrived with a hammer. She sat on the edge and rocked gently. - Hear it? Especially when you move. - Then don't move. - Hryts, you are testing my faith. He was already crawling under the bed.

- The leg here's worked loose. - The leg's not the only thing around here going unused. From under the bed, silence. - I'll bring more tools tomorrow. Yavdokha closed her eyes. Hrytsko braced the leg, sat on the bed, and bounced a few times. It didn't so much as squeak. - There! Now you can bounce on it two at a time. Yavdokha turned to him slowly. - Hrytsko. - What? - Go home. To her friends she later reported: - Sat him on the bed. Shut the door. Said it creaked. - And?

- He fixed it. One of them said quietly: - Well, at least he's good with his hands. Nobody asked her anything else that evening. Then Yavdokha turned to words. - What kind of women do you like? - Pretty ones. - Older? - That works. - Experienced? - Even better. - The kind who know exactly what they want? - I love that kind. Yavdokha was all but celebrating. Hrytsko finished off a pyrizhok. - So when is your granddaughter coming? The spindle stopped. - What granddaughter?

- Well, who else are you asking me all this for? Yavdokha looked upward, as if demanding explanations directly from God this time. The friends gave up. - Say it straight. You're a woman, not a carpentry shop. The next evening Yavdokha sat Hrytsko down across from her. - Do you know how to kiss? - Of course. - Show me. He looked around. - Show who? Yavdokha inhaled slowly. - The stove, Hryts. Who else. He actually glanced at the stove. - Don't you dare.

And she kissed him herself. When she pulled back, Hrytsko was silent. - Well? - Again. That was the first time Yavdokha grew wary. The next evening Hrytsko came on his own. Washed, forelock combed down, clean shirt, smelling of mint soap. - I didn't send for you. - I know. - Then why did you come? - Thought maybe the bed was creaking again. For the first time in a week, Yavdokha had no words. - It isn't. - Best to check.

They sat so close that not even a poppy seed could have squeezed between them. - So, you're not afraid of women? - I'm not. - Then why so quiet? - I don't think I tied up the cow. - Hryts. You don't have a cow. - Then the neighbor's. - Hryts. - Shutting up. The candle burned out long before either of them remembered it existed. What happened next, Yavdokha never recounted to her friends. There was no need.

The next morning the bed was creaking again, the hammer lay untouched by the door, and Hrytsko stepped outside with his forelock sticking out three ways and his shirt buttoned on the wrong buttons. I was walking past. - Well then, fixed the bed? - Ivan, it was sound from the very first evening. - So you knew? - Yep. - About the jug too? - Yep. - And the bed? - Especially the bed. - Then why play the fool?

- I was curious how many things at Yavdokha's would break. A shout came from the house: - Hryts! The door won't shut properly! He winked: - See? Still plenty of work. And went back inside. And Yavdokha's door, by the way, was perfectly sound too.