The Kum's Help

"Thud!" - and half a pumpkin, split clean in two, landed on my oak counter. And right behind it, into the inn came Myron and his kum Okhrim, shying away from each other as if from leprosy. Both red as ripe beets, puffing and saying nothing, as though each held a pood of salt in his mouth. I calmly slid the pumpkin aside, wiped up the wet spot with a rag and poured two shot glasses of cold slyvianka.

"Well," I say, "which of you throws the other half at the other one first? Or has today's matchmaking already turned into a pumpkin all by itself?" Myron fairly hissed, his eyes bulging: "You ask this natural-born fool how he got the suitor ready for the meeting!" Okhrim snorted, offended, grabbed his glass and drained it in one gulp, sniffing his own sleeve after it.

"And what about ME?!" he bellowed for the whole inn to hear. "This genius comes running to me himself this morning, eyes like kopecks, whispering: kum, help me out! Today at twelve sharp Odarka's mother is bringing her girl to our yard. So bring the Suitor, and be quick about it! Only wash him nice and clean, feed him his fill, so he's full, fat and mean, because their girl likes them feisty! And hold him tight on a rope so he doesn't bolt too soon!

And I, fool head that I am, thought 'the girl' was the bride Odarka, and 'the Suitor' was your nephew Hrytsko, who's sleeping in my house after last night's vechornytsi! How was I supposed to know you'd bought that boar at the fair and named him Suitor, and that Odarka's mother was bringing her pedigree sow?!" "So I," Okhrim went on, waving his arms about and knocking the empty shot glass over with his elbow, "like an honest kum, went off to get the 'groom' ready!

I come in - Hrytsko is sleeping dead to the world, warm as a fresh loaf, and no doubt with a savage hangover. I hauled him out of bed by the forelock and right there in the yard doused him with two buckets of icy water from the well - for briskness and spirit! The poor lad hissed so hard he all but sprouted gills. Next - the feeding. So the boy would be full and mean, I boiled him a whole bucket of oat gruel with bran - thick as putty.

Hrytsko groans, wheezes: give me a drink, I'm dying! And I shove a spoonful of that gruel into his mouth: eat, I tell him, you fool, this is Cossack soup for the head, Uncle Myron ordered you to polish off the whole makitra for strength! Like a dolt he swallowed three spoonfuls, and on the fourth his eyes climbed up onto his forehead!

And so he wouldn't run off to the next province from sheer nerves, I tied a stout cord around his waist. Hrytsko's teeth are chattering from the cold, he's hiccuping oatmeal, and I clap him on the shoulder: bear it, Cossack, a girl ought to come running a long way for a well-fed lad!" "At twelve sharp," Myron took the floor, clutching his head, "I come into the yard with my neighbour Priska.

Odarka, of course, is nowhere in sight, but Priska is proudly leading her enormous sow on a rope. We're bringing the pig to be bred! And then Okhrim triumphantly rolls out from behind the house - Hrytsko, blue with cold! The lad reeks of fermented mead and oatmeal, twitches on his rope, and my kum shoves him along by the backside and hollers for the whole street to hear, right into the snouts of Priska and her sow: Look what a stallion!

Firm flanks, full belly, and I keep him tied, because the moment he sees your girl he's a pure beast, straining for battle! In one season he'll do you so much work you'll get tired counting the harvest! Priska just stood there gaping, then started to run, crossing herself with her left hand. The sow grunted in fright and ran after the woman.

"In short," Myron summed up gloomily, studying his dirty boots, "Priska ran so fast the dust hung all the way to the edge of the village, and her sow bolted straight into the forest, where by now even the wolves are probably afraid of her. Hrytsko is sitting in a corner, sneezing, spitting out bran and cursing our whole family to the seventh generation. And this blockhead Okhrim even has the nerve to be offended that I tried to put the pumpkin on his head!"

I wiped the counter to a shine and poured Okhrim and Myron a double measure of pepper horilka each. "Drink up, kums," I say with a smile. "In these parts the most dangerous thing of all is when two men try to understand each other without wasting words - but with an enormous desire to do everything for the best."