For krindachevskimi mines there is a rich village, not a village, and grain kolodez. And under old Cossack steppes on which left once with sons Taras Potatoes in Zaporozhye Sech, earth fat - hard dense coal, stone force lays already thousand centuries. Lays and polezhivaet. Above in white mud huts there live descendants zaporozhtsev and already forget about the Turkish sultan, only razveshany in rooms curve old sabres and on a sheath the ancient silver pattern darkens. Old men still remember ancient abstruse songs of a campaign with whistle about Turkish evil spirits and about shljaha. And, when from Moscow there were Bolsheviks they prophesied that Turks on the other hand have turned back and again go on Orthodoxy. Old men ordered to sit down on horses of all youth and as doprezh, to defend sacred belief, wives and all silent Divine people. - we will lay down everything, sonnies, for the Divine cross on our steppes, - spoke on descents moustached grandfathers. But forty-year sonnies kept mum and in languor looked after a village in growing dark open spaces. They knew, that such war, and a cross did not feel how fathers, they would like sheep and an oxen, the stone house, uhvatlivuju the mistress more. And though the sin in church not to go, but also to live in poverty and ruin, to quilt on a game on steppe - not model. To come off a liked court yard, an economy, from a native village, to throw the wife and everything, than you live and that you like, - does not lay to that smothering, that speak old men. From mines on holidays come katsapy to kazachek; were not christened at a temple and threatened spjana to shopkeepers with Bolsheviks. Black and another's, they wandered till the morning on a village.
Throw, Vanka, vodka to drink. We will go on job. Money we will receive every Saturday.
Denikin, sgreb bread and an oxen has come, has hung up three miners and has merged to Moscow. Has grown dull smothering and at old Cossacks. Even more silently and ljubimej there were court yard and barns, and at wives to shout became more rare.
-- Where there, truth Bozhija? The nobility, and at those who with a cross, it is not present. And from a cross the mug looks Antichrist's... Have ceased to go katsapy from mine, were gone, as one.
-- Let and not vertajutsja, bisovy children, from them a borsch sour, beggars lapotnye. - So old women told lies. Cossacks grinned: the God has not given to a toad of a tail, that grasses not tolochila. And mind woman's, that a tail zhaby. The wind carried by back generals, have taken away all oxen, have left only to whom pair to whom two and were gone to Black Sea Coast. propylili slowly last time a native oxen also was gone for ever. Much cunningly with generals of youth and old men. Remained only with whom has grown dull smothering and who has lost the ends of the habitual truth or has regretted steppe and an economy. Bolsheviks have come. To grandfather Anton Karpychu without demand and without conversation the young cheerful person in a leather cap has become hollow in a hut and a forehead has not crossed.
-- Fine, stanichnik!
-- Be healthy.
-- Far white?
-- And hto them pursued?
-- To smoke it is possible?
-- Your will.
-- So. And you do not take offence, olden time, I will smoke and I will leave. We will not touch, not to you have come, live to myself. Has sat, the cheerful leather cap has sat, has laughed and has gone.
-- Farewell.
-- Good luck, the sonny! - the old man also has become cheerful: people and they. Under evening as Bolsheviks have started to act in film, has taken out fat a chunk and has given to any red star.
-- Thanks, the father! We will see still.
-- And how? Yes here an oxen have reduced, plesh them bashke, wheat too posvezli.
-- Anything, anything, we will work still, we will acquire. Now business it seem to know better. All it is bad, we will endure. The old man has come into a heap of soldiers, looked round and listened.
-- So not to wait for them?
-- As hosh though wait, yes you will not wait.
-- And you not Turkish will be breeds? The Cross carry?
-- Cross to burn it is necessary, on him the Christ have crucified. And breeds all of us of one. They a cross all bear it, and we to remove a cross from the back hochem that was easier.
-- So-so... - the Old man has understood all words and has gone home to consider. Bolsheviks have left also. Neighbour Rodionycha still had untouched two steams of an oxen. It came every evening to Anton Karpychu both rejoiced, and cursed.
-- And? After all the owner still I, Karpych, and? How you will tell? Mozhe, the front Nikoly is not turned back. Both steppe and an oxen - ours, both huts are whole, and bread till the summer we will pull... And crosses from churches not posshibali, nonsense one was. Karpych thought and thought, where a true demon, where pechatano its brand? Whether there, where its oxen? Whether a cross the press besova... It is not possible to pray in any way to on what have tortured the Christ how it nobody has learnt? He has recollected cheerful hloptsa in a leather cap. Not a demon it, and a brand on him heavenly - a star. Karpych has fallen asleep and has dreamt, as if on steppe its oxen home from Black Sea Coast silently goes.
