"Nine-year-old vanka Zhukov was sent to the shop of the shoemaker Alyakhin three months ago to be an apprentice. On Christmas Eve, he did not go to bed. He waited until the master, his wife, and the journeymen had gone to the early morning service, then he took a small bottle of ink and a pen with a rusty nib from the master's cupboard, spread a crumpled sheet of white paper in front of him, and began to write."
Did he just jump straight into the characters and location?
Furthermore, although serfdom still existed, according to Demitri's understanding of current social conditions, in some regions, serfs seemed to have gained limited freedom. Moreover, nobles sometimes wouldn't just watch a serf's child eat for free; if there was enough work on their own estate, it was common to send them elsewhere to serve as labor.
These thoughts flashed through Demitri's mind, and he quickly resumed reading.
"Before writing the first word, he looked several times toward the door and the window with trepidation, glanced sideways at the dark icon and the shelves filled with lasts on either side, and sighed intermittently. The paper was spread on a bench, and he was kneeling before it.
" 'Dear Grandfather, Konstantin Makarych!' he wrote. 'I am writing to you. Merry Christmas, and may God bless you with everything your heart desires. I have no father or mother; you are my only relative left.'"
The poor child, so fearful even while writing a letter, must have suffered quite a lot... and the following narrative undoubtedly confirmed Demitri's suspicion:
"Yesterday I got a beating. The master dragged me by my hair into the yard and whipped me soundly with a leather strap the masters use for work because I accidentally fell asleep while rocking their little baby in the cradle.
Last week, the mistress told me to clean a herring. I started from the tail, so she picked up the herring and shoved its head right in my face."
"They make me sleep in the hallway, and whenever their baby cries, I can't sleep at all; I have to keep rocking the cradle.
Dear Grandfather, for God's sake, have mercy, take me away from here and back home to the village. I can't bear it anymore... I bow down to you, and I will always pray to God for you. Take me away from here, or I shall die..."
All the hardships this child recounted might seem unusual, but anyone with an understanding of today's society would find them more than common.
And this short story wasn't just a simple record of society; it used deep emotion to let the orphan vanka speak his truth:
" 'Come, dear Grandfather,' vanka continued. 'I beg you, for the sake of Christ and God, take me away from here. Have pity on me, a miserable orphan. Everyone here beats me, I'm terribly hungry, I'm so miserable I can't find words for it, and I'm always crying.
The other day, the master hit me with a last, and I fainted and only barely came to. My life is wretched, worse than a dog's... Give my regards to Alyona, one-eyed Yegorka, and the coachman, and don't give my accordion to anyone. Your grandson Ivan Zhukov. Respectfully. Dear Grandfather, please come.'"
This poor orphan seemed to place all his hope in his grandfather, but was his grandfather really a good man?
It was already written earlier!
"By day he slept in the servants' kitchen or joked with the cooks, and at night he put on a bulky sheepskin coat and walked around the estate, constantly striking his clapper."
"Now his grandfather must be standing at the gate, squinting at the bright red windows of the village church, stamping his feet in high felt boots, and joking with the servants. His clapper hangs from his belt. He claps his hands from time to time because of the cold, hunches his shoulders, and pinches first a maid and then a cook, letting out an old man's chuckle."
If such an old scoundrel really cared about his grandson, he wouldn't have sent him away to be an apprentice!
And even for a glimmer of hope as faint as this, would there really be a chance for him to see it fulfilled?
"vanka folded the written paper into four and put it in an envelope he had bought the night before for a kopek... He thought for a moment, dipped the pen in ink, and wrote the address: To Grandfather in the Village.
Then he scratched his head, thought again, and added a few words: Konstantin Makarych."
Could such a letter, without even an address, ever reach his grandfather?
vanka didn't know; he simply:
"Settled down with beautiful hope, and an hour later, he was fast asleep... In his dream, he saw a stove. Grandfather was sitting on the stove-ledge, his bare feet dangling, reading the letter to the cooks... Eel was walking around the stove, wagging his tail..."
Regarding the story "vanka," Mikhail had considered whether it was appropriate while writing it. After some investigation, he found that although "vanka" was a story that appeared decades later, it was still fitting for the present time.
It just required a bit of adaptation.
Even compared to reality, this story seemed almost too mild!
Mikhail, who was devouring his food, was wondering what Dmitri's reaction would be when he suddenly felt a sound near his ear. The sound grew louder and louder, to the point where it attracted the attention of everyone else in the tavern.
When Mikhail looked up, the bear-like man before him was covered in tears, crying like a child, and looking like he was about to burst into loud wailing.
Seeming to notice Mikhail's gaze, the bear-like man appeared a bit embarrassed. He hurriedly pulled out a few rubles from his coat and placed them in front of Mikhail, speaking hurriedly with a slight sob:
"I've already paid for the meal. Take these few rubles as a loan for now, my friend! Don't refuse me! I'll come find you later about the story! You're living in the attic of that apartment building near Sennaya Square, right? I expect I'll be back to see you very soon!"
With that, Demitri left in a hurry, leaving Mikhail sitting there for a long time, stunned, with meat still stuffed in his mouth.
Finally, Mikhail swallowed the meat and casually picked up the rubles from the table.
This small amount of money was enough for Mikhail to survive for a while longer until his manuscript fees arrived.
You're a lifesaver, Dmitri!
And judging by his reaction, this story definitely had a chance.
After eating, the gloom of the past few days vanished. Mikhail excitedly returned home, planning to strike while the iron was hot and write a few more stories.
Of course, when returning to his room, he still had to sneak around to avoid the landlord.
He wrote until nightfall, then Mikhail enjoyed a baby-like sleep in his coffin-like room.
But as he slept, a violent pounding on the door startled Mikhail awake.
He opened his eyes to pitch darkness; there wasn't a hint of light in the sky outside.
This meant it was definitely the early hours of the morning.
Who the hell is disturbing the peace at this hour?
Even the landlord wouldn't choose this time to storm in over the rent!
Fuming, Mikhail begrudgingly lit a candle, then angrily opened the door, only to see the bear-like Demitri entering with a thin young man whose eyes were exceptionally bright.
As soon as they entered, Demitri and the young man grabbed Mikhail, each taking an arm, and hoisted him up. In the early morning hours, they shouted together:
"A new Gogol is born!"
Mikhail: "???"