“Are you there, woman?”

“In the warmth, fatigue immediately covers. The arms and legs are cast iron, the head is wadded. The body asks for one thing – rest. She quickly heats the stove that has cooled down since morning. He lays out a herb for Murtaza on a syak, throws food at him. Runs to the winter barn, heats the stove there too. Asks animals, cleans up after them. Leads the foal to Sandugach for evening feeding. Milking Kubelek, filtering the milk. He takes out his husband’s pillows from high kishte, fluffs up (Murtaza likes to sleep high). Finally, you can go to your own place, in the oven.

Usually children sleep on the chests, and adult women are entitled to a small part of the syake, separated from the male half of the dense chibyldyk. But the fifteen-year-old Zuleikha was so small when she came to Murtaza’s house that the Upyrikha on the very first day said, sticking her then-bright yellow-brown eyes into her daughter-in-law: “This small size will not fall off the chest.” And Zuleikha was settled on a large old chest, upholstered with tin plates and shiny convex nails. Since then, it has not grown any more – there was no need to move somewhere. And this completely occupied Murtaza.

Zuleikha lays out a mattress and a blanket on the chest, pulls the kulmek over her head and begins to undo the braids. The fingers do not obey, the head falls on the chest. Through the half-asleep he hears – the door slams: Murtaza is returning.

Are you there, woman? – asks from the male half. – Fill up the bath. Mom wants to take a bath.

Zuleikha buries her face in her hands. Bathing takes a lot of time. Yes, and wash the Vampire… Where can I get the strength? Just a couple of moments to sit like this without moving. And strength will come… and she will rise… and flood…

– Did you want to sleep? You sleep on the cart, you sleep at home. Mom is right: lazy!

Zuleikha jumps up.

Murtaza is standing in front of her chest, in one hand is a kerosene stove with an uneven flame inside, a wide chin with a deep hole in the middle is angrily tense. The trembling shadow of the husband closes half the stove.

“Run, run, Murtaza,” he says in a hoarse voice. And he runs.

First, clear the path to the bathhouse in the snow (I didn’t clean it in the morning – I didn’t know that I would have to heat it). Then to drag water from the well – twenty buckets, Ghoul likes to splash. Fire up the oven. Sprinkle nuts over the bench so that it does not play pranks, does not extinguish the stove, does not let intoxication, does not interfere with steaming.

Wash floors. Soak brooms. Bring dried herbs from the attic: succession – for washing women’s and men’s secret places, mint – for a delicious steam; brew. Spread a clean carpet in the dressing room.

Bring clean linen – for the Upyrikha, for Murtaza, for yourself. Do not forget pillows and a jug of cold drinking water.

Murtaza placed the bath in the corner of the yard, behind the barn and the barn. He laid the stove according to the modern method: for a long time he fiddled with the drawings in a magazine brought from Kazan, silently moved his lips, running a wide fingernail along the yellow pages; for several days he laid the bricks, now and then referring to the drawing. At the Kazan plant of the Prussian manufacturer, Diese ordered a steel tank according to the size – and put it exactly on the intended steep ledge, smoothly smeared it with clay. Such a stove heated a bathhouse, and heated water quickly, just have time to heat it up – a feast for the eyes, not a stove. Mullah Khazrat himself came to see, then he ordered the same one for himself.

While I was managing my business, fatigue hid somewhere deep, hid, twisted into a ball – either in the back of my head, or in my spine. Soon it will come out – it will cover with a dense wave, knock it down, drown it. But when will it be. In the meantime: the bath has warmed up – you can call Vampire Kha to wash.