Vasily (0:14)

You are the only sober one? Vasily Andreyevich asked Nikita. Nikita realizing maybe for the first time that being sober made it easier to control your speech to your employer said, yeah, he was sober. Don't sound so surprised. I am surprised, Vasily, the boss replied, beads of sweat starting to form in the barn. Vasily was sweating in his two fur coats, but he narrowed his eyes at Nikita. You're usually drunk on like a Wednesday. Wednesday morning. Vasily laughed. It's St Nicholas Day and everyone else is three sheets to the wind. Don't act like it's not surprising that you are the only one in my household not drunk right now. Nikita clenched his jaw and stood up in the hay. He said, yeah, he was making some changes now. How could he help his master? He had a pounding headache, felt like he was gonna vomit, and talking and listening to talking were not very fun right now. Vasily, the boss said that he needed a horse and carriage tacked up and ready to go. There was an emergency in town. Nikita's heart beat faster. His wife and son. What was wrong? It's an investment emergency, his master declared. Nikita's eyebrows drooped. Oh, so not an emergency. Got it? He rose, realizing that doing work and getting his master out of the barn would get him back to solitude faster. He picked a good horse for the snow. It wasn't that deep, only a foot or so in some places, but McCourty was a good one and would lead the master well. Nikita brushed McCourti's thick winter coat. The pair picked their way across the frozen dung outside the stable, And Nikita hooked McCourty up to the carriage. The sky was gray, the snow was bright and and neither of which helped Nikita's hangover. He was looking forward to laying back down in the barn. He heard shouting. Nikita turned to face McCourty. The master's wife was shouting at him. This was officially not Nikita's problem, and he very much did not want to get involved. He got enough shouting when he went back home before he decided to stop going back home. It's an investment emergency, vasily replied. That's not a thing. His wife shouted, crunching on the snow, putting her coat on. I've been haggling with this guy over the land for weeks. He wants 10. I'm offering seven. Some timber dealers coming to town are going to offer him eight. Oh no. I can make 30,000 off that land, easy. Vasily's wife took her husband's face in her hands. Honey, honey, I don't care. It's St. Nicholas Day. He'll be there tomorrow. It's almost dark. He's not going to sell to timber dealers tonight. That's right, he's not. He's going to sell to me. Vasily boarded the carriage as Nikita handed him the reins. His wife sighed. Well, okay. I can see you're going to go whether I want you to or not. Vasily said he was sorry. He wasn't listening. He was preparing to leave. What was she saying? The wife replied that he was carrying a lot of money on him. He shouldn't travel the roads alone. Vasily rolled his eyes. Please. These were the 1800s and he was traveling at night between towns with no way to cry for help. With enough money to set a peasant up for life, he would be fine. He had done this hundreds of times. But his wife grabbed the reins from him. He needed to take someone. She looked around and her eyes settled on Nikita, who was stroking McCourty's head and really trying to stay out of it. What about Nikita then? She studied him. Wait. It's a holiday. What are you doing sober? You're right. It's a holiday, Vasily, the master said he wasn't going to make the man go out in the cold tonight. He should be celebrating with his friends. Just then they heard a shout go up from the barn. The barn? The party was moving to there. Nikita saw the waves for him to come join. Nikita turned to his master. He would come. He would accompany the Master. It was only like what, four miles? Anyway, he could stand to get some fresh air. He just had to go grab his coat. I'm Jason Weiser from Nexpod. This is fictional. You mean my coat, the man said, cross armed in front of the oven. You sold it to me yesterday. Or don't you remember? Nikita ran his fingers through his hair. They came away greasy. He did remember selling his coat. It was one of the last things he remembered from the night before. I'll buy it back with next week's pay, nikita mumbled. If you had next week's pay, you wouldn't have sold me your coat in the middle of winter in Russia, the cook said, eyeing the coat that was warming on the oven. I'll give you the week after that. Nikita's shoulders slumped. You already paid that to your wife yesterday. Nikita's head pounded. Okay, that he didn't remember. For charity, then. Kindness. Please, nikita begged. The master needed Nikita to accompany him for some ridiculous land deal. On a holiday? The cook blurted. Nikita said, look, he knew the master and his wife just had a big argument about it on the driveway. Could he please just borrow his own coat? The cook sighed. Sure. He wasn't going anywhere today anyway. He grabbed the coat and set it down on the table. He wanted it back the moment Nikita returned. As Nikita reached for the coat that had been his until the night before, the cook set something else down on the table. A bottle. Or Nikita could slide his coat back, give his pay for the week after. The week after next. Relax a little. It is a holiday after all. Nikita took a deep breath, grabbed his coat and left without taking another. You should put something on your feet, Nikita. You'll get cold, vasily's wife said when he walked out. He looked down at his felt boots, barely boots at all. His little toe almost poked out the hole in the right one. Nikita grabbed a pinch of hay from the barn and shoved it in the hole. He smiled. There now he wouldn't be cold. Besides, it wasn't far. Nikita couldn't remember who he had traded his good boots to. He also couldn't remember the night they had bought. The carriage creaked as Nikita climbed aboard the master, Vasily was wearing his fur collar away from his mustache so his breath wouldn't moisten it. He was almost sweating in his fur coat. Under his fur coat, Nikita tied the belt of his coat tighter. He wouldn't let them see him shiver. He felt miserable enough even he didn't need their pity too. It wasn't far. Four miles down the road and it was 20 degrees Fahrenheit. Not bad. The master kissed his wife goodbye and rubbed his son's head. Nikita and Vasily were off. The wind was blowing on a gray day and the road before them wasn't clear, but it was visible. This was good. It will be good. Nikita heard a voice in the back of the carriage as they left the front gate and turned around to see the master's son, the heir to the estate, hanging on the carriage, a gap toothed grin. Gimme the whip, Vasily said. Nikita pretended not to hear him. The whip, a glove grasping, beckoned. Nikita placed the whip in his master's hand and the kid dropped from the back of the carriage. Be off to mama, you dog. The master barked. He stowed the whip by his side. Nikita pursed his lips. McCordy the horsewas a smart one. He wouldn't need the whip. Oh well. It was a short drive. They rode on in silence for a bit before Vasily looked over to Nikita, arms wrapped around himself. How's your wife? The master broached. Nikita shook his head. How should he know? Vasily laughed at. She's your wife. And she was bi yesterday. That traveler still staying there? Nikita nodded. He said what they did was their business as long as he didn't treat Nikita's boy badly. God be with them. Your boy? That's right, Vasily said. This small talk had gotten real sad real fast. Then he brightened up. Oh, the boy was old enough now. He would need a horse. Nikita could buy a horse off his master. The power differential and enormous wealth gap between the two men. That should lead to a fair deal for all. Vasily started talking about all the different horses he could let go. Nikita took care of the horses, so he knew all of them already. The horse Vasily would sell him would be a rip off at 7 rubles, but the Master wouldn't let it go for less than 25 and then Nikita would be in debt for half a year. He knew Vasily was cheating him not just on this potential horse deal, but everything. Nikita was kind to the animals, even when he was under the influence. So Vasily looked the other way on a lot of other things for Nikita to be paid what he was worth and to be expected to not. Nikita shook his head. He should focus on the here and now. He realized that Vasily was still talking about horse dealing. Man, that guy loved money. Nikita was going to take a nap. I'm cold, nikita said, unpinning his collar so it covered his face and eyes. He reclined in the seat and Vasily, the Master kept talking about horse prices. Nikita felt a slap on his shoulder. He pulled down his collar. Why were they stopped? Which road should we take? The Master asked. Nikita shook the snow from his hat and coat. He moved his foot in his boot so the pinky toe would warm up. They were at the tall oak stake in the road. Nikita pointed to the left. The road through Karamishevo had a double row of stake markers for the high snow. It was longer but better maintained. The straightway had no stakes, or if it did, they were already covered in snow. He looked up. It was snowing more now, in chunks that rushed to join their brethren. The sky was filled as far as he could see. It was calm, silent, peaceful. But the straight road goes through the hollow. It's sheltered, vasily said, pointing to the right. Nikita sighed. The master asked for his opinion and he got it. If they went left, even if it kept snowing, they will be fine. I' ma go to the right, vasily announced and led the horse to the right. Nikita unhooked his collar again. Well, it seemed like the Master in His infinite wisdom and intelligence knew the way without even asking him. At the next fork in the road. He didn't even need to waste the time to wake Nikita up. As Vasily sat with a look where he was trying to parse out if that was disrespectful or not, Nikita covered his face and went back to sleep for about 10 minutes again the carriage lurched to a stop. Nikita pulled his collar away, moved his foot in his boot, and he looked forward and saw McQuarty's coat curling up. His sweat was freezing. Should be fine. They weren't too far. Why are we stopped? Nikita asked. Vasily gestured to the road in front of them. Or the lack thereof. Lost the road. There were no stakes to be seen. Nikita closed his eyes, telling himself not to do it. Don't say I told you so. He held out his hand. Whip? He asked. Vasily placed it in his hand and he leapt down to sweep the snow and find the stakes. But he couldn't. There weren't any stakes. There were potatoes. Potato vines peeked up when he swept the snow. We are way off the road, but we're in Zakharov's lands, nikita informed his master as he lumbered through the snow. He's the only one around here with potatoes. The carriage creaked as Nikita boarded it. Drive straight. There were settlements on all sides of Zekaroff's. Once they got out of the fields, they would see something. The snow wasn't that thick, Vasily agreed and gave McCordy the signal. They bumped on through the field. They went through a ditch, a forest, and a frozen river before finally coming to a line of houses. They had arrived somewhere which, even if it wasn't where they were trying to go was better than the nowhere they had been. They passed clothes frozen to a clothesline. The person who owned them was either lazy or dead. The dung and mud in the town street churned regularly with foot, and hoof steps held its color against the snow. Grushenko. Vasily muttered the town's name. On their four mile journey to the landowner, they had somehow gone six miles in a different direction. Somehow they still had four miles to go. As the horse walked through town, resting, a man stepped out in front of the cart. Vasily. Vasily Andreyevich. The man shouted. He grabbed the reins of Vasily's horse to slow the man down. Vasily smiled. Hi. Yeah, he was on his way to Goryachkin. The man laughed. Nikita winced. He could smell the vodka from five feet away. Oh, you should have gone through Mochkanovka better road, he said. Vasily didn't look over at Nikita. They couldn't manage it today. He asked the man what was the most direct route so they could avoid getting lost again. He pointed them in one direction, eyed McCourty, and saw them on their way. Soon they were on the road again, and once again the road was buried. Vasily said he could barely see the stakes. Just relax, nikita told his master, and then easily pulled the reins from his hand, and McCordy knew the way. He didn't stray from the road at all, and Nikita must have felt enough confidence in McQuarty that he dozed off because he nearly broke his nose when the carriage slammed to a stop. I think we're lost again, nikita heard. Nikita sat up. What happened? Vasily said. He took control of the horse again, and there were these peasants on the road and they were pretty far gone themselves after the festivities, and he didn't want to be stuck behind peasants in the slow lane, so he forced McCourty past them and must have lost the road. And here they are. Nikita didn't even argue. He still had the whip. He climbed down, swept the snow, and again there was nothing. He climbed up and asked for the reins. When he got them, he barely held onto them, whistled a few times, did that clicking thing with the side of his mouth, and McCourty took off, wheeling around. In under a half an hour they were on the road, and not 15 minutes after that they were approaching a town. Grushenko. We just came from here. Vasily yelled when they saw the dung mud in the streets and the frozen clothes waving in the wind. I'm stopping. I need a break. My hands are freezing. You know how no matter how thick your gloves, your hands can still get cold? That's what I'm dealing with, basili remarked as Nikita shoved his own barely gloved hands into his coat so he could regain feeling. He said he didn't have that problem. Lucky you, vasily said, crunching and chipping the mud under the snow as he walked up to a front door. Hey, Brekanovs, where's the old man? Vasily yelled as he knocked. The door flew open and the confused face of the patriarch of the family morphed into a smile when he saw Vasily's face. Here's the man to come in. Come in. He pointed Nikita toward the barn where McCordy could warm up. The manservants were already unhooking the horse from the carriage, and Nikita crunched across the Snow, made sure McCourty was comfortable and crunched back to the house, the breath of two dozen people. The fire and the stove warmed the mansion that smelled of roasted meat, stew, tea, and yes, vodka. The children were already in bed in their bunks on top of the stove. Of course I can't stay, the Vasily explained, taking a sip of the vodka and nodding to the man who offered it to him. It wasn't gonna get any colder and the storm was clearing so the moonlight would guide them. They would be on their way. A woman rested her hand on Nikita's back. He was covered in frost. He must be chilled through and through. Nikita nodded. He definitely was. She told him to take a seat. She would get him some vodka to warm him up. Nikita breathed deep. That clear glass, it would feel so good. It would warm him. It would ease his headache just a little, just one. Then his boots, the man living in his house, his wife, a horse and a plow, his son. No thank you. Tea for me, please. I don't drink. The woman shrugged and shuffled over to the stove. Vasily paused for a half second as he told the story of the drunk peasants on the road and continued. A child could find their way to where you're going from here, and they have, the old man said. It wasn't even that far. You go straight until you hit the big bush, then make a right. You should stay, the old woman said to Vasily. She would have the women make up a bed. It was getting late and it would be a better trip in the morning. Can't Business, you know. If I miss it by an hour, it'll take a year to make up the difference. This deal won't be snatched from me. We'll get there. Right, Nikita? Nikita sipped the drink that wasn't vodka. Yeah, boss, all we have to do is make it to the turning. We'll leave immediately. Uh, follow up. Could someone lead us to the Turning? Because last time we didn't make it that far? Vasily asked. Nikita saw that he and his master had different definitions of the word immediately, because while he'd downed his tea, nearly scalded his tongue in the back of his throat. Vasily was onto his second vodka, talking house politics with the old man before checking his pocket watch. And when I say house politics, I don't mean cool Game of Thrones stuff. It's literally the politics of this particular household, where the young people wanted to divvy up the estate and have their own households, but the grandfather wanted to maintain control, continue to be the wealthiest household in town, and keep everyone under his roof. Nikita tried to focus on the conversation, and it was not only incredibly draining, but he burned most of his self control, not asking for vodka. A father gives his sons a broom to break, vasily said, finishing off his second drink. At first they couldn't break it, but then when they took it twig by twig, it broke easily. Think on that, my friend. Vasily slapped the man on the back and rose from the table. Nikita, you ready? One of the family members had just dropped off Nikita's tea, but the longer he stayed, the more difficult it would be to remain drinking only tea. He too rose and downed the steaming cup as quickly as he could. He was ready. Let's get out of here. The old man came into the yard with a lantern to see his guests off, but it was blown out immediately. Vasily laughed. This weather. Unpredictable. He was starting to wonder if he should even go, if the people who were gonna poach the land out from under him would try to brave this frigid night. Nikita paused. It was rhetorical. Nikita, we're still going, he said. Nikita wrapped his cloak around him and the carriage once again creaked as he boarded. The story says Nikita, feeling the bite of the night, did not wish to go at all, but he had become accustomed to not having his own way and to serving others. The pair rode, led by McCourty, led by the mayor from the household, out of the village for the second time that night, someone had collected the frozen linens. When they were ten minutes into the frozen wasteland, the wind started to blow so hard that they had to turn into it to stay following the mare. Then the mare stopped and the driver gestured for the pair to continue on to the right. Keep straight, and they should reach the village in no time. Nikita thanked the guide, and the servant, and his master trotted on into the night. Nikita sat, hands in his armpits and short beard covering his throat, trying to trap in any of the remaining warmth from the tea. They should have reached the forest by now. It had been 20 minutes since they left the guide and McCourty. The horse was confused. McCordy didn't get confused. Vasily dropped down from the sled again, feeling around in the snow up to his knees now for the markers. They were gone. Again he scanned the horizon. It was a guess at this point, and only McCourty's was better than his own, and the horse was out of ideas. So yeah. He demanded the reins again from his master, and Vasily offered them up. Nikita swallowed hard, mumbled an apology, and hit the horse with his whip. McQuarty was a good horse, so he was unused to the whip. He took off under Nikita's lead, but the sled lurched to a stop. Nikita raised his whip again, but then left it on the seat as he dropped down back into the snow. His feet were numb, and if McCordy was going to stop even at the risk of a whip, there was something in front of him. Vasily gasped from the sled when he saw Nikita disappear into the snow. Nikita. Nikita, are you alive? A muffled yes rose from the snow in front of the carriage. Vasily watched Nikita climb out on all fours, shaking the snow out of his everywhere. There was a ravine. He fell down a ravine. Better him than the horse and sled, though otherwise none of them would have gotten out. Nikita grabbed some hay from the back of the sledge and, barely daring to take his grimy sock from his boot, stuffed it full of hay. His toes were already going numb and he had to plug the hole. Through the corner of his eye he could see Vasily grimacing. The man had been born into wealth and he would be wealthy until the day he died. Land dealer. No, he didn't get to judge Nikita. When Nikita's boot was sufficiently stuffed, the servant took the reins. Vasily didn't say a thing. A few minutes later they were stopped again. Nikita jumped down, but he was cautious this time. It was the ravine. They had run into it again. Again the squall whipped at their cheeks and bit their ears. The land that they could see around them was alien, a wasteland of white. Nikita felt around. The snow was above his knees now, the ravine nearly surrounding them. They needed to drive McCordy back into the wind. Nikita stayed outside the sledge, grabbing McCourti's reins and leading him on foot. He was flagging now, too. This wasn't good. Then they saw the snow drift. There was no way around it. They had to move through it. Nikita gently encouraged the horse and McCourty resisted, but he continued until he was sunk up in the snow to his collar. Get out. Nikita yelled to his master. The man instinctively dove from the sled, the movement in the cold causing his sweat soaked neck to chill. They got free from the drift and Vasily trudged along next to the carriage. But ten paces on he stopped when McCordy and Nikita did. Nikita was unhooking the horse. What are you doing? The master yelled. Nikita could barely hear him over the wind. He yelled back that if they drove the horse any farther he would die. Then they would die. They needed to stop here Stop for the night, Vasily, the master said. For the night. Here. Nikita yelled over the whipping snow. Yeah. Did he see any way to go on that wouldn't lead them right back here? They couldn't escape the storm. They had to stay here, wait it out. Vasily's hands began to shake as Nikita unhooked the horse and tied it up. He was still warm in his two coats, but he felt the icy panic begin to creep down his spine. He took out his matches and his cigarettes, trying to light one to calm himself. The intense blaze of the match, head short though it was, almost burned his fingertips, and it gave him the scantest bit of warmth before it was out. Ten matches later he tossed his cigarette away. He looked over at Nikita. Poor fool. He was stuffing a boot with the leftover hay. McQuarty bent down to eat from the pile before the pile was taken by the wind. Vasily had to stifle a laugh, fitting end to the day. Vasily set up a flag for some reason and Nikita shook his head. If they must sleep here, they must. You mind? Nikita asked, returning to the sledge. He pulled the horse's blanket out from under his master. McCordia had so much freezing sweat on him after trying to get through the snowbank that he needed it more than either of them. Nikita said he was going to dig a hole for himself around the backside of the sludge. He'd be happy to dig one for his master too. Vasily only laughed. He must be joking. No, thank you. He'd stay in the dry sledge. Nikita shrugged. Whatever. Vasily felt bad for the man. Nikita's whole life had been one of squandered potential. He was reasonably intelligent, good with animals, a good man, but he indulged. Vasily hoped that this new resolve would take, but he wasn't holding out hope. Vasily. The master laid back on the remaining straw in the sledge, the wind cutting through it. His coats kept him warm enough, but still it would be a long night. He felt his pocketbook. He exhaled his pride, his pleasure. His money. Not just the money, but all he made and possessed. All that everyone knew he made and possessed. This was his grand purpose. He couldn't write poetry or compose symphonies. He couldn't heal the sick. He did have this, though. He had his money. He would be a millionaire soon. This deal would help that they should have kept going. Why was he listening to the servant? God gives to those who take, not those who give up, like Nikita. The man lost his wife, child, home, his coat. He had no Priorities. Vasily hugged his coat closer, thought about all he owned and all he would own, and fell asleep happy. Vasily jolted when the rooster crowed off in the distance. The night sky was so bright it had to be close to morning. He looked Nikita, or the pile that had been Nikita. The snow had blown over his coat cocoon, his wretched little coat. Why did Vasily listen to his wife? If the peasant died here, he could be responsible. Nothing he couldn't pay, but also nothing he wanted to pay. He shifted about 20 more times before coming to an almost but not completely uncomfortable position. He had to know. The wind bit at his fingers when he pulled them loose from his mittens and exposed them so that he could reach the even colder silver of his watch. He almost dropped it when, in the light of the night sky, he saw that it was ten minutes past midnight. They still had the whole night in front of them. Alright. He'd be fine, right? His uncle had done this. He had stayed out all night in the snow. He had lived, but Sebastian hadn't. He was Vasily's friend. He was frozen when they found him. But that wouldn't be Vasily. No, he was stronger than that. Just sleep, that's all. He just needed to sleep. And this discomfort would pass because that's all it was, right? Discomfort. As a rich man, he didn't need to deal with that as much anymore. Kind of. Ever. Still, this was one of those chances to prove himself. To prove what he knew. That he was better. But if they had stopped in Grushenko, a warm bed, hot drinks, the knowledge of what could have been, made the situation he was in now all the more terrible. He tried to think of his accounts, his holdings, his house and his servants. But the cold, howling like a wolf, kept coming for him. It was creeping in now. He could feel the cold sucking the warmth from the tips of his fingers. His toes were sore. They say it was only drunkards that froze. He wasn't going to freeze. He sat up in the sledge God gives to those who take. He wasn't gonna sit here and feel the life slowly leave his limbs, lie down and wait for death. No, he was going to ride. He was gonna save himself. He rose from the sledge, pausing for a moment at the pile of snow that housed Nikita. Now what? The man was a wreck. He had been trying to destroy himself for years. This was basically his wish. He probably didn't even want Vasily to uncover him. What was his life worth anyway with him gone? His wife could have a proper husband and his son. A father. Vasily. Vasily had something to live for, and he was going to live. He untied McQuarty, swept the icicles from his back, and mounted the horse. He gave one last look to Nikita, who didn't rouse with any of that, and rode off into the pale blue of the wasteland. At night, when McCourty moved, the sledge shifted and the snow poured into Nikita's little hole. The servant awoke with just enough time to see his master disappear into the white. He hadn't been comfortable, but he would survive. Or he would have. He shivered. Snow had poured down his neck and his hole was filled. He could dig himself a new one, or walk to find help. But now, now he didn't have the strength for either. At the beginning, when they had to stop the sledge, he thought that this could be it. He could die here, and he was okay with that. Life had never really been all that great. Some people could feel happy, and maybe he had been happy once, but that had been a long time ago. The closest thing he got now was a cup of vodka. And that, well, he might not be sure of the real thing, but he knew. An imitation. Still, it made him feel something, even if it was just numbness. It would be hard to move on, hard to die, but only like it would be difficult to move houses. He wouldn't be leaving much behind. Body that betrayed him, a wife and son that, if they didn't hate him, held him in disdain, friends who cheated him. Whatever awaited him on the other side, it would be something else, it would be new. He didn't know about sin or the afterlife or what laid beyond. But he did know that he was weary. Even before the trip. He was weary of everything. Of work, of rest, even of drinking. He didn't know where he would go if he died that night. But as a now recovering alcoholic without a ruble to his name and a family who hated him freezing to death in the snow, he didn't imagine it could be a whole lot worse. And if it was nothingness, at least he could rest. Nikita closed his eyes. He was back there before the drink took hold. The day Martha arrived at Vasily's. She was beautiful. She was alive. They fell in love in an instant. They were married within the season and pregnant within a year. But then the emptiness returned, if it had ever left. He remembered holding his boy and feeling nothing, that this wasn't it. He pushed them both away after that, started spending more time at the farm. More of his money went to drink than all of it. He wasn't even mad when he found out that his wife had taken up with the cooper. At least she wouldn't be burdened by him anymore. He wondered if he could have changed, huddled by the sledge now in the open. The wind snapped at him and he felt it even through the hole in his shoe. His eyes began to grow heavy. He began to lose consciousness. He didn't know if sleep or death would take him, but he was ready for either. Vasily bumped along on the back of the flagging McCourty in the darkness. When he spotted it, the darkened outline of the village on the horizon. Boom. Did it. Saved himself. Gonna have to try harder than that. God. He slowed. It was a bush then. Oh God, no. Hoofprints in the snow. McCourty's hoofprints. McQuarty made a sound that Vasily had never heard before. While he was still puzzled, the horse dropped and the snow accepted Vasily. When the landowner finally recovered, he found that McCourty had run off. He too was alone. No, he wasn't going to go gently. Nikita had been right. The horse knew Vasily had lost sight of the horse, but he saw the hoofprints. He rose from his knees and ran. The snow stung his face, but he didn't lose sight of them. He kept at it, and soon he saw McCourty. He was standing next to a black mass on the horizon. Vasily uncracked his beard with a smile. The horse had done it. He had led Vasily. Then his smile faded. Tears that would quickly freeze found the bottom rims of Vasily's eyes. The horse had led him right back to the carriage. Vasily stumbled forward. Oh no. Then he saw someone in a worse spot than him. Nikita was huddled by the sled, snow starting to cover his face. Vasily rushed over and brushed him off. The peasant's eyes found his master. His hand shook as he reached out. Give what was owed him to his son or his wife. He didn't matter now. Vasily looked down and shook his head when he left the peasant for dead. Before, those were just idle thoughts. He hadn't had to go look in the face of someone who needed him. What he did know was that Nikita wasn't going to die today. Vasily wasn't heartless. He wasn't gonna stand there in two coats while a man under his care froze to death. That's not who he was. That couldn't be who he was. He undid his coat and jumped on Nikita. Both of the men were cold for a moment, but then both began to warm. Nikita's tears unfroze. First he said he was going to perish. He should have perished. He not tonight. Nikita felt Vasily's hot breath from atop him. He looked up at Vasily and thanked the man. I know about myself what I know. Nikita could hear the grin on Vasily's face as his master said he wouldn't be losing Nikita. Not this time. Vasily had glanced up and noticed the blanket had come off McCordy. He couldn't leave Nikita, not yet. He would have to fix it, but not yet. A twilight sleep took him, and in a moment he was at home. Then at a festival, always conscious of Nikita underneath him. Oh, he was buying and selling, holding his son, embracing his wife, moving in and out of blissful nothingness. All the experiences, the memories of his life, like a rainbow united into one beautiful warm light. He was dying. He knew this, and it didn't frighten him. Nikita was still alive. Nikita would live. And in that way he would live. He barely understood himself, the man, Vasily Andreyevich, the things he cared about. His money, his shop, buying, selling. He only troubled himself with those things because he didn't know what the real thing was. Now he knew. He was so full of joy, his whole being. He felt himself free. Nothing could hold him back any longer. Peasants dug Nikita out from underneath the frozen body of his master, Vasily. The following afternoon they dragged him past the frozen horse McCourty and to the nearest settlement. The sledge had stopped only 70 yards from the road and less than half a mile from the village. They had to cut three toes from Nikita's feet, but after two months in the hospital, he was able to go back home. He used that gift that Vasily had given him, never drank again, and lived for another 20 years. Nikita finally died in the warmth of his home with his wife, his son, his daughter in law, and all of his grandchildren by his side. Today's episode was adapted from the story Master and Man by Leo Tolstoy. Fictional is a Next Pot production by Jason and Carissa Weiser. Our theme song is by Breakmaster Cylinder. Quick announcement. If you didn't come here from Myths and Legends, I would be legitimately surprised. But we have a new project in the myths and Legends world. We now have Mitos y Leyendas, which, if you can't tell from the title, is Myths and Legends in Spanish. We've worked with Sonoro to take our favorite one off episodes of the podcast and not just translate them into Spanish. But transform them into something that's even better than the original. I put the link in the show notes, but if it sounds like something you'd be into, check it out. Anyway, thank you so much for listening, and we'll see you in two weeks. Sam.