Han Ong

Nikolai Mikhailovich brought a large amount of money from Ilya, more than Boris Ivanovich had expected, as well as a letter from his wife.

They went to the neighboring village to the store.

The shopkeeper, Verka, who had a deep respect for Nikolai Mikhailovich, pulled the forbidden vodka out from under the counter.

Nikolai Mikhailovich had brought two bottles from Moscow, but Boris Ivanovich did not want to miss an opportunity to spend some of his new pile of cash.

He had avoided the store, fearing the locals.

They fit the store's entire shabby stock into two backpacks, a bounty of cookies, sticky hard candies without wrappers, oil, barley, a packet of dried peas, briquettes of cherry kissel, blocks of processed cheese, and two packets of salt.

Boris Ivanovich kept scanning the shelves for real food.

Verka eyed him to see if he was looking for more than groceries.

To her dismay, his hungry eyes sought out goods and not her the beauty.

Straightening his back under the weight of his bag, Nikolai Mikhailovich shook his shoulders to better distribute the weight of their purchases, which made the models give out a pretty clink.

"'Are you staying for a while?

Come visit us.'

Verka propped her round cheek on her beet-red fist.

"'No, Vera, thank you.

I don't think I'll be coming back.

I'm only here for a day.

I haven't even started warming the house.

I just chopped some wood.

We'll spend the night at Svistunika's and then head back.'

Well, you should at least tell your friend to come see us, Verka giggled.