One day, the lemon ataman recruited a squad of the most ambitious young men: garlic, onions, red pepper, allspice - and went with them to wander around the world, see people and show themselves. They walked all day, and at dusk they came across a poor, poor peasant hut. The squad quietly entered the house and sat down on a bench near the kneading bowl. At dusk the hostess returned home. She lit a torch, lit a fire in the hearth and began to prepare dinner for her family. I hung a copper pot with ground corn on a hook in the fireplace to cook hominy. Following the hostess from work, her household followed. They entered the house, wished everyone good evening and sat down at the table according to seniority. Soon the mamalyga was ripe. The hostess took the pot off the heat, stirred the porridge with a wooden ladle and dumped it into a huge bowl. The bowl was filled to the brim and stood in the middle of the table like a haystack. The owner of the house rose from his seat, followed by the others. We prayed to God. Then they sat down again.
Suddenly the owner says:
- Listen, daughter-in-law! Do you have a head of garlic lying around somewhere? I’m really tired of empty hominy after a long post!
The daughter-in-law jumped up, rummaged around in the darkness with her hand, found garlic from the lemon ataman’s squad and served it on the table. As soon as the hostess hits the garlic head with her fist, and just once again, the poor garlic falls into pieces.
Lemon Ataman and his squad saw what had become of their comrade and shuddered with horror.
And the hostess tore off the white shirt from each slice, threw the bare slices into a mortar, took a wooden masher and let’s pound, and let’s pound. Once in the hands of the daughter-in-law, the poor garlic seemed to be numb - neither alive nor dead from fear. But as soon as they began to pound it in a mortar, the garlic rushed into the fray and released its pungent smell. It was all in vain. Nothing helped. And the young man died in terrible agony.
The hostess poured some water into the mortar, stirred the gravy, white as milk, and seasoned the hominy with it. Finally, the family began to eat and praised the porridge in every possible way. After dinner, everyone got up from the table.
Then the shepherd returned to the village with his flock. First of all, he drove the cattle into a pen, tied up the dogs, and then sat down to dinner. The hostess put hominy in his bowl. And the shepherd became brave and said:
- Do you have a bow, mistress? How boring the empty hominy has become to me after a long post!
The hostess rummaged around the shop where the daughter-in-law had just found garlic, in the blink of an eye she found the head of an onion and served it to the shepherd.
The onion realized that it had fallen into the clutches of the murderer, and fidgeted restlessly with fear. But the shepherd pulled out his pocket knife and cut the onion into quarters. In vain did the onion defend itself, in vain did it burn the shepherd’s eyes and sting his tongue. The shepherd wipes away his tears and does his job. And the onion, like his friend, paid with his head.
The shepherd finished dinner and went to bed in the barn, and the hostess sprinkled the heat in the hearth with ash and also lay down.
The whole house fell silent and fell asleep, and our young men gradually recovered from amazement and fear, and the lemon ataman began to persuade his squad:
“Let’s run away from here, friends, before we too come to an end, like garlic and onions.” The altitude here is rolling and will devour the stones, not like us.
They did it as they decided. Even before dawn, the lemon squad fled from the peasant shack. After some time they approached an unfamiliar city. Well, the youngsters thought, we’ll be safe here. And we slowly moved around the city, admiring the beauty of the streets, flower beds and bridges. Finally they stopped in front of a tall and beautiful building, and the lemon ataman said:
- Brothers, let's go to this house! Rich people live in it, and among them nothing will threaten us. The local owner is no match for the hungry lout who ate our comrades. He is full of all sorts of good things.
- Went! - shouted the red pepper and allspice.
The lemon squad sneaked into the house unnoticed, found the kitchen and climbed into the closet. When it was completely dawn, the cook burst into the kitchen and attacked the scullery:
- Light a fire, slaughter and pluck the chickens!
The dishwasher immediately lit the stove and put on the cast iron. The oil sizzles in the frying pan, the eggs are broken, the chickens are turned. Suddenly the cook screamed:
-Where are the red peppers?
The dishwasher jumped up and quickly opened the cupboard. Instantly the red pepper was in her hands. He sees that his affairs are bad, and with great annoyance he blushes like a red coat. Before the pepper even blinked an eye, it was already in the mill. It was in vain that he defended himself, in vain he poked his nose in and pinched the dishwasher’s hands—he was ground into powder. While the dishwasher was busy with the red pepper, she sneezed at least ten times, but nothing saved the poor fellow. So, in unheard of torment, destroyed and desecrated, the red pepper died. And the lemon ataman and the last surviving comrade were trembling with fear in the corner of the closet. The lemon turned even more yellow, and the allspice turned black, looking at the suffering of its friend.
It was time for dinner, the servant boy began to set the table, placed the plates, decanters of wine and brandy, a salt shaker and went to the kitchen. He found a lemon, brought it to the dining room and stuck it into the gilded neck of the decanter. The lemon caught fire - that’s where it was placed. “Oh yes I am, that’s how I am!” - he rejoiced. Suddenly the servant noticed that the pepper shaker had run out of pepper and reported this to the cook. She rushed to the closet, grabbed allspice grains, poured them into the mill and ground them. How the allspice resisted, how it tickled the cook’s nose! The cook sneezed desperately, but nothing could save the young man. The servant took the ground pepper and filled the empty pepper shaker with it.
At this time the owner himself came home. As soon as he climbed the stairs, the next thing he knew, his fat would suffocate him. The fat man was completely exhausted, as if he had been plowing or digging the earth all day, and in exhaustion he sat down at the laid table. He looked around, took a lemon and smelled it. Lemon is flattered that the owner himself smells it; The poor guy has no idea what awaits him. The stew was served. The owner grabbed the pepper on the tip of his knife, peppered the stew, then grabbed the lemon with his hefty hand and let’s crush it, and let’s reap it. And the lemon imagined that its owner was caressing it, and was more delighted than before. Suddenly a knife sharp, like a snake’s sting, flashed and pierced right through the yellow belly of the lemon. The lemon fought in vain, spitting juice right into the owner’s eye, but he squeezed the lemon until the last drop of transparent lemon blood fell into the stew. The owner gave the squeezed lemon to the servant, who threw it away. And the poor lemon from the gilded decanter ended up in the trash.
This is how the brave squad of the lemon ataman ended his life.
Translated from Russian · original on wisdomlib.ru