Whether it happened or not, there lived one peasant in the village of Kirbali. So he went to work and meets another, from the village of Zerti. “Let’s fraternize,” says the Kirbalian. - Let's! - says the other. Let's go together. What they earn, everyone shares equally.
One day this Kirbalian met his fellow countryman. He wants to treat him, but there is no money. The Kirbal resident borrowed two nickels from his friend. He treated his fellow countryman, drank with him, so much so that he never remembered his friend. I didn’t even drink it for my health. The guest left, and he said: “What is it, brother, he treated a fellow countryman with my money, but didn’t say anything to me?” Why would you call me too? I would come, add more money, drink to your health, and have fun. “I have such a bad character,” says this Kirbal man. - What! If I borrow money from anyone, I’ll die if I don’t give it back. I have nothing to profit from. “Yes, and I have a bad character,” he says, “you know us, the inhabitants of Zerti!” If someone owes me, even if he dies, I will not leave, I will take what is mine in the grave.
They finished their work. They received the money, they divided it, and this peasant from Zerti said: “Listen, friend, you have money, give me my two nickels.” “No,” says the Kirbal man, “now you have it too, why do you need more?” Come to me on Sunday, I’ll give it to you.
He comes on Sunday. The Kirbali greeted him cordially. He killed a chicken, treated him to honor and let him go: “I don’t have money now, come back on another Sunday.” He came on the second Sunday. Again the Kirbal resident warmly greeted him, again treated him, but did not give him any money.
This is how a peasant from Zerti goes to visit a Kirbalian every Sunday. He treats him, feeds him, gives him water, but does not give him money.
All the Kirbal’s chickens came out, his wife got angry and cursed: “Why are you feeding this slacker, give him his two nickels.” The chickens have all come out, should he slaughter the cow? “What should we do now,” says the Kirbal man, “I boasted. For better or worse, you have to hold on.
Giving him these dimes now is a shame on me. I’d rather pretend to be dead, and when he comes, sit down and cry. He will ask you and say that cholera killed me. He will get scared and leave.
Sunday has arrived. A peasant from Zerti appeared, and the Kirbalian lay down, stretched out, as if he were dead, not breathing. “Great, godfather,” the guest says to the hostess. “Be healthy,” she answers, sighing herself. “Why are you sad, godfather, and where is my brother-in-law?” “Eh, godfather, grief, grief, cholera took him away.”
The guest realized what cholera had taken his friend and said: “Oh, oh, what a misfortune!” So what can we do? Who will help in grief if not me? You know, everyone will run away as soon as they find out that you have cholera. Bring some boards, I’ll knock together a coffin, I’ll carry it, I’ll bury him, he can’t lie around at home.
He forced her to bring boards, knocked together a coffin, put the Kirbalian in it, put him on his back and carried it to an old church. He placed the coffin, and hid himself, waiting. Night has come.
And in that direction at that time there were robbers. They come to this abandoned church at night and share the loot here.
That night three robbers came and brought a bag of gold and silver. They laid everything out, divided it into three parts, and they also had a good saber. There’s no way they’ll divide it.” “Let’s,” says one, “here’s how we’ll decide: whoever cuts off this dead man’s head with one blow of that saber, let him get the saber.” “No,” says another, “whoever cuts him in half with one blow will get it.” And the third says: “No, whoever cuts off both legs with one blow is the one.”
The Kirbalian is lying in a coffin, trembling - they are about to start cutting him down. He was lying there, lying there, and suddenly he jumped up and shouted: “Get up, all you dead, old and new, catch, grab the robbers!” The robbers got scared. Throw away all the gold and let's run.
A peasant came out from Zerti and laughed: “That’s how you died!” They got all this goodness alone.
They divided everything like brothers, and the peasant from Zerti said again: “Listen, friend, give me my two dimes right now.” No, the Kirbalian doesn’t. They have a quarrel, they argue, it comes to a fight.
And the robbers, as they ran away and calmed down, decided to find out whether the dead, old and new, had really come to life, or whether it was all their imagination. They sent one of their own, who was braver, to find out carefully.
This messenger came and looked into the church. A Kirbal man saw him, tore off his hat and threw it to his brother-in-law: “Here’s for your two dimes!” What, you won’t get rid of it now? The robber ran, neither alive nor dead from fear. He came running, barely breathing: “Oh, brothers, so many dead people came there that out of all the goods, not everyone got two nickels, so they eat each other.” And they tore off my hat, I also went to the division, I barely left alive. And so the story with the debt of the Kirbalian ended.
Pestilence is there, feast is here, Elimination is there, torment is here.
Translated from Russian · original on wisdomlib.ru