Miller Alexei Biryukov, a huge, middle-aged man with a clumsy figure and face, smoked a pipe at the doorstep of his house. Despite the cold and damp weather, he was dressed lightly - apparently his thick-skinned, "callous, like corn" body did not feel the cold. The small, swimming eyes on his red, fleshy face gazed gloomily around.
Near the mill, two monks worked - they unloaded from the cart the bags brought for grinding rye. Nearby sat completely drunk employee Biryukova and pretended to fix the network.
After observing a little of the work of the monks, Biryukov began to quarrel with them. At first he grumbled for a long time that the monks were fishing in "his river."
I’m in a posad and you’ve taken the river for granted, I’m paying you money, therefore, my fish and no one has the full right to catch it. Pray to God, but do not consider stealing for sin.
The monks objected that the miller paid only for the right to put nets on the monastery shore, and the river is divine and cannot be someone else's. Biryukov did not relent, threatened to complain to the justice of the peace, showered the monks with black abuse, promised to catch them for catching his fish and beat him. The miller raised his hand to the servants of God more than once, so the monks demolished the battle in silence.
Having exhausted the "fish issue", Biryukov switched to a drunken worker and began to honor him with such disgusting words that one of the monks could not stand it and said that going to the mill was the most painful job in the monastery. You come to Biryukov - as if you end up in hell. And you can’t ride: there are no more mills in the area.Miller continued to swear.
It was evident that grunts and swearing were for him the same habit as sucking a pipe.
The miller fell silent only when a small, tidy old woman in a striped straw coat from someone else's shoulder appeared on the dam. It was the miller's mother. She missed her son, whom she had not seen for a long time, but Biryukov did not show great joy and declared that it was time for him to leave.
The old woman began to complain of poverty. She lived with her youngest son, a bitter drunkard, six in one room. There are not enough food complaints, the children are starving, and here she is, old, sitting on her neck. And Alyoshenka, her eldest son, is still single, he does not care about anyone. So can he really help his brother and four nephews?
Biryukov listened to his mother, was silent and looked to the side. Realizing that the son would not give money, the old woman began to ask for a neighbor from whom Biryukov took rye for grinding, but did not give it up. The miller advised his mother not to interfere in other people's affairs. The old woman sighed: her son is good to everyone - both handsome and rich, but he does not have a heart. Forever gloomy, unfriendly, "like a beast what." And bad rumors are circulating about him, as if he and his workers are robbing and stealing horses at night. Biryukov’s mill is considered a cursed place, “girls and guys are afraid to come close” and call the miller Cain da Herod.
Wherever you step - the grass does not grow, wherever you breathe - the fly does not fly.
These speeches did not work on the miller, he was about to leave and began to harness the drogues, and his mother walked around, looking her son in the face.Biryukov was already pulling on the caftan when his mother remembered that she brought him a present - a small mint gingerbread, which she was treated to by the deaconess. The miller pushed his mother's hand away, the carrot fell to dust, and the old woman "quietly trudged to the dam."
The monks shook their hands in horror, and even the worker sobered up. Maybe the miller noticed the painful impression made by him, or maybe “a long asleep feeling moved in his chest,” but something like a fright reflected on his face. He caught up with his mother, delved into a wallet full of notes and silver for a long time, found the smallest coin - two-handed - and, turning red, handed it to an old woman.
