On Property
An old carpenter is mending the railings on a veranda. A boy of seven, the son of the master of the house, is watching the man working.
Boy
How well you work! What is your name?
Carpenter
My name? They used to call me Hrolka, and now they call me Hrol, and even Hrol Savich when they speak respectfully.
Boy
How well you work, Frol Savich.
Carpenter
As long as you have to work, you may as well do good work.
Boy
Have you got a veranda in your house?
Carpenter
In our house? We have a veranda, my boy, yours here is nothing to compare with it. A veranda with no windows. And if you step on to it, well, you can’t believe your eyes. That’s the kind of veranda we’ve got.
Boy
You are making fun. No, seriously, tell me: have you a veranda like this? I want to know.
Carpenter
My dear child, how can the likes of us have a veranda? It’s a blessing if we’ve a roof over our heads, and you say, “a veranda!” I’ve been thinking about having a roof built ever since last spring. I’ve just managed to pull down the old one, but the new one isn’t finished, and the house is standing there and getting damp ithout it.
Boy
Surprised. But why?
Carpenter
Why? Just because I am not able to do it.
Boy
How so? If you are able to work for us?
Carpenter
I can work all right for you, but not for myself.
Boy
Why? I can’t understand. Please explain.
Carpenter
You will understand when you are grown up. I am able to do your work, but as for my own, I can’t do it.
Boy
But why?
Carpenter
Because I need wood for that, and I haven’t got any. It has to be bought. I have nothing to buy it with. When I have finished my work here, and your mother pays me, just you tell her to pay me well. Then I’ll drive to the forest, get five ash-trees or so to bring home and finish my roof.
Boy
Do you mean you haven’t a forest of your own?
Carpenter
We have such big forests that you can walk three whole days and not reach the end. But, worse luck, they don’t belong to us.
Boy
Mother says all her trouble comes from our forest; she has continual worries about it.
Carpenter
That’s the worst of it. Your mother is worried by having too much wood, and I’m worried by having none at all. But here I am gabbling with you and forgetting my work. And the likes of us don’t get made much of for doing that. Resumes his work.
Boy
When I grow up I shall arrange to have just the same as everybody else, so that all of us are equal.
Carpenter
Mind you grow up quickly, that I may still be alive. Then, mind you, don’t forget. … Where have I put my plane?