I was born in the year 18—­, and I have never ceased to regret it.  I lived with my grandmother.  She was called Natasha.  I do not know why.  She had a large mole on her left cheek.  Often she would embrace me with tears and lament over me, crying, “My little sad one, my little lonely one!” Yet I was not sad; I had too many griefs.  Nor was I lonely, for I had no playmates.

Often my grandmother told me I was ugly.  I had no mirror, so I believed her.  When I was sixteen a man I met in the street went mad for love of me and cut his throat.  For the first time in my life I wondered if my grandmother always spoke the truth.  I went home and wept, but when she asked me why I could not tell her.

Our house was quite dark.  It had three rooms leading in and out of one another, and no windows.  There was not much fresh air.  Every morning my grandmother went out to buy otchkza and pickled onions.  The man who sold them was very old.  He had a cast in each eye.  He inquired of my grandmother if she would allow him to be my husband, but she refused.  His name I do not remember.

Our neighbours were very pleasant people, kindly and simple.  There was a half-witted youth called Krop.  He used to fill his mouth with large brass-headed nails.  I did not dare to go near him, for he always tried to bite my arms.  One day I learned that he had died.  My grandmother bought me black silk mittens to wear at his funeral.  I was very proud, and ran out into the road to show them to the other children.  But in my haste I split them across from seam to seam, and my grandmother whipped me and put me to bed.

My grandmother’s chief friend was a woman who sold toasted cheese.  It was her custom to bring round the delicacy on a small hand-cart and sell to the children for a few kopecks.  This woman was reputed to be very rich.  She was not beautiful, for she had no teeth, and had hair on her face.  The first time I saw her I ran into the house and hid behind the large barrel of butter-milk.  My grandmother took me by the ear and led me to her friend.

“This is Ilonoka,” she said.  “She is a good girl.”

I remember that I cried very loud.

Afterwards my grandmother told me that perhaps the woman would leave me all her money.  Next time she came I wished to speak to her, but unfortunately I had a quinsy.  When the woman eventually died it was discovered that she had been destitute for a long time.  She left her hand-cart by will to my grandmother, and in her disappointment my grandmother beat me over the head with it.  Soon afterwards my hair began to come out, and my grandmother said it was time I found a husband.

Accordingly she went next door, where lived a woman with five sons.  They were all out except one, and he had a sore leg.  She brought him to me, and I cried very bitterly.  He also.  His name was Ivan, and I wished it had been Peter.