“Mistress Malca, it is like a paradise straight from God here; where one lives for ever, one never dies! But you are not accustomed to the beauty of the world. Let us walk a little bit while we can still see, for we must collect sticks to keep enough fire going all night to ward off the mosquitoes and gnats in the world.”
Poor Malca saw it was all one now. She began to walk about and collect sticks.
“Lord! you look pretty, young lady. It seems as though you are one of us. Didn’t your father once keep an inn in the village somewhere?”
“For a long time he kept the inn at Bodesti.”
“And I was wondering how you came to speak Moldavian so well and why you looked like one of our women. I cannot believe you were really afraid of the wolf. Well, well, what do you think of this clearing? Would you like to die without knowing the beauty of the world? Do you hear the nightingales, how charming they are? Do you hear the turtle-doves calling to each other?”
“Mosh Nichifor, won’t something happen to us this evening? What will Itzic say?”
“Itzic? Itzic will think himself a lucky man when he sees you at home again.”
“Do you think Itzic knows the world? Or what sort of accidents could happen on the road?”
“He only knows how to walk about his hearth or by the oven like my worn-out old woman at home. Let me see whether you know how to make a fire.”
Malca arranged the sticks; old Nichifor drew out the tinder box and soon had a flame. Then old Nichifor said: