Other Worlds by Teffi

Author:Teffi
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: New York Review Books
Published: 2021-04-20T00:00:00+00:00

ABOUT THE HOUSE

Everyone, of course, is familiar with the house spirit—the domovoy.

The domovoy is a serious being. He is fair and just, and he takes care of the house, all family concerns, and the stables. For some reason, he’s not interested in the other animals—only the horses. That’s probably why it’s so easy for witches to steal other people’s milk; the domovoy doesn’t protect cows.

This doesn’t mean that witches actually slip into other people’s cowsheds. What they usually do in order to steal milk is place a harrow upside down in their yard and draw milk from the tines. All they need do is call to mind the other person’s cow. Milk flows from the tines of the harrow, and the cow in question dries up.1

But all that is women’s business—no concern of the domovoy. His concern, as we’ve said, is the house and the stables.

For the western Slavs, and in a few parts of our own country, things are different. They have a number of smaller beings looking after their houses. These little beings are everywhere; they have their homes in every corner, behind the stove, under the bench, in the entrance room, in the larder, in corn bins, under the floorboards. Sometimes they quarrel. They squeal and have little fights. Clever people say that it’s mice scampering about. But how can it be mice when none of your fatback’s been stolen? Still, know-it-alls always know best.

A Polish woman once told me how, late in the evening, one of these beings drank some of the strainings from a fruit liqueur she’d just made. He overdid it—and forgot the whereabouts of his little home. Wherever he looked, someone was already there. Each of these beings, after all, had their own particular spot. So he rushed about anxiously, squeaking and squealing, and kicking up small clouds of dust. In the end, he got inside a pot that had had sour cream in it. And closed the lid after him. The following day the Polish woman kept hearing little giggles as she went around the house. Evidently, these little beings were having a good laugh. And there were smears of sour cream everywhere—under the bench, on the floor of the stove, and in every corner. The poor fellow must have ended up with sour cream all over him.

These small beings are good-natured. They never do evil, though they sometimes play tricks on you. They sprinkle your salt on the floor or roll your thimble away. They like hiding things: an old man’s glasses, an old woman’s needle, a young girl’s hair ribbon.

When that happens, you must tie a knot on your belt or in your kerchief, or twist some string tightly around a chair leg, and chant:

Play, little devil, play—

But give me back

What you take away!

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