Telluria by Vladimir Sorokin

Author:Vladimir Sorokin
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: New York Review Books
Published: 2022-08-16T00:00:00+00:00

1. The capital of the Republic of Telluria from ancient Novgorod—six round pieces with holes in the middle, in a package from the Novgorodian republic.

2. [Kazakh] The cattle are healthy

24

OH, HOW fine the horse fair is in Konkovo!

Horse traders hurry on over here from every corner of the world with their live product.

Not just from PodMoscow, glorious Yaroslavl, Saratov incubators, and Voronezhian and Bashkirian cart-horse factories; herds also trickle their way to ZaMoscvorechye from distant states—for example, a van of little blue ladies’ horses just arrived from Espanish Cordoba much to the delight of Moscow beauties, and what more can be said about strong-chested Chinese xiaomi standin’ in groups of five, waitin’ for their masters and shakin’ their shaggy manes. Pavlodarian, Circassian, Mongolian, Tatarian, Ivanovian, Provençal, and Bavarian horses—bring ‘em all down to Konkovo! Step right up, the market occupies six square versts of land and the traders still complain: Ain’t enough space no more, no place to walk our lil’ horses proper ‘n show off how strong and beautiful they are.

Vanya arrived at the fair with his roan horsphere before dawn. Came up from the subway, tossed the box with the horsphere over his hump, and got to walkin’. Walkin’, lookin’, and feelin’ joyful. So many horses round that yer eyes set to runnin’! At the fair, there’re normal horses of all possible colors, ponies, cart horses, corroded little horses, funny ‘n spirited horses, fastuns, and calmuns. Herds of tinies of every possible dimension in their stables. Crowded up and clompin’ round so much it makes ye wanna laugh.

And Vanya did laugh, lookin’ at a little herd of mottled horses—it was real funny all right! White as can be, but with spots of dark, as if someone’d spattered paint on ‘em. Forty of ‘em crammed into a stable, clompin’ round, eyes like black currants, and barin’ their tiny teeth at their owner. And their owner, a healthy and rotund fella, stands with his arms crossed and smokin’ importantly, as if they wasn’t his herd.

“How much ye goan trade this herd for, old man?” Vanya asks.

“A thousand five hundred,” the horse trader answers without lookin’ at Vanya.

“Hot damn!” Vanya clicked his tongue.

But that’s how much a herd of mottled horses costs, o’ course. Vanya keeps walkin’. The fair is buzzin’ all round, nevermind the early hour. They’re tradin’, bettin’, and bristlin’ domes. And a flood of horses all round! After the tinies, he got to the sizables. Cart horses! They tower up, each one bigger’n the next. Some’re two times as big as a man, some even more. They stand there real calm, not payin’ no mind, and people are fussin’ all round ‘em and tradin’ ‘em. Cart horses don’t give a damn about little people! As if they weren’t gettin’ talked about—trade us, that’s fine, but we ain’t goan look at ye.

Vanya looked further on and sized up the biggest horse at the fair. A light-bay cart horse the size of a three-story house. And he stands like a house too without movin’ at all.

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