THE FANTASTIC WORLDS OF YURI VYNNYCHUK by Yuri Vynnychuk

Author:Yuri Vynnychuk [Vynnychuk, Yuri]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Glagoslav Publications

Under the Greed Dog

Here you can tastefully dine

and lodge overnight

in the company of an incomparable Lolita.

The incomparable Lolita, of course, was our momma. She got a shaggy black wig and didn’t look bad at all, even though no rubber or corsets could tuck her shape in any longer.

Our work lay in making sure our overnight guests were fed with the most varied of meat delicacies, lavishly flavored with hemlock. When the guests dispersed to their designated bedrooms, right away they got interested in the incomparable Lolita. What confusion when it turned out to be our momma. But there was no other way out—the incomparable Lolita visited each room in turn and forced them to lay down, mixing the practical with pleasure.

By dawn not a single one of the clients was breathing, and then our real work began. Although visitors of “Under the Green Dog” often dropped by, so much meat was left over that we had to take it to the market. And so many damn bones collected that the entire barn was cluttered. Then we suggested to mom that she make soap from them. So much work piled up that we, no joke, were really huffing and puffing.

One evening after a long discussion, we decided that Max would care for the garden. We’d planted hemlock and henbane everywhere, so that we’d have seasoning for the meat. He’d also take care of the kettles in which the bones and fat cooked. The butcher’s work fell to me, and to Momma—the cook and the incomparable Lolita.

Despite this, later on, we still couldn’t manage everything, and therefore Momma suggested that we look up her brother, my uncle.

3.

My uncle lived outside of town on a farm, and he had three underswine: Bodyo who was my age and two twins—Milko and Filko. I’ll tell you about the daughter later.

Uncle occupied himself with a nice little business: he’d catch cats and dogs and make soap out of them, which, of course, couldn’t compete with ours. Auntie then would sew mink and fox furs from the cat and dog skins, which suspiciously gave off too much of an odor, and their owners would really complain about the fact that at least a dozen cats and dogs would run after them on the streets, perhaps relatives of the fox fur.

Thus I was designated negotiator. Just in case, I picked up an ax and hid it beneath my belt under my jacket.

Quiet reigned on the farm. An autumn wind was playing with the miserable leaves. Auntie was sitting at the doorstop kneading butter. It was hardly cow’s butter.

I politely said “hello” and asked whether Uncle was there.

“Yep, yep, go back of the house—he’s there, landlording.”

In back of the house my old blockhead uncle and his three little blockheads were tanning cats.

“God help you,” I greeted them.

“Oh, look who’s come to us!” Uncle shouted out, pretending to be really pleased. The threesome of his ferrets stretched their mouths from ear to ear, baring sparse yellow teeth. “What wind brought you here?”

“The wind that sweeps in money.

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