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100 | Pioneers 1. Tsipa is a diminutive form of the Hebrew name Tsiporah, which means “bird.” 2. A member of a people of southern European Russia and adjacent parts of Asia especially noted as warriors and cavalrymen. 32 Beryasheva arrived about an hour later; she was a tall, graceful young woman with a pale face, a slender, aquiline nose, and large dark eyes reflecting her unhealthy exhaustion. Her cousin, Tsipa Zvulovina,1 came along with her, a clever, round-faced, freckled young woman, with small, lively eyes and an overly audacious manner. Zvulovina entered first; glancing around quickly and turning her head from side to side like a bird, she announced boldly, “Well, here we are!” Beryasheva followed her in with a downtrodden appearance, her head hanging low. Preparing for a conversation about her misfortunes and realizing that everyone would feel sorry for her, she unconsciously assumed the guise of a browbeaten victim. The young men were completely flustered by the girls’ arrival; they bustled about the room, shook their hands awkwardly, and kept repeating, “Sit down! Sit down!” “On our way here I was—trembling like a leaf all the while, afraid of meeting any of my acquaintances,” Beryasheva said feebly and dejectedly. “What’s there to be afraid of?” Zvulovina exclaimed bravely. “I came boldly, like a Cossack.”2 Turning her head like a bird, with jerky movements, she once again surveyed those present. The young women sat next to each other on the sleeping-bench; Mirkin sat down at the table opposite them. “I’m leaving . . . what am I going to do here?” Tsiporin whispered sullenly. “Me, too . . . ,” Uler echoed just as sullenly, casting a melancholy glance at Beryasheva. “And me!” Kornblat said, glad to join forces with them. “I’m going out to the garden. I’ll study my Slavic grammar there.” Stealthily, one at a time, the three of them crept out of the room. “It’s good of you to come,” Mirkin began, having recovered from his initial confusion. “Now we can talk about what to do. . . .” “You should discuss it! You should advise her! You should rescue her! Do you hear?” Zvulovina cried decisively. “Or else she’ll undoubtedly lay hands on her- Pioneers | 101 3. Another diminutive form of the name Sonya. self! Isn’t that right, Sonechka?”3 she added softly, glancing at Beryasheva’s face as if she had a seriously ill patient in front of her. Beryasheva let her head hang down ever lower and emitted a sigh. “Youcan’timaginewhatsortof terribletormentsshehastoendure!”Zvulovina continued, growing more excited. “If I hadn’t been there today, God knows what might’ve happened! Do you understand? Some young men came into the shop— and my uncle, that deranged fellow, decided that they wanted to ‘betroth’ her! How do you like that? I tell you, had I not been there—something awful could have happened! I gave it to my uncle!! I’m not afraid of him! I’m not afraid of anyone! I’m a Cossack!” Beryasheva raised her head and looked at Mirkin expressively, letting him know that Zvulovina wasn’t aware of the secret intended “betrothal.” Mirkin understood and exchanged glances with Faevich. “Listen,” Mirkin said, addressing Beryasheva, interrupting Zvulovina’s rapid delivery. “We’ve discussed your plight. All your thoughts are now directed at somehow getting rid of your intended. Of course, that’s the most urgent thing to do! But that’s still not enough! Let’s say you manage to avoid this noose. Then what? In a month another match will be found, another noose. So what sort of life is that?” “You’re telling me!” Beryasheva replied, smiling feebly and unhappily. “You don’t know even a fraction of what I have to endure! I’ll tell you only that . . .” “Wait! I’ll tell it better than you! I’ll tell you . . . ,” Zvulovina interrupted her swiftly. But Beryasheva stopped her with a gentle gesture. “No, Tsipa, I can tell it better. . . . Each of us knows best how to describe our own sufferings. . . . You know very well,” she said, turning to Mirkin, “how I was living before. I had to hide and pretend. But that was genuine paradise, compared to what happened later. . . . Rumors about me have started to circulate in town. Every day some relative or acquaintance arrives and whispers into my mother’s ear that people in town are ‘slandering’ me, saying I’m not devout, that I’m friends with young people, even ‘progressive’ youth...

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