Outside the window, down in the village, dogs barked, late roosters cried, and these simple homely sounds soothed Rebrov. Years ago this time in the mornings his mother returned home from the barn with a steaming bucket of milk. She kindled fire in the stove, and with the crackling of wood their dark morning hut turned bright and joyful.
When Rebrov by sheer chance came to Moscow, he could not really believe that one can permanently live in this city and stay normal and happy. When he pocketed his first millions, he immediately moved out of city. However, when the realtor took him to see a newly built house in the “elite” cottage settlement that sprang then around Moscow with mostly corrupt or criminal money, and when he saw these stone mansions with turrets, saw faces of this “elite”, that would become his neighbors, he didn't even bother to look what’s inside, and just turned and walked back to his car.
He told his realtor to find him better some land in a simple village, where he could build a house of his dream. Realtor found in a week this beautiful but crumbling village with four neighboring families dreaming to get out of here and become city dwellers. Rebrov bought them for a million greenbacks four apartments in the capital, burned all their huts, sheds, and started new construction. He built his house of the northern fir-trees, almost a yard thick. He hewed house frame himself beaming with pleasure, and the hired carpenters just smiled with amazement and clicked their tongues.
All of his land Rebrov planted with apple-trees. But then he made a mistake that he didn’t know so far how to set right. He fenced his land with a wall of pressed tin sheets. That was quite widespread way for newly rich to hide away from the peering eyes. Outside, such a brightly painted fence looked good. But inside, one’s look was obstructed everywhere by close and monotonous wall that immediately evoked a disturbing feeling of being confined to some penitentiary. Rebrov never had been in a jail being convicted, with God’s mercy. But he spent three months in Butyrka preliminary prison, waiting for a court, on charges of plunder. Nothing was proved, but Rebrov learned there to appreciate his freedom.
Rebrov was in love just once when he was eighteen, and as it turned out the last time too. She lived in the neighboring village, on other side of the lake. That village was much bigger, and there was even a food store and elementary school with two classes. Adolescent Ivan Rebrov went to his school on a horseback: every day six miles around the lake, and six back. Only in January, with wolf weddings in full play, when they ran baring their teeth even into the villages, his father harnessed his horse in a sledge, threw inside an old rusty shotgun and drove his son to the school. But that happened only if his father could be livened up in the morning, because in the evenings he was mostly dead drunk.