We were willing to believe that Mrs. Shimerda was a good housewife in her
own country, but she managed poorly under new conditions: the conditions
were bad enough, certainly!
I remember how horrified we were at the sour, ashy-grey bread she gave her
family to eat. She mixed her dough, we discovered, in an old tin
peck-measure that Krajiek had used about the barn. When she took the paste
out to bake it, she left smears of dough sticking to the sides of the
measure, put the measure on the shelf behind the stove, and let this
residue ferment. The next time she made bread, she scraped this sour stuff
down into the fresh dough to serve as yeast.
During those first months the Shimerdas never went to town. Krajiek
encouraged them in the belief that in Black Hawk they would somehow be
mysteriously separated from their money. They hated Krajiek, but they
clung to him because he was the only human being with whom they could talk
or from whom they could get information. He slept with the old man and the
two boys in the dugout barn, along with the oxen. They kept him in their
hole and fed him for the same reason that the prairie-dogs and the brown
owls house the rattlesnakes--because they did not know how to get rid of
him.
V
WE KNEW THAT THINGS were hard for our Bohemian neighbours, but the two
girls were lighthearted and never complained.
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