But while the guests began helping themselves at the Efimovich table, while Apronya cursed and berated the meek Timofei Markovich who stood dumbfounded by his horse (that mare was a sight brighter than her master- she wanted to leave Apronya’s mouth!), and while we boys made easy work of the cakes and sweets, my Auntie whisked herself around and rallied to her old flame’s defense.

Now Auntie was a woman, as I described before, of pure iron. She could easily march into a tavern- that forbidden threshold often barred from the Kazaktchki- with the authority of any man- even stronger! Any man knew there was mighty and hard reckoning when Pelaegya Nikonevna stepped into their gathering.

So marched she, massive shoulders draped proudly in that fine glossy shawl she preserved all these years, that solid token of Karp’s generosity, into the tavern.

Curiosity goaded me into sneaking along and watching from a dusty corner outside the tavern, watching this political intrigue play out before me.

Inside, a ruckus of shouts, curses, stomping of boots on floorboards, fists on tables (and maybe some on an unlucky soul’s mug) and shrill whistles muddled. All went silent, like Pentecost began, as soon as the men took notice of Auntie.

I stifled a laugh. This was a sight to see! Heh!

“Pelageya Nikonevna- what business have you with us here?” asked one, a certain Khrol Korneivich (Fedka’s oddly sensible father). He took his cap in respect. All men followed suit- save for my Grandfather who now seated himself at a table, arms crossed sullenly, squaring his eye at my Auntie.

“I told you no interfering!” Growled Grandfather.

“My business isn’t with you, little Father!” hushed my Auntie with a meaningful snort. She scanned the tavern for old Karp, before answering Khrol Korneivich. “Simply put, good and proud Cossacks of our fine stanista, I humbly-“ if pride found its human form, it was Auntie in this moment, in this rock-solid stance-“ inform you all of the truth! Don’t listen to this feeble slander being spewed by these two serpents!”

“AH! Calling your own father a serpent now, are you, little daughter?” accused my Grandfather in a voice wheedled by indignation.

“As I said, little Father, keep your business! And now, as I said, I am here to inform you all, that you’re all witnesses, you see!”

“Witnesses to what?” asked one man who I only recall as Filka. His eyes were always bloodshot for some reason or other.

Auntie, with swagger that would have rivaled our ancestors in the olden days, locked sight of her target- old Karp. Approaching him, I noted she flickered her eyes- was she fluttering her eyelashes and wagging her brows like a girl?

“Why our respected Brother here, Karp Platonovich, will announce his good deed before you all today! Is that not, Karp Platonovich?” Auntie boasted to Karp, beaming something fierce with a cheer of intensity that would unnerve most men.

Almost unnerved old Karp, it looked like! But he then grinned with equal ferocity, eyes shining. His ally arrived in time! “Ah, Pelaegeya Nikonevna! Still radiant after all these years! A measure of a true woman! I wish that you might tell my brethren what my good deed is, I’m too humble to declare it myself, you see.” Karp asked, motioning Auntie to his side.

He had no idea. Craning his neck up (as he sat at his own table and she stood beside him), he whispered into my Auntie’s ear. Her eyes narrowed, and she then leant down and whispered into his ear. His eyes widened. Sputtering, his greying mustache twitched under his muttering and cursing lips, I bet, and then Auntie clapped his shoulder firmly and glared at him, whispering again through gritted teeth.

It looked like a general advised by his iron-hard second-in-command!

“Karp Platonovich is a man of word, and more importantly, a man of generosity- he can’t bear seeing his brethren run themselves into debt! We all know weddings put a family in arrears, as dire as a man sending his son off for his service term! Don’t we know all that bitter pang of debt?” She clasped her hands and set an imploring gaze on all the men. Auntie knew when to wear the kid gloves, so to speak.

“So for Agrippina Martinevna,” she continued, now rousing a bewildered Karp on his feet, “- he has paid all expenses of her wedding! Now, what finer man could our proud stanitsa expect as their new Ataman?”

“He did?!” asked the men.

“He did? You’re sure about that, little daughter?” asked my equally astounded Grandfather. He blinked and huffed.

“I did?” Karp echoed? Auntie clapped her hand even harder on old Karp’s shoulder, nearly shaking the man.

“Of course, you did, you saint of a man!” she rallied.

“I did! Of course, I did!” Karp finally got the gist of Auntie’s strategy.

“Couldn’t bear seeing another family in debt, what with service term coming up for our proud sons and all!” Puffing his chest like a cockerel in the chickenyard, Karp patted his hand on his row of polished jacket buttons. “Might as well give a reprieve of happiness for our fine Agrippina Martinevnva and her husband!” He darted a smug smirk and cocky nod at a not-so dumbfounded Martin Efimovich.

Fueled with the speed of a sloppy register, Martin Efimovich didn’t even raise his eyes at Karp, instead scribbling furiously on the little notepad he carried with him, his lead pencil went dashing and flying with figures.

“Here’s to your health, Karp Platonovich! And God keep you well and happy- God bless your generosity- since you agreed to pay all the expenses, I paid you the courtesy of itemizing each expense! Including the feast provisions! Here it is!” announced an even more smug Martin Efimovich, marching with deliberation to Karp, and with a swaggering flourish, shoved the list into the latter’s hand.

Martin Efimovich snickered and shoved his way out of the tavern, slapping my Grandfather’s shoulder in triumph as both exited out, laughing heartily.

Left standing with the wrinkled list of bills in his now trembling hands, Karp now wobbled with a mix of outrage, dread and miserable fury. His eyes widened, and they too wobbled, if you know what I mean when eyes can wobble.

“God! Good god! All this! He’s a cheat! Not me!” He crumpled the list in clenched fists.

Auntie growled in a secretive hush.

“Hush now! You’ve cinched the nomination, Karp Platonovich! You’re rich enough!”

“I’m ruined!”

“Oh, hush it now! You should thank me for rescuing your election- and possibly your skin, you old dog!”

Did Karp win?

No. Neither he or Iripin won- something about a draw of votes, something about “requiring official intervention” from the regional Zemestvo… Our stanitsa was appointed another Ataman the next year.

Karp found himself in debt and regretting he ever gave Auntie that shawl.

However, Auntie obstinately insisted she solved both dilemmas- Agrippina Martinevna’s wedding debt AND Karp Platonovich election campaign.  

“Weddings and elections- quite the same! And the cure for both is quite the same, too!” Auntie boasted amongst her Kazaktchki.

As I said, not much difference between the two…