Fedul and Melania
The husband's name was Fedul, and the wife's name was Malanya. Fedul managed all the men's work, while Malanya kept house.One day, Fedul came home angry and tired and began to scold and reproach his wife:
- You spend half the day puttering around the stove, and it’s no use! I’ve turned over so much land with just one harness—no one could plow that much in a day. I’ve worn out the horse, and I can’t feel my arms or legs!
Malanya was a quick woman: she darted around the house, back and forth. She’d rush to the cradle, then scoop out the coals from the stove, then drag a heavy cast-iron pot out of the stove with a hook, all while answering her husband:
- Well, Fedul, why the long face? You may have heavy work, but it’s just one task, while I’m spinning around like a squirrel in a wheel, without a moment to sit down. If you don’t believe me, stay home tomorrow and keep house, and I’ll go plow.
- Fine, go plow, and you’ll find out whose work is harder: yours or mine. I’ll rest by the stove for a day, and somehow I’ll manage, I’ll get everything done on time.
In the morning, Malanya set off to plow, leaving Fedul with instructions:
- Make sure the dough doesn’t overflow from the kneading trough; the children’s shirts are soaking in the tub—they need to be washed;
there’s a pot of sour cream in the pantry—churn it and take the butter to the cellar; there are dry diapers hanging on the line; when the baby wakes up, don’t forget to feed him: the milk and the feeding bottle are on the shelf in the shed, and make sure no stray dog gets into the hallway—there’s a hen sitting on her nest there.
And with those words, Malanya left. Fedul stayed behind to manage the house.
He lit the stove... What’s this? Smoke poured out of the stove, stinging his eyes. The man dashed back and forth: “Oh! I forgot to open the flue!” He rushed to open the flue. While he was fumbling in the smoke to find and open the damper, he noticed the dough was overflowing from the kneading trough. He started scooping up the dough and kneading it: his hands were covered in dough, and then the baby in the cradle started crying. Fedul rushed to the baby—he didn’t even have time to wipe his hands. He picked up the baby, smearing him with dough, and ran to grab a dry diaper from the line. But he slipped, stepped on the dough that had spilled out of the trough, fell, hurt himself, and nearly killed the baby. At that moment, there was a commotion in the hallway: the hen was clucking, and a dog was barking... Fedul didn’t bother changing the diaper, shoved the baby back into the cradle, grabbed a poker, and ran out to the hallway. There, the hen, all ruffled up, was defending her nest from the dog. Fedul swung the poker at the dog, but it dodged. The iron tip of the poker hit the nest, smashing the eggs. Meanwhile, the baby in the cradle was wailing. Fedul hurried back to the baby. He looked around: the stove had burned down to blue coals, the dough had overflowed again, and the baby was crying inconsolably. What to do? What to tackle first? He kept darting around: grabbing one task, then another, until Malanya returned from the field. Fedul greeted his wife:
- Why are you back so early?
- Early? Malanya replied. I plowed a whole harness, the horse is exhausted, and I can barely drag my feet! And what’s going on here? Everything’s upside down!
- Out in the field, even if the work is heavy, it’s just one thing. But try keeping house, and then you’ll understand what real work is!
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