But at night, Viaz’ma lit up splendidly. Huge electric lamps, which illuminated the streets as if it were day, hung from cables. The town prided itself on its electric signs. Above the Nemirov Hotel on Moskovskaia a multicolored wheel spun at night. Some sort of electric feathers and flowers sparkled above the Nemirov movie theater. Above Krakovskii’s pharmacy a large bottle poured red liquid into a glass which never filled up. A yellow and black shoe alternately flared above Izraztsov’s shoe store. Truly, there were many fantastical billboards.
At night, the town shone like the capital. Prior to the war, the band of the heavy artillery division played in the shell at the city park on spring and summer evenings. The youth of Viaz’ma strolled beneath the electric bulbs which hung like pears from trees. High schoolers, apprentices, soldiers, vendors, and bureaucrats walked arm in arm with their ladies. To me, the park appeared to be too small for Viaz’ma. I always dreamed that upon growing up I would establish a park with tree-lined paths, gazebos, a landing, and boats for the strollers.
There were also some extremely handsome houses that were saved during the conflagration when the French were retreating from the battle of Viaz’ma. There were also new three- and four-story brick buildings. These were apartment houses with nice apartments with high ceilings and airy rooms.
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Fires were rare in the city, perhaps because the houses stood far apart and had large gardens between them. The fire department with a high observation tower across from the city park always seemed to be closed. In actuality, a fireman was always on duty in the tower night and day. But I never saw the fire apparatus, nor the firemen racing anywhere.
All of the homesteads had stables, cowsheds, and barns. I do not know if Viaz’ma was famous for its cattle, or whether this was generally the case in provincial towns, but Viaz’ma cows were a lovely sight. Around five o’clock the herds returned from grazing. I often hung out the window looking at the cows. How gorgeous they were! As far as I remember, there were four herds in Viaz’ma of 150 cows, perhaps more: the Bel’skoe, Smolenskoe, Kaluzh-skoe, and Moskovskoe. The herdsmen gathered the cows in the morning and brought them back in the evening for milking. All had their barns filled with hay and oil-cake for winter. Besides draught horses, there were few others. Some people had a
Peasant wagons, loaded with hay and assorted viands, drifted from all directions to Sennaia Square where the Thursday market was held. Sometimes large fairs were held on the Torgovaia Square.
The city club stood on the Sennaia. All the merchants, bank directors, bureaucrats, etc. were members. I was never there, of course, but my father would go whenever serious matters concerning the town were to be decided.
The central telephone station stood on the corner of Sennaia and Kaluzh-skaia. Many, many people had telephones in the city and in the countryside. When you called, a young lady would answer: “Whom do you wish, Petr Petrovich or Mariia Nikolaevna?” “Well, Petr Petrovich.” “He’s not home. Wait, I will ask. Dasha, where did you say Petr Petrovich was going? Aah, to father Aleksei, or maybe the pharmacy. Wait, I will find him and connect you.” They all knew who was where, and who was drinking tea with whom, who was at the club, and all the news in general. The telephone station stood in a convenient spot, everything could be seen from its windows. And, in general, everybody knew each other—who got engaged, whose milk cow went dry, or who sprained a foot. Nothing malicious came to anyone from this.
The railroad station was a bit over a
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to the Trans-Siberian express. In Cheliabinsk, the train met the St. Petersburg express and, combined, crossed Siberia. The travelers all unfailingly bought the famous Viaz’ma gingerbread.