The Party Secretary gave a shrill cry, wrenched himself free from Ivan and flung himself into the jeep. He leaned out the window and yelled above the sound of the engine: "Better watch out, head man! You'll answer for the plan with your life. And as for you, Hero, you've not seen the last of me."

The vehicle made the spring mud fly as it bounced along over the ruts.

They went back to the village in silence. The cool, acrid smell of humus wafted across from the forest where the snow had melted. The first plants were already appearing on the little hills. As they parted, the head of the kolkhoz said to Ivan: "Vanya, you were wrong to give him a shaking. You know what they say, don't touch shit and it won't stink. In any case, what we have to do tomorrow is start plowing. And not on account of that idiot's orders…"

The next day Ivan was making his way forward, leaning on the plow, stumbling over the ruts, slithering on the glistening clods of earth. With the aid of ropes fixed to the draft beam, the plow was being drawn along by two women. On the right walked Vera, in big sagging boots, that looked like elephants' feet on account of the mud. On the left Ivan's childhood friend, Lida. She still wore her schoolgirl's skirt, which left her knees bare.

The morning was limpid and sunny. Busily the crows were taking off and settling again on the plowed land. Fluttering past, hesitant and fragile, the first butterfly shone in a brief yellow flurry.

Ivan kept his eyes on the backs and feet of the two women as they struggled forward. Sometimes the plowshare dug in too deeply. The women braced themselves against the ropes. Then Ivan manipulated the handles of the plow, trying to help them. The steel plowshare sliced through the earth, wrenched itself free, and they continued their walk. And again Ivan saw the elephants' feet and the jackets discolored by the sun and rain. "The war…" he thought. "Everything stems from there… Take Lidka, hardly married and her husband sent to the front.