About the book: 1913 / On a foggy autumn morning, the Makaryevsky deacon rode into a schismatic village on his pinto horse and stopped at the porch of a two-story dark house. For a long time he knocked with his small fist on the heavy door from the ancient forest and hopped on the porch like a cold, skinny bird. Finally, shuffling steps were heard in the hallway and a tall gray-haired old man opened the door..