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I'm the least drunken of all the peasant men.

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I possess moral strength, and my family

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by majority vote, equipped me with a list
eight pages long, and sent me off

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to the capital so I could bring back
a fur coat each for my daughter-in-law and her husband,

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and instant coffee for my brother and his wife.

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Two daughters-in-law get rugs, the son-in-law gets black caviar,
and father-in-law gets something Armenian to drink.

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I'm wounded and shell-shocked.

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I'm a little afraid I'll forget
who gets what in the proper order.

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I memorized the shopping list by heart,
and sewed the money into my lining.

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So then: two fur coats for my brother, perfume for my sister's husband,
Father-in-law said: “Just grab whatever you can find.”

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Two daughters-in-law get rugs, the son-in-law gets hare caviar,
and two liters of vodka for my crony — let him soak himself.

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I poked through backs and wandered among legs,

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forcing my chest toward coats and shirts so that

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the shopping list would not fall into enemy hands.

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I swallowed it without fear, but I still remember:

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my brother wants a fur coat, the crony and his wife want everything in sight.

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Father-in-law gets Yerevan vodka.

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Two daughters-in-law get rugs, the son-in-law gets a hare hole,
and my sister doesn't care what it is, so long as it's pretty.

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How can I possibly return empty-handed?

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But then I stumbled across some goods.

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“What currency do you have?” they ask.

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“Don't worry,” I say, “not dollars!”

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So give me some instant shag tobacco — the son-in-law can die without caviar.

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And give father-in-law some perfume for his hangover!

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The two daughters-in-law don't care, and my sister's husband gets wine.

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And for me — that yellow stuff on the plate.

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I can't remember anything about pounds or sterling,

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struck down by this terrible mystery.

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Why did I spill my blood back then?

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Why did I eat that eight-page list?

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Why do I need rubles

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hidden in my lining?

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So where on earth am I supposed to get a fur coat,

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or fur-covered coffee for the son-in-law?

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Father-in-law gets nothing, and the crony can make do with beer.

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And where do I get down-covered cognac and an instant daughter-in-law?

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As for my brother, he can survive on moonshine.