My Childhood - Maxim Gorky [19]
Uncle Michael especially was in raptures, jumping about the load, sniffing hard at the poultry, smacking his lips with relish, closing his restless eyes in ecstasy. He resembled his father; he had the same dried-up appearance, only he was taller and his hair was dark.
Slipping his chilled hands up his sleeves, he inquired of Tsiganok:
"How much did my father give you?"
"Five roubles."
"There is fifteen roubles' worth here! How much did you spend?"
"Four roubles, ten kopecks."
"Perhaps the other ninety kopecks is in your pocket. Have n't you noticed, Jaakov, how money gets all over the place?"
Uncle Jaakov, standing in the frost in his shirtsleeves, laughed quietly, blinking in the cold blue light.
"You have some brandy for us, Vanka, have n't you?" he asked lazily.
Grandmother meanwhile was unharnessing the horse.
"There, my little one! There! Spoiled child! There, God's plaything!"
Great Sharapa, tossing his thick mane, fastened his white teeth in her shoulder, pushed his silky nose into her hair, gazed into her face with contented eyes, and shaking the frost from his eyelashes, softly neighed.
"Ah! you want some bread."
She thrust a large, salted crust in his mouth, and making her apron into a bag under his nose, she thoughtfully watched him eat.
Tsiganok, himself as playful as a young horse, sprang to her side.
"He is such a good horse, Grandma! And so clever!"
"Get away! Don't try your tricks on me!" cried grandmother, stamping her foot. "You know that I am not fond of you to-day."
She afterwards explained to me that Tsiganok had not bought so much in the market as he had stolen. "If grandfather gives him five roubles, he spends three and steals three roubles' worth," she said sadly. "He takes a pleasure in stealing. He is like a spoiled child. He tried it once, and it turned out well; he was laughed at and praised for his success, and that is how he got into the habit of thieving. And grandfather, who in his youth ate the bread of poverty till he wanted no more of it, has grown greedy in his old age, and money is dearer to him now than the blood of his own children! He is glad even of a present! As for Michael and Jaakov . . ."
She made a gesture of contempt and was silent a moment; then looking fixedly at the closed lid of her snuff-box, she went on querulously:
"But there, Lenya, that's a bit of work done by a blind woman . . . Dame Fortune . . . there she sits spinning for us and we can't even choose the pattern. . . . But there it is! If they caught Ivan thieving they would beat him to death."
And after another silence she continued quietly:
"Ah! we have plenty of principles, but we don't put them into practice."
The next day I begged Vanka not to steal any more. "If you do they 'll beat you to death."
"They won't touch me ... I should soon wriggle out of their clutches. I am as lively as a mettlesome horse," he said, laughing; but the next minute his face fell. "Of course I know quite well that it is wrong and risky to steal. I do it . . . just to amuse myself, because I am bored. And I don't save any of the money. Your uncles get it all out of me before the week is over. But I don't care! Let them take it. I have more than enough."
Suddenly he took me up in his arms, shaking me gently.
"You will be a strong man, you are so light and slim, and your bones are so firm. I say, why don't you learn to play on the guitar? Ask Uncle Jaakov! But you are too small yet, that's a pity! You 're little, but you have a temper of your own! You don't like your grandfather much, do you?"
"I don't know."
"I don't like any of the Kashmirins except your grandmother. Let the devil like them!"
"What about me?"
"You? You are not a Kashmirin. You are a Pyeshkov. . . . That's different blood--a different stock altogether."
Suddenly he gave me a violent squeeze.
"Ah!" he almost groaned. "If only I had a good voice for singing! Good Lord! what a stir I should make in the world! . . . Run away now, old chap. I must get on with my work."
He set me down on the floor, put a handful