My Childhood - Maxim Gorky [42]
CHAPTER VII
I WAS not long in grasping the fact that there was one God for grandfather and another for grandmother. The frequency with which this difference was brought to my notice made it impossible to ignore it.
Sometimes grandmother woke up in the morning and sat a long while on the bed combing her wonderful hair. Holding her head firmly, she would draw the comb with its jagged teeth through every thread of that black, silky mane, whispering the while, not to wake me:
"Bother you! The devil take you for sticking together like this!"
When she had thus taken all the tangles out, she quickly wove it into a thick plait, washed in a hurry, with many angry tossings of her head, and without washing away the signs of irritation from her large face, which was creased by sleep, she placed herself before the icon and began her real morning ablutions, by which her whole being was instantly refreshed.
She straightened her crooked back, and raising her head, gazed upon the round face of Our Lady of Kazan, and after crossing herself reverently, said in a loud, fierce whisper:
"Most Glorious Virgin! Take me under thy protection this day, dear Mother."
Having made a deep obeisance, she straightened her back with difficulty, and then went on whispering ardently, and with deep feeling:
"Source of our Joy! Stainless Beauty! Apple tree in bloom!"
Every morning she seemed to find fresh words of praise; and for that reason I used to listen to her prayers with strained attention.
"Dear Heart, so pure, so heavenly! My Defense and my Refuge! Golden Sun! Mother of God! Guard me from temptation; grant that I may do no one harm, and may not be offended by what others do to me thoughtlessly."
With her dark eyes smiling, and a general air of rejuvenation about her, she crossed herself again, with that slow and ponderous movement of her hand.
"Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy qn me, a sinner, for Thy Mother's sake!"
Her prayers were always non-liturgical, full of sincere praise, and very simple.
She did not pray long in the mornings because she had to get the samovar ready, for grandfather kept no servants, and if the tea was not made to the moment, he used to give her a long and furious scolding.
Sometimes he was up before her, and would come up to the attic. Finding her at prayer, he would stand for some minutes listening to her, contemptuously curling his thin, dark lips, and when he was drinking his tea, he would growl:
"How often have I taught you how to say your prayers, blockhead. But you are always mumbling some nonsense, you heretic! I can't think why God puts up with you."
"He understands," grandmother would reply confidently, "what we don't say to Him. He looks into everything."
"You cursed dullard! U--u--ugh, you!" was all he said to this.
Her God was with her all day; she even spoke to the animals about Him. Evidently this God, with willing submission, made Himself subject to all creatures--to men, dogs, bees, and even the grass of the field; and He was impartially kind and accessible to every one on earth.
Once the petted cat belonging to the innkeeper's wife--an artful, pretty, coaxing creature, smoke-colored with golden eyes--caught a starling in the garden. Grandmother took away the nearly exhausted bird and punished the cat, crying:
"Have you no fear of God, you spiteful wretch?"
The wife of the innkeeper and the porter laughed at these words, but she said to them angrily:
"Do you think that animals don't understand about God? All creatures understand about Him better than you do, you heartless things!"
When she harnessed Sharapa, who was growing fat and melancholy, she used to hold a conversation with him.
"Why do you look so miserable, toiler of God? Why? You are getting old, my dear, that's what it is." And the horse would sigh and toss his head.
And yet she did not utter the name of God as frequently as grandfather did. Her God was quite comprehensible to me, and I knew that I must not tell lies in His presence; I should be ashamed to do so. The thought of Him produced such an