My Childhood - Maxim Gorky [7]
"Ugh! You!" he exclaimed frequently.
The long-drawn-out sound "U-gh!" always reminds me of a sensation of misery and chill. In the recreation hour, the time for evening tea, when he, my uncles and the workmen came into the kitchen from the workshop weary, with their hands stained with santaline and burnt by sulphuric acid, their hair bound with linen bands, all looking like the dark-featured icon in the corner of the kitchen--in that hour of dread my grandfather used to sit opposite to me, arousing the envy of the other grandchildren by speaking to me oftener than to them. Everything about him was trenchant and to the point. His heavy satin waistcoat embroidered with silk was old; his much-scrubbed shirt of colored cotton was crumpled; great patches flaunted themselves on the knees of his trousers; and yet he 6eemed to be dressed with more cleanliness and more refinement than his sons, who wore false shirtfronts and silk neckties.
Some days after our arrival he set me to learn the prayers. All the other children were older than myself, and were already being taught to read and write by the clerk of Uspenski Church. Timid Aunt Natalia used to teach me softly. She was a woman with a childlike countenance, and such transparent eyes that it seemed to me that, looking into them, one might see what was inside her head. I loved to look into those eyes of hers without shifting my gaze and without blinking; they used to twinkle as she turned her head away and said very softly, almost in a whisper: "That will do. . . . Now please say 'Our Father, which art in Heaven, hallowed be Thy name. . . .'" And if I asked, "What does 'hallowed be Thy name' mean?" she would glance round timidly and admonish me thus: "Don't ask questions. It is wrong. Just say after me 'Our Father . . .'"
Her words troubled me. Why was it wrong to ask questions? The words "hallowed be Thy name" acquired a mysterious significance in my mind, and I purposely mixed them up in every possible way.
But my aunt, pale and almost exhausted, patiently cleared her throat, which was always husky, and said, "No, that is not right. Just say 'hallowed be Thy name.' It is plain enough." "x But my aunt, pale and almost exhausted, patiently irritated me, and hindered me from remembering the prayer.
One day my grandfather inquired:
"Well, Oleysha, what have you been doing to-day? Playing? The bruises on your forehead told me as much. Bruises are got cheaply. And how about 'Our Father'? Have you learnt it?"
"He has a very bad memory," said my aunt softly.
Grandfather smiled as if he were glad, lifting his sandy eyebrows. "And what of it? He must be whipped; that's all."
And again he turned to me.
"Did your father ever whip you?"
As I did not know what he was talking about, I was silent, but my mother replied:
"No, Maxim never beat him, and what is more, forbade me to do so."
"And why, may I ask?"
"He said that beating is not education."
"He was a fool about everything--that Maxim. May God forgive me for speaking so of the dead!" exclaimed grandfather distinctly and angrily. He saw at once that these words enraged me. "What is that sullen face for?" he asked. "Ugh! . . . Tou! . . ." And smoothing down his reddish, silverstreaked hair, he added: "And this very Saturday I am going to give Sascha a hiding."
"What is a hiding?" I asked.
They all laughed, and grandfather said: "Wait a bit, and you shall see."
In secret I pondered over the word "hiding." Apparently it had the same meaning as to whip and beat. I had seen people beat horses, dogs and cats, and in Astrakhan the soldiers used to beat the Persians; but I had never before seen any one beat little children. Yet here my uncles hit their own children over the head and shoulders, and they bore it without resentment, merely rubbing the injured part; and if I asked them whether they were hurt, they always answered bravely:
"No, not a bit."
Then there was the famous story of the thimble. In the evenings, from tea-time to supper-time, my uncles and the