My Childhood - Maxim Gorky [70]
"Because I have done wrong, according to him."
"In not bringing that baby here--?"
She started violently, frowning, and biting her lips; then she burst into a laugh and pressed me more closely to her, as she said:
"Oh, you little monster! Now, you are to hold your tongue about that, do you hear? Never speak about it--forget you ever heard it, in fact."
And she spoke to me quietly and sternly for some time; but I did not understand what she said, and presently she stood up and began to pace the room, strumming on her chin with her fingers, and alternately raising and depressing her thick eyebrows.
A guttering tallow candle was burning on the table, and was reflected in the blank face of the mirror; murky shadows crept along the floor; a lamp burned before the icon in the corner; and the ice-clad windows were silvered by moonlight. Mother looked about her as if she were seeking something on the bare walls or on the ceiling.
"What time do you go to bed?"
"Let me stay a little longer."
''Besides, you have had some sleep to-day," she reminded herself.
"Do you want to go away?" I asked her.
"Where to?" she exclaimed, in a surprised tone; and raising my head she gazed for such a long time at my face that tears came into my eyes.
"What is the matter with you?" she asked.
"My neck aches."
My heart was aching too, for I had suddenly realized that she would not remain in our house, but would go away again.
"You are getting like your father," she observed, kicking a mat aside. "Has grandmother told you anything about him?"
"Yes."
"She loved Maxim very much--very much indeed; and he loved her--"
"I know."
Mother looked at the candle and frowned; then she extinguished it, saying: "That's better!"
Yes, it made the atmosphere fresher and clearer, and the dark, murky shadows disappeared; bright blue patches of light lay on the floor, and golden crystals shone on the window-panes.
"But where have you lived all this time?"
She mentioned several towns, as if she were trying to remember something which she had forgotten long ago; and all the time she moved noiselessly round the room, like a hawk.
"Where did you get that dress?"
"I made it myself. I make all my own clothes."
I liked to think that she was different from others, but I was sorry that she so rarely spoke; in fact, unless I asked questions, she did not open her mouth.
Presently she came and sat beside me again on the couch; and there we stayed without speaking, pressing close to each other, until the old people returned, smelling of wax and incense, with a solemn quietness and gentleness in their manner.
We supped as on holidays, ceremoniously, exchanging very few words, and uttering those as if we were afraid of waking an extremely light sleeper.
Almost at once my mother energetically undertook the task of giving me Russian lessons. She bought some books, from one of which--"Kindred Words"--I acquired the art of reading Russian characters in a few days; but then my mother must set me to learn poetry by heart--to our mutual vexation.
The verses ran:
"Bolshaia doroga, priamaia doroga
Prostora ne malo beresh twi ou Boga
Tebia ne rovniali topor ee lopata
Miagka twi kopitou ee pwiliu bogata."
But I read "prostovo" for "prostora," and "roubili" for "rovniali," and "kopita" for "kopitou."
"Now, think a moment," said mother. "How could it be 'prostovo,' you little wretch? . . . 'Pro-- sto--ra'; now do you understand?"
I did understand, but all the same I read "prostovo," to my own astonishment as much as hers.
She said angrily that I was senseless and obstinate. This made bitter hearing, for I was honestly trying to remember the cursed verses, and I could repeat them in my own mind without a mistake, but directly I tried to say them aloud they went wrong. I loathed the elusive lines, and began to mix the verses up on purpose, putting all the words which sounded alike together anyhow. I was delighted when, under the spell I placed upon them, the verses emerged absolutely meaningless.
But this amusement did not go for long unpunished.