The Man Who Was Afraid [104]
face of his godson, who smiled distractedly, both joyously and pitifully.
"Eh, my sour blackberry!" said Mayakin, with a sigh, interrupting Foma's speech. "I see you've lost your way. And you're prating nonsense. I would like to know whether the cognac is to blame for it, or is it your foolishness?"
"Papa!" exclaimed Foma, "this can surely be done. There were cases where people have cast away all their possessions and thus saved themselves."
"That wasn't in my time. Not people that are near to me!" said Mayakin, sternly, "or else I would have shown them how to go away!"
"Many have become saints when they went away."
"Mm! They couldn't have gone away from me! The matter is simple-- you know how to play at draughts, don't you? Move from one place to another until you are beaten, and if you're not beaten then you have the queen. Then all ways are open to you. Do you understand? And why am I talking to you seriously? Psha!"
"Papa! why don't you want it?" exclaimed Foma, angrily.
"Listen to me! If you are a chimney-sweep, go, carrion, on the roof! If you are a fireman, stand on the watch-tower! And each and every sort of men must have its own mode of life. Calves cannot roar like bears! If you live your own life; go on, live it! And don't talk nonsense, and don't creep where you don't belong. Arrange your life after your pattern." And from the dark lips of the old man gushed forth in a trembling, glittering stream the jarring, but confident and bold words so familiar to Foma. Seized with the thought of freedom, which seemed to him so easily possible, Foma did not listen to his words. This idea had eaten into his brains, and in his heart the desire grew stronger and stronger to sever all his connections with this empty and wearisome life, with his godfather, with the steamers, the barges and the carouses, with everything amidst which it was narrow and stifling for him to live.
The old man's words seemed to fall on him from afar; they were blended with the clatter of the dishes, with the scraping of the lackey's feet along the floor, with some one's drunken shouting. Not far from them sat four merchants at a table and argued loudly:
"Two and a quarter--and thank God!"
"Luka Mitrich! How can I?"
"Give him two and a half!"
"That's right! You ought to give it, it's a good steamer, it tows briskly."
"My dear fellows, I can't. Two and a quarter!"
"And all this nonsense came to your head from your youthful passion!" said Mayakin, importantly, accompanying his words with a rap on the table. "Your boldness is stupidity; all these words of yours are nonsense. Would you perhaps go to the cloister? or have you perhaps a longing to go on the highways?"
Foma listened in silence. The buzzing noise about him now seemed to move farther away from him. He pictured himself amid a vast restless crowd of people; without knowing why they bustled about hither and thither, jumped on one another; their eyes were greedily opened wide; they were shouting, cursing, falling, crushing one another, and they were all jostling about on one place. He felt bad among them because he did not understand what they wanted, because he had no faith in their words, and he felt that they had no faith in themselves, that they understood nothing. And if one were to tear himself away from their midst to freedom, to the edge of life, and thence behold them--then all would become clear to him. Then he would also understand what they wanted, and would find his own place among them.
"Don't I understand," said Mayakin, more gently, seeing Foma lost in thought, and assuming that he was reflecting on his words--"I understand that you want happiness for yourself. Well, my friend, it is not to be easily seized. You must seek happiness even as they search for mushrooms in the wood, you must bend your back in search of it, and finding it, see whether it isn't a toad-stool."
"So you will set me free?" asked Foma, suddenly lifting his head, and Mayakin turned his eyes away from his fiery look.
"Father! at least for a short time! Let
"Eh, my sour blackberry!" said Mayakin, with a sigh, interrupting Foma's speech. "I see you've lost your way. And you're prating nonsense. I would like to know whether the cognac is to blame for it, or is it your foolishness?"
"Papa!" exclaimed Foma, "this can surely be done. There were cases where people have cast away all their possessions and thus saved themselves."
"That wasn't in my time. Not people that are near to me!" said Mayakin, sternly, "or else I would have shown them how to go away!"
"Many have become saints when they went away."
"Mm! They couldn't have gone away from me! The matter is simple-- you know how to play at draughts, don't you? Move from one place to another until you are beaten, and if you're not beaten then you have the queen. Then all ways are open to you. Do you understand? And why am I talking to you seriously? Psha!"
"Papa! why don't you want it?" exclaimed Foma, angrily.
"Listen to me! If you are a chimney-sweep, go, carrion, on the roof! If you are a fireman, stand on the watch-tower! And each and every sort of men must have its own mode of life. Calves cannot roar like bears! If you live your own life; go on, live it! And don't talk nonsense, and don't creep where you don't belong. Arrange your life after your pattern." And from the dark lips of the old man gushed forth in a trembling, glittering stream the jarring, but confident and bold words so familiar to Foma. Seized with the thought of freedom, which seemed to him so easily possible, Foma did not listen to his words. This idea had eaten into his brains, and in his heart the desire grew stronger and stronger to sever all his connections with this empty and wearisome life, with his godfather, with the steamers, the barges and the carouses, with everything amidst which it was narrow and stifling for him to live.
The old man's words seemed to fall on him from afar; they were blended with the clatter of the dishes, with the scraping of the lackey's feet along the floor, with some one's drunken shouting. Not far from them sat four merchants at a table and argued loudly:
"Two and a quarter--and thank God!"
"Luka Mitrich! How can I?"
"Give him two and a half!"
"That's right! You ought to give it, it's a good steamer, it tows briskly."
"My dear fellows, I can't. Two and a quarter!"
"And all this nonsense came to your head from your youthful passion!" said Mayakin, importantly, accompanying his words with a rap on the table. "Your boldness is stupidity; all these words of yours are nonsense. Would you perhaps go to the cloister? or have you perhaps a longing to go on the highways?"
Foma listened in silence. The buzzing noise about him now seemed to move farther away from him. He pictured himself amid a vast restless crowd of people; without knowing why they bustled about hither and thither, jumped on one another; their eyes were greedily opened wide; they were shouting, cursing, falling, crushing one another, and they were all jostling about on one place. He felt bad among them because he did not understand what they wanted, because he had no faith in their words, and he felt that they had no faith in themselves, that they understood nothing. And if one were to tear himself away from their midst to freedom, to the edge of life, and thence behold them--then all would become clear to him. Then he would also understand what they wanted, and would find his own place among them.
"Don't I understand," said Mayakin, more gently, seeing Foma lost in thought, and assuming that he was reflecting on his words--"I understand that you want happiness for yourself. Well, my friend, it is not to be easily seized. You must seek happiness even as they search for mushrooms in the wood, you must bend your back in search of it, and finding it, see whether it isn't a toad-stool."
"So you will set me free?" asked Foma, suddenly lifting his head, and Mayakin turned his eyes away from his fiery look.
"Father! at least for a short time! Let