The Man Who Was Afraid [118]
him! Do you know it would be a good thing to hire one like that for personal use! Give him a certain sum of money and order him to amuse! How's that? I had a certain coupletist in my employ,-- it was rather entertaining to be with him. I used to say to him sometimes: 'Rimsky! give us some couplets!' He would start, I tell you, and he'd make you split your sides with laughter. It's a pity, he ran off somewhere. Have you had dinner?"
"Not yet. And how's Aleksandra?" asked Foma, somewhat deafened by the loud speech of this tall, frank, red-faced fellow clad in a motley costume.
"Well, do you know," said the latter with a frown, "that Aleksandra of yours is a nasty woman! She's so obscure, it's tiresome to be with her, the devil take her! She's as cold as a frog,--brrr! I guess I'll send her away."
"Cold--that's true," said Foma and became pensive. "Every person must do his work in a first class manner," said the distiller's son, instructively. "And if you become some one's s mistress you must perform your duty in the best way possible, if you are a decent woman. Well, shall we have a drink?"
They had a drink. And naturally they got drunk. A large and noisy company gathered in the hotel toward evening. And Foma, intoxicated, but sad and calm, spoke to them with heavy voice:
"That's the way I understand it: some people are worms, others sparrows. The sparrows are the merchants. They peck the worms. Such is their destined lot. They are necessary But I and you--all of you--are to no purpose. We live so that we cannot be compared to anything--without justification, merely at random. And we are utterly unnecessary. But even these here, and everybody else, to what purpose are they? You must understand that. Brethren! We shall all burst! By God! And why shall we burst? Because there is always something superfluous in us, there is something superfluous in our souls. And all our life is superfluous! Comrades! I weep. To what purpose am I? I am unnecessary! Kill me, that I may die; I want to die."
And he wept, shedding many drunken tears. A drunken, small-sized, swarthy man sat down close to him, began to remind him of something, tried to kiss him, and striking a knife against the table, shouted:
"True! Silence! These are powerful words! Let the elephants and the mammoths of the disorder of life speak! The raw Russian conscience speaks holy words! Roar on, Gordyeeff! Roar at everything!" And again he clutched at Foma's shoulders, flung himself on his breast, raising to Foma's face his round, black, closely-cropped head, which was ceaselessly turning about on his shoulders on all sides, so that Foma was unable to see his face, and he was angry at him for this, and kept on pushing him aside, crying excitedly:
"Get away! Where is your face? Go on!"
A deafening, drunken laughter smote the air about them, and choking with laughter, the son of the brandy-distiller roared to someone hoarsely:
"Come to me! A hundred roubles a month with board and lodging! Throw the paper to the dogs. I'll give you more!"
And everything rocked from side to side in rhythmic, wave-like movement. Now the people moved farther away from Foma, now they came nearer to him, the ceiling descended, the floor rose, and it seemed to Foma that he would soon be flattened and crushed. Then he began to feel that he was floating somewhere over an immensely wide and stormy river, and, staggering, he cried out in fright:
"Where are we floating? Where is the captain?"
He was answered by the loud, senseless laughter of the drunken crowd, and by the shrill, repulsive shout of the swarthy little man:
"True! we are all without helm and sails. Where is the captain? What? Ha, ha, ha!"
Foma awakened from this nightmare in a small room with two windows, and the first thing his eyes fell upon was a withered tree. It stood near the window; its thick trunk, barkless, with a rotten heart, prevented the light from entering the room; the bent, black branches, devoid of leaves, stretched themselves mournfully and helplessly in the air, and shaking to
"Not yet. And how's Aleksandra?" asked Foma, somewhat deafened by the loud speech of this tall, frank, red-faced fellow clad in a motley costume.
"Well, do you know," said the latter with a frown, "that Aleksandra of yours is a nasty woman! She's so obscure, it's tiresome to be with her, the devil take her! She's as cold as a frog,--brrr! I guess I'll send her away."
"Cold--that's true," said Foma and became pensive. "Every person must do his work in a first class manner," said the distiller's son, instructively. "And if you become some one's s mistress you must perform your duty in the best way possible, if you are a decent woman. Well, shall we have a drink?"
They had a drink. And naturally they got drunk. A large and noisy company gathered in the hotel toward evening. And Foma, intoxicated, but sad and calm, spoke to them with heavy voice:
"That's the way I understand it: some people are worms, others sparrows. The sparrows are the merchants. They peck the worms. Such is their destined lot. They are necessary But I and you--all of you--are to no purpose. We live so that we cannot be compared to anything--without justification, merely at random. And we are utterly unnecessary. But even these here, and everybody else, to what purpose are they? You must understand that. Brethren! We shall all burst! By God! And why shall we burst? Because there is always something superfluous in us, there is something superfluous in our souls. And all our life is superfluous! Comrades! I weep. To what purpose am I? I am unnecessary! Kill me, that I may die; I want to die."
And he wept, shedding many drunken tears. A drunken, small-sized, swarthy man sat down close to him, began to remind him of something, tried to kiss him, and striking a knife against the table, shouted:
"True! Silence! These are powerful words! Let the elephants and the mammoths of the disorder of life speak! The raw Russian conscience speaks holy words! Roar on, Gordyeeff! Roar at everything!" And again he clutched at Foma's shoulders, flung himself on his breast, raising to Foma's face his round, black, closely-cropped head, which was ceaselessly turning about on his shoulders on all sides, so that Foma was unable to see his face, and he was angry at him for this, and kept on pushing him aside, crying excitedly:
"Get away! Where is your face? Go on!"
A deafening, drunken laughter smote the air about them, and choking with laughter, the son of the brandy-distiller roared to someone hoarsely:
"Come to me! A hundred roubles a month with board and lodging! Throw the paper to the dogs. I'll give you more!"
And everything rocked from side to side in rhythmic, wave-like movement. Now the people moved farther away from Foma, now they came nearer to him, the ceiling descended, the floor rose, and it seemed to Foma that he would soon be flattened and crushed. Then he began to feel that he was floating somewhere over an immensely wide and stormy river, and, staggering, he cried out in fright:
"Where are we floating? Where is the captain?"
He was answered by the loud, senseless laughter of the drunken crowd, and by the shrill, repulsive shout of the swarthy little man:
"True! we are all without helm and sails. Where is the captain? What? Ha, ha, ha!"
Foma awakened from this nightmare in a small room with two windows, and the first thing his eyes fell upon was a withered tree. It stood near the window; its thick trunk, barkless, with a rotten heart, prevented the light from entering the room; the bent, black branches, devoid of leaves, stretched themselves mournfully and helplessly in the air, and shaking to