The Man Who Was Afraid [55]
yet you instruct me to read."
She looked into his face, and anger flashed in her eyes.
"Oh, how I wish that all these torments would awaken within you, the torments that constantly oppress me. That your thoughts, like mine, would rob you of your sleep, that you, too, would be disgusted with everything, and with yourself as well! I despise every one of you. I hate you!"
All aflush, she looked at him so angrily and spoke with so much spitefulness, that in his astonishment he did not even feel offended by her. She had never before spoken to him in such manner.
"What's the matter with you?" he asked her.
"I hate you, too! You, what are you? Dead, empty; how will you live? What will you give to mankind?" she said with malice, in a low voice.
"I'll give nothing; let them strive for it themselves," answered Foma, knowing that these words would augment her anger.
"Unfortunate creature!" exclaimed the girl with contempt.
The assurance and the power of her reproaches involuntarily compelled Foma to listen attentively to her spiteful words; he felt there was common sense in them. He even came nearer to her, but she, enraged and exasperated, turned away from him and became silent.
It was still light outside, and the reflection of the setting sun lay still on the branches of the linden-trees before the windows, but the room was already filled with twilight, and the sideboard, the clock and the cupboard seemed to have grown in size. The huge pendulum peeped out every moment from beneath the glass of the clock-case, and flashing dimly, was hiding with a weary sound now on the right side, now on the left. Foma looked at the pendulum and he began to feel awkward and lonesome. Luba arose and lighted the lamp which was hanging over the table. The girl's face was pale and stern.
"You went for me," said Foma, reservedly. "What for? I can't understand."
"I don't want to speak to you!" replied Luba, angrily.
"That's your affair. But nevertheless, what wrong have I done to you?"
"You?
"I."
"Understand me, I am suffocating! It is close here. Is this life? Is this the way how to live? What am I? I am a hanger-on in my father's house. They keep me here as a housekeeper. Then they'll marry me! Again housekeeping. It's a swamp. I am drowning, suffocating."
"And what have I to do with it?" asked Foma.
"You are no better than the others."
"And therefore I am guilty before you?"
"Yes, guilty! You must desire to be better."
"But do I not wish it?" exclaimed Foma.
The girl was about to tell him something, but at this time the bell began to ring somewhere, and she said in a low voice, leaning back in her chair:
"It's father."
"I would not feel sorry if he stayed away a little longer," said Foma. "I wish I could listen to you some more. You speak so very oddly."
"Ah! my children, my doves! " exclaimed Yakov Tarasovich, appearing in the doorway. "You're drinking tea? Pour out some tea for me, Lugava!"
Sweetly smiling, and rubbing his hands, he sat down near Foma and asked, playfully jostling him in the side:
"What have you been cooing about?"
"So--about different trifles," answered Luba.
"I haven't asked you, have I?" said her father to her, with a grimace. "You just sit there, hold your tongue, and mind your woman's affairs."
"I've been telling her about the dinner," Foma interrupted his godfather's words.
"Aha! So-o-o. Well, then, I'll also speak about the dinner. I have been watching you of late. You don't behave yourself sensibly!"
"What do you mean?" asked Foma, knitting his brow, ill pleased.
"I just mean that your behaviour is preposterous, and that's all. When the governor, for instance, speaks to you, you keep quiet."
"What should I tell him? He says that it is a misfortune to lose a father. Well, I know it. What could I tell him?"
"But as the Lord willed it so, I do not grumble, your Excellency. That's what you should have said, or something in this spirit. Governors, my dear, are very fond of meekness in a man."
"Was I to look at him like a lamb?"
She looked into his face, and anger flashed in her eyes.
"Oh, how I wish that all these torments would awaken within you, the torments that constantly oppress me. That your thoughts, like mine, would rob you of your sleep, that you, too, would be disgusted with everything, and with yourself as well! I despise every one of you. I hate you!"
All aflush, she looked at him so angrily and spoke with so much spitefulness, that in his astonishment he did not even feel offended by her. She had never before spoken to him in such manner.
"What's the matter with you?" he asked her.
"I hate you, too! You, what are you? Dead, empty; how will you live? What will you give to mankind?" she said with malice, in a low voice.
"I'll give nothing; let them strive for it themselves," answered Foma, knowing that these words would augment her anger.
"Unfortunate creature!" exclaimed the girl with contempt.
The assurance and the power of her reproaches involuntarily compelled Foma to listen attentively to her spiteful words; he felt there was common sense in them. He even came nearer to her, but she, enraged and exasperated, turned away from him and became silent.
It was still light outside, and the reflection of the setting sun lay still on the branches of the linden-trees before the windows, but the room was already filled with twilight, and the sideboard, the clock and the cupboard seemed to have grown in size. The huge pendulum peeped out every moment from beneath the glass of the clock-case, and flashing dimly, was hiding with a weary sound now on the right side, now on the left. Foma looked at the pendulum and he began to feel awkward and lonesome. Luba arose and lighted the lamp which was hanging over the table. The girl's face was pale and stern.
"You went for me," said Foma, reservedly. "What for? I can't understand."
"I don't want to speak to you!" replied Luba, angrily.
"That's your affair. But nevertheless, what wrong have I done to you?"
"You?
"I."
"Understand me, I am suffocating! It is close here. Is this life? Is this the way how to live? What am I? I am a hanger-on in my father's house. They keep me here as a housekeeper. Then they'll marry me! Again housekeeping. It's a swamp. I am drowning, suffocating."
"And what have I to do with it?" asked Foma.
"You are no better than the others."
"And therefore I am guilty before you?"
"Yes, guilty! You must desire to be better."
"But do I not wish it?" exclaimed Foma.
The girl was about to tell him something, but at this time the bell began to ring somewhere, and she said in a low voice, leaning back in her chair:
"It's father."
"I would not feel sorry if he stayed away a little longer," said Foma. "I wish I could listen to you some more. You speak so very oddly."
"Ah! my children, my doves! " exclaimed Yakov Tarasovich, appearing in the doorway. "You're drinking tea? Pour out some tea for me, Lugava!"
Sweetly smiling, and rubbing his hands, he sat down near Foma and asked, playfully jostling him in the side:
"What have you been cooing about?"
"So--about different trifles," answered Luba.
"I haven't asked you, have I?" said her father to her, with a grimace. "You just sit there, hold your tongue, and mind your woman's affairs."
"I've been telling her about the dinner," Foma interrupted his godfather's words.
"Aha! So-o-o. Well, then, I'll also speak about the dinner. I have been watching you of late. You don't behave yourself sensibly!"
"What do you mean?" asked Foma, knitting his brow, ill pleased.
"I just mean that your behaviour is preposterous, and that's all. When the governor, for instance, speaks to you, you keep quiet."
"What should I tell him? He says that it is a misfortune to lose a father. Well, I know it. What could I tell him?"
"But as the Lord willed it so, I do not grumble, your Excellency. That's what you should have said, or something in this spirit. Governors, my dear, are very fond of meekness in a man."
"Was I to look at him like a lamb?"