The Man Who Was Afraid [92]
he wets his springs with wine--then he breaks loose. Then he is not master of himself and of his business--but their wild enemy-- you must excuse me! And I want to leave, Yakov Tarasovich! I am not used to being without a master, I cannot live without a master!"
"Keep quiet!" said Mayakin, sternly. "Where's Foma?"
"There; at the same place. Immediately after the accident, he came to himself and at once sent for workmen. They'll lift the barge. They may have started by this time."
"Is he there alone?" asked Mayakin, lowering his head.
"Not quite," replied Yefim, softly, glancing stealthily at Lubov.
"Really?"
"There's a lady with him. A dark one."
"So."
"It looks as though the woman is out of her wits," said Yefim, with a sigh. "She's forever singing. She sings very well. It's very captivating."
"I am not asking you about her!" cried Mayakin, angrily. The wrinkles of his face were painfully quivering, and it seemed to Lubov that her father was about to weep.
"Calm yourself, papa!" she entreated caressingly. "Maybe the loss isn't so great."
"Not great?" cried Yakov Tarasovich in a ringing voice. "What do you understand, you fool? Is it only that the barge was smashed? Eh, you! A man is lost! That's what it is! And he is essential to me! I need him, dull devils that you are!" The old man shook his head angrily and with brisk steps walked off along the garden path leading toward the house.
And Foma was at this time about four hundred versts away from his godfather, in a village hut, on the shore of the Volga. He had just awakened from sleep, and lying on the floor, on a bed of fresh hay, in the middle of the hut, he gazed gloomily out of the window at the sky, which was covered with gray, scattered clouds.
The wind was tearing them asunder and driving them somewhere; heavy and weary, one overtaking another, they were passing across the sky in an enormous flock. Now forming a solid mass, now breaking into fragments, now falling low over the earth, in silent confusion, now again rising upward, one swallowed by another.
Without moving his head, which was heavy from intoxication, Foma looked long at the clouds and finally began to feel as though silent clouds were also passing through his breast,--passing, breathing a damp coldness upon his heart and oppressing him. There was something impotent in the motion of the clouds across the sky. And he felt the same within him. Without thinking, he pictured to himself all he had gone through during the past months. It seemed to him as though he had fallen into a turbid, boiling stream, and now he had been seized by dark waves, that resembled these clouds in the sky; had been seized and carried away somewhere, even as the clouds were carried by the wind. In the darkness and the tumult which surrounded him, he saw as though through a mist that certain other people were hastening together with him--to-day not those of yesterday, new ones each day, yet all looking alike--equally pitiful and repulsive. Intoxicated, noisy, greedy, they flew about him as in a whirlwind, caroused at his expense, abused him, fought, screamed, and even wept more than once. And he beat them. He remembered that one day he had struck somebody on the face, torn someone's coat off and thrown it into the water and that some one had kissed his hands with wet, cold lips as disgusting as frogs. Had kissed and wept, imploring him not to kill. Certain faces flashed through his memory, certain sounds and words rang in it. A woman in a yellow silk waist, unfastened at the breast, had sung in a loud, sobbing voice:
"And so let us live while we canAnd then--e'en grass may cease to grow."
All these people, like himself, grown wild and beastlike, were seized by the same dark wave and carried away like rubbish. All these people, like himself, must have been afraid to look forward to see whither this powerful, wild wave was carrying them. And drowning their fear in wine, they were rushing forward down the current struggling, shouting, doing something absurd, playing the fool, clamouring,
"Keep quiet!" said Mayakin, sternly. "Where's Foma?"
"There; at the same place. Immediately after the accident, he came to himself and at once sent for workmen. They'll lift the barge. They may have started by this time."
"Is he there alone?" asked Mayakin, lowering his head.
"Not quite," replied Yefim, softly, glancing stealthily at Lubov.
"Really?"
"There's a lady with him. A dark one."
"So."
"It looks as though the woman is out of her wits," said Yefim, with a sigh. "She's forever singing. She sings very well. It's very captivating."
"I am not asking you about her!" cried Mayakin, angrily. The wrinkles of his face were painfully quivering, and it seemed to Lubov that her father was about to weep.
"Calm yourself, papa!" she entreated caressingly. "Maybe the loss isn't so great."
"Not great?" cried Yakov Tarasovich in a ringing voice. "What do you understand, you fool? Is it only that the barge was smashed? Eh, you! A man is lost! That's what it is! And he is essential to me! I need him, dull devils that you are!" The old man shook his head angrily and with brisk steps walked off along the garden path leading toward the house.
And Foma was at this time about four hundred versts away from his godfather, in a village hut, on the shore of the Volga. He had just awakened from sleep, and lying on the floor, on a bed of fresh hay, in the middle of the hut, he gazed gloomily out of the window at the sky, which was covered with gray, scattered clouds.
The wind was tearing them asunder and driving them somewhere; heavy and weary, one overtaking another, they were passing across the sky in an enormous flock. Now forming a solid mass, now breaking into fragments, now falling low over the earth, in silent confusion, now again rising upward, one swallowed by another.
Without moving his head, which was heavy from intoxication, Foma looked long at the clouds and finally began to feel as though silent clouds were also passing through his breast,--passing, breathing a damp coldness upon his heart and oppressing him. There was something impotent in the motion of the clouds across the sky. And he felt the same within him. Without thinking, he pictured to himself all he had gone through during the past months. It seemed to him as though he had fallen into a turbid, boiling stream, and now he had been seized by dark waves, that resembled these clouds in the sky; had been seized and carried away somewhere, even as the clouds were carried by the wind. In the darkness and the tumult which surrounded him, he saw as though through a mist that certain other people were hastening together with him--to-day not those of yesterday, new ones each day, yet all looking alike--equally pitiful and repulsive. Intoxicated, noisy, greedy, they flew about him as in a whirlwind, caroused at his expense, abused him, fought, screamed, and even wept more than once. And he beat them. He remembered that one day he had struck somebody on the face, torn someone's coat off and thrown it into the water and that some one had kissed his hands with wet, cold lips as disgusting as frogs. Had kissed and wept, imploring him not to kill. Certain faces flashed through his memory, certain sounds and words rang in it. A woman in a yellow silk waist, unfastened at the breast, had sung in a loud, sobbing voice:
"And so let us live while we canAnd then--e'en grass may cease to grow."
All these people, like himself, grown wild and beastlike, were seized by the same dark wave and carried away like rubbish. All these people, like himself, must have been afraid to look forward to see whither this powerful, wild wave was carrying them. And drowning their fear in wine, they were rushing forward down the current struggling, shouting, doing something absurd, playing the fool, clamouring,