The Man Who Was Afraid Part 28

"Of course, I do!" exclaimed Foma.

When his G.o.dfather spoke of the functionaries, Foma reminded himself of the people that were present at the dinner; he recalled the brisk secretary, and a thought flashed through his mind that this stout little man has in all probability an income of no more than a thousand roubles a year, while he, Foma, has a million. But that man lives so easily and freely, while he, Foma, does not know how to live, is indeed abashed to live. This comparison and his G.o.dfather's speech roused in him a whirl of thoughts, but he had time to grasp and express only one of them:

"Indeed, do we work for the sake of money only? What's the use of money if it can give us no power?"

"Aha!" said Mayakin, winking his eyes.

"Eh!" exclaimed Foma, offended. "How about my father? Have you spoken to him?"

"I spoke to him for twenty years."

"Well, how about him?"

"My words did not reach him. The crown of your father's head was rather thick. His soul was open to all, while his mind was hidden away far within him. Yes, he made a blunder, and I am very sorry about the money."

"I am not sorry for the money."

"You should have tried to earn even a tenth part of it, then speak."

"May I come in?" came Luba's voice from behind the door.

"Yes, step right in," said the father.

"Will you have lunch now?" she asked, entering.

"Let us have it."

She walked up to the sideboard and soon the dishes were rattling. Yakov Tarasovich looked at her, moved his lips, and suddenly striking Foma's knee with his hand, he said to him:

"That's the way, my G.o.dson! Think."

Foma responded with a smile and thought: "But he's clever--cleverer than my father."

But another voice within him immediately replied:

"Cleverer, but worse."

CHAPTER V

FOMA'S dual relation toward Mayakin grew stronger and stronger as time went on; listening to his words attentively and with eager curiosity, he felt that each meeting with his G.o.dfather was strengthening in him the feeling of hostility toward the old man. Sometimes Yakov Tarasovich roused in his G.o.dson a feeling akin to fear, sometimes even physical aversion. The latter usually came to Foma whenever the old man was pleased with something and laughed. From laughter the old man's wrinkles would tremble, thus changing the expression of his face every now and then; his dry, thin lips would stretch out and move nervously, displaying black broken teeth, and his red little beard was as though aflame. His laughter sounded like the squeaking of rusty hinges, and altogether the old man looked like a lizard at play. Unable to conceal his feelings, Foma often expressed them to Mayakin rather rudely, both in words and in gesture, but the old man, pretending not to notice it, kept a vigilant eye on him, directing his each and every step. Wholly absorbed by the steams.h.i.+p affairs of the young Gordyeeff, he even neglected his own little shop, and allowed Foma considerable leisure time. Thanks to Mayakin's important position in town and to his extensive acquaintance on the Volga, business was splendid, but Mayakin's zealous interest in his affairs strengthened Foma's suspicions that his G.o.dfather was firmly resolved to marry him to Luba, and this made the old man more repulsive to him.

He liked Luba, but at the same time she seemed suspicious and dangerous for him. She did not marry, and Mayakin never said a word about it; he gave no evening parties, invited none of the youths to his house and did not allow Luba to leave the house. And all her girl friends were married already. Foma admired her words and listened to her just as eagerly as to her father; but whenever she started to speak of Taras with love and anguish, it seemed to him that she was hiding another man under that name, perhaps that same Yozhov, who according to her words, had to leave the university for some reason or other, and go to Moscow. There was a great deal of simplemindedness and kindness in her, which pleased Foma, and ofttimes her words awakened in him a feeling of pity for her; it seemed to him that she was not alive, that she was dreaming though awake.

His conduct at the funeral feast for his father became known to all the merchants and gave him a bad reputation. On the Exchange, he noticed, everybody looked at him sneeringly, malevolently, and spoke to him in some peculiar way. One day he heard behind him a low exclamation, full of contempt:

"Gordyeeff! Milksop!"

He felt that this was said of him, but he did not turn around to see who it was that flung those words at him. The rich people, who had inspired him with timidity before, were now losing in his eyes the witchery of their wealth and wisdom. They had more than once s.n.a.t.c.hed out of his hands this or that profitable contract; he clearly saw that they would do it again, and they all seemed to him alike--greedy for money, always ready to cheat one another. When he imparted to his G.o.dfather his observation, the old man said:

"How then? Business is just the same as war--a hazardous affair. There they fight for the purse, and in the purse is the soul."

"I don't like this," announced Foma.

"Neither do I like everything--there's too much fraud.

"But to be fair in business matters is utterly impossible; you must be shrewd! In business, dear, on approaching a man you must hold honey in your left hand, and clutch a knife in your right. Everybody would like to buy five copecks' worth for a half a copeck."

"Well, this isn't too good," said Foma, thoughtfully. "But it will be good later. When you have taken the upper hand, then it will be good.

Life, dear Foma, is very simple: either bite everybody, or lie in the gutter."

The old man smiled, and the broken teeth in his mouth roused in Foma the keen thought:

"You have bitten many, it seems."

"There's but one word--battle!" repeated the old man.

"Is this the real one?" asked Foma, looking at Mayakin searchingly.

"That is, what do you mean--the real?"

"Is there nothing better than this? Does this contain everything?"

"Where else should it be? Everybody lives for himself. Each of us wishes the best for himself. And what is the best? To go in front of others, to stand above them. So that everybody is trying to attain the first place in life--one by this means, another by that means. But everyone is positively anxious to be seen from afar, like a tower. And man was indeed appointed to go upward. Even the Book of Job says: 'Man is born unto trouble, as the sparks, to fly upward.' Just see: even children at play always wish to surpa.s.s one another. And each and every game has its climax, which makes it interesting. Do you understand?"

"I understand this!" said Foma, firmly and confidently.

"But you must also feel this. With understanding alone you cannot go far, and you must desire, and desire so that a big mountain should seem to you but a hillock, and the sea but a puddle. Eh! When I was of your age I had an easy life, while you are only taking aim. But then, good fruit does not ripen early."

The old man's monotonous speeches soon accomplished what they were intended to do. Foma listened to them and made clear to himself the aim of life. He must be better than others, he resolved, and the ambition, kindled by the old man, took deep root in his heart. It took root within his heart, but did not fill it up, for Foma's relations toward Medinskaya a.s.sumed that character, which they were bound to a.s.sume. He longed for her, he always yearned to see her; while in her presence he became timid, awkward and stupid; he knew it and suffered on this account. He frequently visited her, but it was hard to find her at home alone; perfumed dandies like flies over a piece of sugar--were always flitting about her. They spoke to her in French, sang and laughed, while he looked at them in silence, tortured by anger and jealousy. His legs crossed, he sat somewhere in a corner of her richly furnished drawing-room, where it was extremely difficult to walk without overturning or at least striking against something--Foma sat and watched them sternly.

Over the soft rugs she was noiselessly pa.s.sing hither and thither, casting to him kind glances and smiles, while her admirers were fawning upon her, and they all, like serpents, were cleverly gliding by the various little tables, chairs, screens, flower-stands--a storehouse full of beautiful and frail things, scattered about the room with a carelessness equally dangerous to them and to Foma. But when he walked there, the rugs did not drown his footsteps, and all these things caught at his coat, trembled and fell. Beside the piano stood a sailor made of bronze, whose hand was lifted, ready to throw the life-saving ring; on this ring were ropes of wire, and these always pulled Foma by the hair.

All this provoked laughter among Sophya Pavlovna and her admirers, and Foma suffered greatly, changing from heat to cold.

But he felt no less uncomfortable even when alone with her. Greeting him with a kindly smile, she would take a seat beside him in one of the cosy corners of her drawing-room and would usually start her conversation by complaining to him of everybody:

"You wouldn't believe how glad I am to see you!" Bending like a cat, she would gaze into his eyes with her dark glance, in which something avidious would now flash up.

"I love to speak to you," she said, musically drawling her words. "I've grown tired of all the rest of them. They're all so boring, ordinary and worn-out, while you are fresh, sincere. You don't like those people either, do you?"

"I can't bear them!" replied Foma, firmly.

"And me?" she asked softly.

Foma turned his eyes away from her and said, with a sigh:

"How many times have you asked me that?"