The Man Who Was Afraid Part 53

"Go, go to your place. How the itching curiosity of Eve gives you no rest."

But Lubov did not go away; persistingly looking into his eyes, she asked, with an offended tone in her voice:

"Papa, why do you always speak to me in such a way as though I were a small child, or very stupid?"

"Because you are grown up and yet not very clever. Yes! That's the whole story! Go, sit down and eat!"

She walked away and silently seated herself opposite her father, compressing her lips for affront. Contrary to his habits Mayakin ate slowly, stirring his spoon in his plate of cabbage-soup for a long time, and examining the soup closely.

"If your obstructed mind could but comprehend your father's thoughts!"

said he, suddenly, as he sighed with a sort of whistling sound.

Lubov threw her spoon aside and almost with tears in her voice, said:

"Why do you insult me, papa? You see that I am alone, always alone! You understand how difficult my life is, and you never say a single kind word to me. You never say anything to me! And you are also lonely; life is difficult for you too, I can see it. You find it very hard to live, but you alone are to blame for it! You alone!

"Now Balaam's she-a.s.s has also started to talk!" said the old man, laughing. "Well! what will be next?"

"You are very proud of your wisdom, papa."

"And what else?"

"That isn't good; and it pains me greatly. Why do you repulse me? You know that, save you, I have no one."

Tears leaped to her eyes; her father noticed them, and his face quivered.

"If you were not a girl!" he exclaimed. "If you had as much brains as Marfa Poosadnitza, for instance. Eh, Lubov? Then I'd laugh at everybody, and at Foma. Come now, don't cry!"

She wiped her eyes and asked:

"What about Foma?"

"He's rebellious. Ha! ha! he says: 'Take away my property, give me freedom!' He wants to save his soul in the kabak. That's what entered Foma's head."

"Well, what is this?" asked Lubov, irresolutely. She wanted to say that Foma's desire was good, that it was a n.o.ble desire if it were earnest, but she feared to irritate her father with her words, and she only gazed at him questioningly.

"What is it?" said Mayakin, excitedly, trembling. "That either comes to him from excessive drinking, or else--Heaven forbid--from his mother, the orthodox spirit. And if this heathenish leaven is going to rise in him I'll have to struggle hard with him! There will be a great conflict between us. He has come out, breast foremost, against me; he has at once displayed great audacity. He's young--there's not much cunning in him as yet. He says: 'I'll drink away everything, everything will go up in smoke! I'll show you how to drink!'"

Mayakin lifted his hand over his head, and, clenching his fist, threatened furiously.

"How dare you? Who established the business? Who built it up? You? Your father. Forty years of labour were put into it, and you wish to destroy it? We must all go to our places here all together as one man, there cautiously, one by one. We merchants, tradesmen, have for centuries carried Russia on our shoulders, and we are still carrying it. Peter the Great was a Czar of divine wisdom, he knew our value. How he supported us! He had printed books for the express purpose of teaching us business. There I have a book which was printed at his order by Polidor Virgily Oorbansky, about inventory, printed in 1720. Yes, one must understand this. He understood it, and cleared the way for us. And now we stand on our own feet, and we feel our place. Clear the way for us!

We have laid the foundation of life, instead of bricks we have laid ourselves in the earth. Now we must build the stories. Give us freedom of action! That's where we must hold our course. That's where the problem lies; but Foma does not comprehend this. But he must understand it, must resume the work. He has his father's means. When I die mine will be added to his. Work, you puppy! And he is raving. No, wait! I'll lift you up to the proper point!"

The old man was choking with agitation and with flas.h.i.+ng eyes looked at his daughter so furiously as though Foma were sitting in her place. His agitation frightened Lubov, but she lacked the courage to interrupt her father, and she looked at his stern and gloomy face in silence.

"The road has been paved by our fathers, and you must walk on it. I have worked for fifty years to what purpose? That my children may resume it after I am gone. My children! Where are my children?"

The old man drooped his head mournfully, his voice broke down, and he said sadly, as if he were speaking unto himself:

"One is a convict, utterly ruined; the other, a drunkard. I have little hope in him. My daughter, to whom, then, shall I leave my labour before my death? If I had but a son-in-law. I thought Foma would become a man and would be sharpened up, then I would give you unto him, and with you all I have--there! But Foma is good for nothing, and I see no one else in his stead. What sort of people we have now! In former days the people were as of iron, while now they are of india-rubber. They are all bending now. And nothing--they have no firmness in them. What is it? Why is it so?"

Mayakin looked at his daughter with alarm. She was silent.

"Tell me," he asked her, "what do you need? How, in your opinion, is it proper to live? What do you want? You have studied, read, tell me what is it that you need?"

The questions fell on Lubov's head quite unexpectedly to her, and she was embarra.s.sed. She was pleased that her father asked her about this matter, and was at the same time afraid to reply, lest she should be lowered in his estimation. And then, gathering courage, as though preparing to jump across the table, she said irresolutely and in a trembling voice:

"That all the people should be happy and contented; that all the people should be equal, all the people have an equal right to life, to the bliss of life, all must have freedom, even as they have air. And equality in everything!"

At the beginning of her agitated speech her father looked at her face with anxious curiosity in his eyes, but as she went on hastily hurling her words at him his eyes a.s.sumed an altogether different expression, and finally he said to her with calm contempt:

"I knew it before--you are a gilded fool!"

She lowered her head, but immediately raised it and exclaimed sadly:

"You have said so yourself--freedom."

"You had better hold your tongue!" the old man shouted at her rudely.

"You cannot see even that which is visibly forced outside of each man.

How can all the people be happy and equal, since each one wants to be above the other? Even the beggar has his pride and always boasts of something or other before other people. A small child, even he wants to be first among his playmates. And one man will never yield to another; only fools believe in it. Each man has his own soul, and his own face; only those who love not their souls and care not for their faces can be planed down to the same size. Eh, you! You've read much trash, and you've devoured it!"

Bitter reproach and biting contempt were expressed on the old man's face. He noisily pushed his chair away from the table, jumped up, and folding his hands behind his back, began to dart about in the room with short steps, shaking his head and saying something to himself in an angry, hissing whisper. Lubov, pale with emotion and anger, feeling herself stupid and powerless before him, listening to his whisper, and her heart palpitated wildly.

"I am left alone, alone, like Job. Oh Lord! What shall I do? Oh, alone!

Am I not wise? Am I not clever? But life has outwitted me also. What does it love? Whom does it fondle? It beats the good, and suffers not the bad to go unpunished, and no one understands life's justice."

The girl began to feel painfully sorry for the old man; she was seized with an intense yearning to help him; she longed to be of use to him.

Following him with burning eyes, she suddenly said in a low voice:

"Papa, dear! do not grieve. Taras is still alive. Perhaps he--"

Mayakin stopped suddenly as though nailed to the spot, and he slowly lifted his head.

"The tree that grew crooked in its youth and could not hold out will certainly break when it's old. But nevertheless, even Taras is a straw to me now. Though I doubt whether he is better than Foma. Gordyeeff has a character, he has his father's daring. He can take a great deal on himself. But Taraska, you recalled him just in time. Yes!"

And the old man, who a moment ago had lost his courage to the point of complaining, and, grief-stricken had run about the room like a mouse in a trap, now calmly and firmly walked up with a careworn face to the table, carefully adjusted his chair, and seated himself, saying:

"We'll have to sound Taraska. He lives in Usolye at some factory. I was told by some merchants--they're making soda there, I believe. I'll find out the particulars. I'll write to him."

"Allow me to write to him, papa!" begged Lubov, softly, flus.h.i.+ng, trembling with joy.

"You?" asked Mayakin, casting a brief glance at her; he then became silent, thought awhile and said:

"That's all right. That's even better! Write to him. Ask him whether he isn't married, how he lives, what he thinks. But then I'll tell you what to write when the time has come."

"Do it at once, papa," said the girl.