The Man Who Was Afraid Part 23

"Then what have I to do with the fact that people are growing in number?" Foma smiled sadly.

"Eh, he, he!" sighed Mayakin. "That, indeed, concerns none of us. There, your trousers probably reason in the same way: what have we to do with the fact that there are all sorts of stuff in the world? But you do not mind them--you wear them out and throw them away."

Foma glanced at his G.o.dfather reproachfully, and noticing that the old man was smiling, he was astonished and he asked respectfully:

"Can it be true, father, that you do not fear death?"

"Most of all I fear foolishness, my child," replied Mayakin with humble bitterness. "My opinion is this: if a fool give you honey, spit upon it; if a wise man give you poison, drink it! And I will tell you that the perch has a weak soul since his fins do not stand on end."

The old man's mocking words offended and angered Foma. He turned aside and said:

"You can never speak without these subterfuges."

"I cannot!" exclaimed Mayakin, and his eyes began to sparkle with alarm.

"Each man uses the very same tongue he has. Do I seem to be stern? Do I?"

Foma was silent.

"Eh, you. Know this--he loves who teaches. Remember this well. And as to death, do not think of it. It is foolish, dear, for a live man to think of death. 'Ecclesiastes' reflected on death better than anybody else reflected on it, and said that a living dog is better than a dead lion."

They came home. The street near the house was crowded with carriages, and from the open windows came loud sounds of talk. As soon as Foma appeared in the hall, he was seized by the arms and led away to the table and there was urged to drink and eat something. A marketplace noise smote the air; the hall was crowded and suffocating. Silently, Foma drank a gla.s.s of vodka, then another, and a third. Around him they were munching and smacking their lips; the vodka poured out from the bottles was gurgling, the wine-gla.s.ses were tinkling. They were speaking of dried sturgeon and of the ba.s.s of the soloist of the bishop's choir, and then again of the dried sturgeon, and then they said that the mayor also wished to make a speech, but did not venture to do so after the bishop had spoken, fearing lest he should not speak so well as the bishop. Someone was telling with feeling:

"The deceased one used to do thus: he would cut off a slice of salmon, pepper it thickly, cover it with another slice of salmon, and then send it down immediately after a drink."

"Let us follow his example," roared a thick ba.s.so. Offended to the quick, Foma looked with a frown at the fat lips and at the jaws chewing the tasty food, and he felt like crying out and driving away all these people, whose sedateness had but lately inspired him with respect for them.

"You had better be more kind, more sociable," said Mayakin in a low voice, coming up to him.

"Why are they gobbling here? Is this a tavern?" cried Foma, angrily.

"Hush," Mayakin remarked with fright and hastily turned to look around with a kind smile on his face.

But it was too late; his smile was of no avail. Foma's words had been overheard, the noise and the talk was subsiding, some of the guests began to bustle about hurriedly, others, offended, frowned, put down their forks and knives and walked away from the table, all looking at Foma askance.

Silent and angry, he met these glances without lowering his eyes.

"I ask you to come up to the table!" cried Mayakin, gleaming amid the crowd of people like an ember amid ashes. "Be seated, pray! They're soon serving pancakes."

Foma shrugged his shoulders and walked off toward the door, saying aloud:

"I shall not eat."

He heard a hostile rumbling behind him and his G.o.dfather's wheedling voice saying to somebody:

"It's for grief. Ignat was at once father and mother to him."

Foma came out in the garden and sat down on the same place where his father had died. The feeling of loneliness and grief oppressed his heart. He unb.u.t.toned the collar of his shirt to make his breathing easier, rested his elbows on the table, and with his head tightly pressed between his hands, he sat motionless. It was drizzling and the leaves of the apple-tree were rustling mournfully under the drops of the rain. He sat there for a long time alone, motionless, watching how the small drops were falling from the apple-tree. His head was heavy from the vodka, and in his heart there was a growing grudge against men.

Some indefinite, impersonal feelings and thoughts were springing up and vanishing within him; before him flashed the bald skull of his G.o.dfather with a little crown of silver hair and with a dark face, which resembled the faces of the ancient ikons. This face with the toothless mouth and the malicious smile, rousing in Foma hatred and fear, augmented in him the consciousness of solitude. Then he recalled the kind eyes of Medinskaya and her small, graceful figure; and beside her arose the tall, robust, and rosy-cheeked Lubov Mayakina with smiling eyes and with a big light golden-coloured braid. "Do not rely upon men, expect but little at their hands"--his father's words began to ring in his memory.

He sighed sadly and cast a glance around him. The tree leaves were fluttering from the rain, and the air was full of mournful sounds. The gray sky seemed as though weeping, and on the trees cold tears were trembling. And Foma's soul was dry, dark; it was filled with a painful feeling of orphanhood. But this feeling gave birth to the question:

"How shall I live now that I am alone?"

The rain drenched his clothes, and when he felt that he was shivering with cold he arose and went into the house.

Life was tugging him from all sides, giving him no chance to be concentrated in thinking of and grieving for his father, and on the fortieth day after Ignat's death Foma, attired in holiday clothes, with a pleasant feeling in his heart, went to the ceremony of the corner-stone laying of the lodging-asylum. Medinskaya notified him in a letter the day before, that he had been elected as a member of the building committee and also as honorary member of the society of which she was president. This pleased him and he was greatly agitated by the part he was to play today at the laying of the corner-stone. On his way he thought of how everything would be and how he should behave in order not to be confused before the people.

"Eh, eh! Hold on!"

He turned around. Mayakin came hastening to him from the sidewalk.

He was in a frock-coat that reached his heels, in a high cap, and he carried a huge umbrella in his hand.

"Come on, take me up there," said the old man, cleverly jumping into the carriage like a monkey. "To tell the truth, I was waiting for you. I was looking around, thinking it was time for you to go."

"Are you going there?" asked Foma.

"Of course! I must see how they will bury my friend's money in the ground."

Foma looked at him askance and was silent. "Why do you frown upon me?

Don't fear, you will also start out as a benefactor among men."

"What do you mean?" asked Foma, reservedly. "I've read in the newspaper this morning that you were elected as a member of the building committee and also as an honorary member of Sophya's society."

"Yes."

"This membership will eat into your pocket!" sighed Mayakin.

"That wouldn't ruin me."

"I don't know it," observed the old man, maliciously.

"I speak of this more because there is altogether very little wisdom in this charity business, and I may even say that it isn't a business at all, but simply harmful nonsense."

"Is it harmful to aid people?" asked Foma, hotly.

"Eh, you cabbage head!" said Mayakin with a smile. "You had better come up to my house, I'll open your eyes in regard to this. I must teach you!

Will you come?"

"Very well, I will come!" replied Foma.

"So. And in the meantime, hold yourself proud at the laying of the corner-stone. Stand in view of everybody. If I don't tell this to you, you might hide yourself behind somebody's back."

"Why should I hide myself?" said Foma, displeased.

"That's just what I say: there is no reason why. For the money was donated by your father and you are ent.i.tled to the honour as his heir.

Honour is just the same as money. With honour a business man will get credit everywhere, and everywhere there is a way open to him. Then come forward, so that everybody may see you and that if you do five copecks'

worth of work, you should get a rouble in return for it. And if you will hide yourself--nothing but foolishness will be the result."

They arrived at their destination, where all the important people had gathered already, and an enormous crowd of people surrounded the piles of wood, bricks and earth. The bishop, the governor, the representatives of the city's aristocracy and the administration formed, together with the splendidly dressed ladies, a big bright group and looked at the efforts of the two stonemasons, who were preparing the bricks and the lime. Mayakin and his G.o.dson wended their way toward this group. He whispered to Foma: