The Man Who Was Afraid Part 39

"You are a queer man, I must confess."

"I am a simple man--a savage. I have given him a thrashing and now I feel jolly, and as to the result, let come what will.'

"I am afraid that it will result in something bad. Do you know--to be frank, in return for your frankness--I also like you, although--Mm! It is rather dangerous to be with you. Such a knightly temper may come over you and one may get a thrashing at your hands."

"How so? This was but the first time. I am not going to beat people every day, am I?" said Foma, confused. His companion began to laugh.

"What a monster you are! Listen to me--it is savage to fight--you must excuse me, but it is abominable. Yet, I must tell you, in this case you made a happy selection. You have thrashed a rake, a cynic, a parasite--a man who robbed his nephews with impunity."

"Well, thank G.o.d for that!" said Foma with satisfaction. "Now I have punished him a little."

"A little? Very well, let us suppose it was a little. But listen to me, my child, permit me to give you advice. I am a man of the law. He, that Kayazev, is a rascal! True! But you must not thrash even a rascal, for he is a social being, under the paternal custody of the law. You cannot touch him until he transgresses the limits of the penal code. But even then, not you, but we, the judges, will give him his due. While you must have patience."

"And will he soon fall into your hands?" inquired Foma, naively.

"It is hard to tell. Being far from stupid, he will probably never be caught, and to the end of his days he will live with you and me in the same degree of equality before the law. Oh G.o.d, what I am telling you!"

said Ookhtishchev, with a comical sigh.

"Betraying secrets?" grinned Foma.

"It isn't secrets; but I ought not to be frivolous. De-e-evil! But then, this affair enlivened me. Indeed, Nemesis is even then true to herself when she simply kicks like a horse."

Foma stopped suddenly, as though he had met an obstacle on his way.

"Nemesis--the G.o.ddess of Justice," babbled Ookhtishchev. "What's the matter with you?"

"And it all came about," said Foma, slowly, in a dull voice, "because you said that she was going away."

"Who?

"Sophya Pavlovna."

"Yes, she is going away. Well?"

He stood opposite Foma and stared at him, with a smile in his eyes.

Gordyeeff was silent, with lowered head, tapping the stone of the sidewalk with his cane.

"Come," said Ookhtishchev.

Foma started, saying indifferently:

"Well, let her go. And I am alone." Ookhtishchev, waving his cane, began to whistle, looking at his companion.

"Sha'n't I be able to get along without her?" asked Foma, looking somewhere in front of him and then, after a pause, he answered himself softly and irresolutely:

"Of course, I shall."

"Listen to me!" exclaimed Ookhtishchev. "I'll give you some good advice.

A man must be himself. While you, you are an epic man, so to say, and the lyrical is not becoming to you. It isn't your genre."

"Speak to me more simply, sir," said Foma, having listened attentively to his words.

"More simply? Very well. I want to say, give up thinking of this little lady. She is poisonous food for you."

"She told me the same," put in Foma, gloomily.

"She told you?" Ookhtishchev asked and became thoughtful. "Now, I'll tell you, shouldn't we perhaps go and have supper?"

"Let's go," Foma a.s.sented. And he suddenly roared obdurately, clinching his fists and waving them in the air: "Well, let us go, and I'll get wound up; I'll break loose, after all this, so you can't hold me back!"

"What for? We'll do it modestly."

"No! wait!" said Foma, anxiously, seizing him by the shoulder. "What's that? Am I worse than other people? Everybody lives, whirls, hustles about, has his own point. While I am weary. Everybody is satisfied with himself. And as to their complaining, they lie, the rascals! They are simply pretending for beauty's sake. I have no reason to pretend. I am a fool. I don't understand anything, my dear fellow. I simply wish to live! I am unable to think. I feel disgusted; one says this, another that! Pshaw! But she, eh! If you knew. My hope was in her. I expected of her--just what I expected, I cannot tell; but she is the best of women!

And I had so much faith in her--when sometimes she spoke such peculiar words, all her own. Her eyes, my dear boy, are so beautiful! Oh Lord! I was ashamed to look upon them, and as I am telling you, she would say a few words, and everything would become clear to me. For I did not come to her with love alone--I came to her with all my soul! I sought--I thought that since she was so beautiful, consequently, I might become a man by her side!"

Ookhtishchev listened to the painful, unconnected words that burst from his companion's lips. He saw how the muscles of his face contracted with the effort to express his thoughts, and he felt that behind this bombast there was a great, serious grief. There was something intensely pathetic in the powerlessness of this strong and savage youth, who suddenly started to pace the sidewalk with big, uneven steps. Skipping along after him with his short legs, Ookhtishchev felt it his duty somehow to calm Foma. Everything Foma had said and done that evening awakened in the jolly secretary a feeling of lively curiosity toward Foma, and then he felt flattered by the frankness of the young millionaire. This frankness confused him with its dark power; he was disconcerted by its pressure, and though, in spite of his youth, he had a stock of words ready for all occasions in life, it took him quite awhile to recall them.

"I feel that everything is dark and narrow about me," said Gordyeeff. "I feel that a burden is falling on my shoulders, but what it is I cannot understand! It puts a restraint on me, and it checks the freedom of my movements along the road of life. Listening to people, you hear that each says a different thing. But she could have said--"

"Eh, my dear boy!" Ookhtishchev interrupted Foma, gently taking his arm.

"That isn't right! You have just started to live and already you are philosophizing! No, that is not right! Life is given us to live! Which means--live and let others live. That's the philosophy! And that woman.

Bah! Is she then the only one in the world? The world is large enough.

If you wish, I'll introduce you to such a virile woman, that even the slightest trace of your philosophy would at once vanish from your soul!

Oh, a remarkable woman! And how well she knows how to avail herself of life! Do you know, there's also something epic about her? She is beautiful; a Phryne, I may say, and what a match she would be to you!

Ah, devil! It is really a splendid idea. I'll make you acquainted with her! We must drive one nail out with another."

"My conscience does not allow it," said Foma, sadly and sternly. "So long as she is alive, I cannot even look at women."

"Such a robust and healthy young man. Ho, ho!" exclaimed Ookhtishchev, and in the tone of a teacher began to argue with Foma that it was essential for him to give his pa.s.sion an outlet in a good spree, in the company of women.

"This will be magnificent, and it is indispensable to you. You may believe me. And as to conscience, you must excuse me. You don't define it quite properly. It is not conscience that interferes with you, but timidity, I believe. You live outside of society. You are bashful, and awkward. Youare dimly conscious of all this, and it is this consciousness that you mistake for conscience. In this case there can be no question about conscience. What has conscience to do here, since it is natural for man to enjoy himself, since it is his necessity and his right?"

Foma walked on, regulating his steps to those of his companion, and staring along the road, which lay between two rows of buildings, resembled an enormous ditch, and was filled with darkness. It seemed that there was no end to the road and that something dark, inexhaustible and suffocating was slowly flowing along it in the distance.

Ookhtishchev's kind, suasive voice rang monotonously in Foma's ears, and though he was not listening to his words, he felt that they were tenacious in their way; that they adhered to him, and that he was involuntarily memorizing them. Notwithstanding that a man walked beside him, he felt as though he were alone, straying in the dark. And the darkness seized him and slowly drew him along, and he felt that he was drawn somewhere, and yet had no desire to stop. Some sort of fatigue hindered his thinking; there was no desire in him to resist the admonitions of his companion--and why should he resist them?

"It isn't for everyone to philosophize," said Ookhtishchev, swinging his cane in the air, and somewhat carried away by his wisdom. "For if everybody were to philosophize, who would live? And we live but once!

And therefore it were best to make haste to live. By G.o.d! That's true!

But what's the use of talking? Would you permit me to give you a shaking up? Let's go immediately to a pleasure-house I know. Two sisters live there. Ah, how they live! You will come?"

"Well, I'll go," said Foma, calmly, and yawned. "Isn't it rather late?"

he asked, looking up at the sky which was covered with clouds.

"It's never too late to go to see them!" exclaimed Ookhtishchev, merrily.

CHAPTER VIII

ON the third day after the scene in the club, Foma found himself about seven versts from the town, on the timber-wharf of the merchant Zvantzev, in the company of the merchant's son of Ookhtishchev--a sedate, bald-headed and red-nosed gentleman with side whiskers--and four ladies. The young Zvantzev wore eyegla.s.ses, was thin and pale, and when he stood, the calves of his legs were forever trembling as though they were disgusted at supporting the feeble body, clad in a long, checked top-coat with a cape, in whose folds a small head in a jockey cap was comically shaking. The gentleman with the side whiskers called him Jean and p.r.o.nounced this name as though he was suffering from an inveterate cold. Jean's lady was a tall, stout woman with a showy bust. Her head was compressed on the sides, her low forehead receded, her long, sharp-pointed nose gave her face an expression somewhat bird-like. And this ugly face was perfectly motionless, and the eyes alone, small, round and cold, were forever smiling a penetrating and cunning smile.