My Childhood (17 page)

"Well, yes; we want it for that, it is true."

"And for meat too."

"Yes, and for meat."

He smiled quietly, with a kindness which astonished me; and pulling my ear, said:

"It is no use arguing with you. You always get the best of it. I 'd better keep quiet."

Sometimes he broke off his work, and sitting beside me he would gaze for a long time out of the window, watching the rain patter down on the roof, and noting how the grass was growing over the yard, and how the apple trees were being stripped of their leaves. "Goodbusiness" was niggardly with his words, but what he said was to the point; more often than not, when he wished to draw my attention to something, he nudged me and winked instead of speaking. The yard had never been particularly attractive to me, but his nudges and his brief words seemed to throw a different complexion on it, and everything within sight seemed worthy of notice. A kitten ran about, and halting before a shining pool gazed at its own reflection, lifting its soft paw as if it were going to strike it.

"Cats are vain and distrustful," observed "Goodbusiness" quietly.

Then there was the red-gold cock Mamae, who flew on to the garden hedge, balanced himself, shook out his wings, and nearly fell; whereupon he was greatly put out, and muttered angrily, stretching out his neck:

"A consequential general, and not over-clever at that."

Clumsy Valei passed, treading heavily through the mud, like an old horse; his face, with its high cheekbones, seemed inflated as he gazed, blinking, at the sky, from which the pale autumn beams fell straight on his chest, making the brass buttons on his coat shine brilliantly. The Tartar stood still and touched them with his crooked fingers--"just as if they were medals bestowed on him."

My attachment to "Good-business" grew apace, and became stronger every day, till I found that he was indispensable both on days when I felt myself bitterly aggrieved, and in my hours of happiness. Although he was taciturn himself, he did not forbid me to talk about anything which came into my head; grandfather, on the other hand, always cut me short by his stern exclamation:

"Don't chatter, you mill of the devil!"

Grandmother, too, was so full of her own ideas that she neither listened to other people's ideas nor admitted them into her mind; but "Good-business" always listened attentively to my chatter, and often said to me smilingly:

"No, my boy, that is not true. That is an idea of your own."

And his brief remarks were always made at the right time, and only when absolutely necessary; he seemed to be able to pierce the outer covering of my heart and head, and see all that went on, and even to see all the useless, untrue words on my lips before I had time to utter them--he saw them and cut them off with two gentle blows:

"Untrue, boy."

Sometimes I tried to draw out his wizard-like abilities. I made up something and told it to him as if it had really happened; but after listening for a time, he would shake his head.

"Now--that's not true, my boy."

"How do you know?"

"I can feel it, my boy."

When grandmother went to fetch water from Syeniu Square, she often used to take me with her; and on one occasion we saw five citizens assault a peasant, throwing him on the ground, and dragging him about as dogs might do to another dog. Grandmother slipped her pail off the yoke, which she brandished as she flew to the rescue, calling to me as she went:

"You run away now!"

But I was frightened, and, running after her, I began to hurl pebbles and large stones at the citizens, while she bravely made thrusts at them with the yoke, striking at their shoulders and heads. When other people came on the scene they ran away, and grandmother set to work to bathe the injured man's wounds. His face had been trampled, and the sight of him as he pressed his dirty fingers to his torn nostrils and howled and coughed, while the blood spurted from under his fingers over grandmother's face and breast, filled me with repugnance; she uttered a cry too, and trembled violently.

As soon as I returned home I ran to the boarder and began to tell him all about it. He left off working, and stood in front of me looking at me fixedly and sternly from under his glasses; then he suddenly interrupted me, speaking with unusual impressiveness:

"That's a fine thing, I must say--very fine!"

I was so taken up by the sight I had witnessed that his words did not surprise me, and I went on with my story; but he put his arm round me, and then left me and walked about the room uncertainly.

"That will do," he said; "I don't want to hear any more. You have said all that is needful, my boy--all. Do you understand?"

I felt offended, and did not answer; but on thinking the matter over afterwards, I have still a lively recollection of my astonishment at the discovery that he had stopped me at exactly the right time. I had, in truth, told all there was to tell.

"Do not dwell on this incident, child; it is not a good thing to remember," he said.

Sometimes on the spur of the moment he uttered words which I have never forgotten. I remember telling him about my enemy Kliushnikov, a warrior from New Street--a fat boy with a large head, whom I could not conquer in battle, nor he me. "Good-business" listened attentively to my complaint, and then he said:

"That's all nonsense! That sort of strength does not count. Real strength lies in swift movements. He who is swiftest is strongest. See?"

The next Sunday I used my fists more quickly, and easily conquered Kliushnikov, which made me pay still more heed to what the boarder said.

"You must learn to grasp all kinds of things, do you see? It is very difficult to learn how to grasp."

I did not understand him at all, but I involuntarily remembered this, with many other similar sayings; but this one especially, because in its simplicity it was provokingly mysterious. Surely it did not require any extraordinary cleverness to be able to grasp stones, a piece of bread, a cup or a hammer!

In the house, however, "Good-business" became less and less liked; even the friendly cat of the merry lady would not jump on his knees as she jumped on the knees of the others, and took no notice when he called her kindly. I beat her for that and pulled her ears, and, almost weeping, told her not to be afraid of the man.

"It is because my clothes smell of acids--that is why he will not come to me," he explained; but I knew that every one else, even grandmother, gave quite a different explanation--uncharitable, untrue, and injurious to him.

"Why are you always hanging about him?" demanded grandmother angrily. "He 'll be teaching you something bad--you 'll see!"

And grandfather hit me ferociously whenever I visited the boarder, who, he was firmly convinced, was a rogue.

Naturally I did not mention to "Good-business" that I was forbidden to make a friend of him, but I did tell him frankly what was said about him in the house:

"Grandmother is afraid of you; she says you are a black magician. And grandfather too--he says you are one of God's enemies, and that it is dangerous to have you here."

He moved his hand about his head as if he were driving away flies; but a smile spread like a blush over his chalk-white face, and my heart contracted, and a mist seemed to creep over my eyes.

"I see!" he said softly. "It is a pity, is n't it?"

"Yes."

"It's a pity, my lad--yes."

Finally they gave him notice to quit. One day, when I went to him after breakfast, I found him sitting on the floor packing his belongings in cases, and softly singing to himself about the Rose of Sharon.

"Well, it's good-by now, my friend; I am going."

"Why?"

He looked at me fixedly as he said:

"Is it possible you don't know? This room is wanted for your mother."

"Who said so?"

"Your grandfather."

"Then he told a lie!"

"Good-business" drew me towards him; and when I sat beside him on the floor, he said softly:

"Don't be angry. I thought that you knew about it and would not tell me; and I thought you were not treating me well."

So that was why he had been sad and vexed in his manner.

"Listen!" he went on, almost in a whisper. "You remember when I told you not to come and see me?"

I nodded.

"You were offended, were n't you?"

"Yes."

"But I had no intention of offending you, child. I knew, you see, that if you became friendly with me, you would get into trouble with your family. And was n't I right? Now, do you understand why I said it?"

He spoke almost like a child of my own age, and I was beside myself with joy at his words. I felt that I had known this all along, and I said:

"I understood that long ago."

"Well, there it is. It has happened as I said, my little dove!"

The pain in my heart was almost unbearable.

"Why do none of them like you?"

He put his arm round me, and pressed me to him and answered, blinking down at me:

"I am of a different breed--do you see? That's what it is. I am not like them--"

I just held his hands, not knowing what to say; incapable, in fact, of saying anything.

"Don't be angry!" he said again; and then he whispered in my ear: "And don't cry either." But all the time his own tears were flowing freely from under his smeared glasses.

After that we sat, as usual, in silence, which was broken at rare intervals by a brief word or two; and that evening he went, courteously bidding farewell to every one, and hugging me warmly. I accompanied him to the gate, and watched him drive away in the cart, and being violently jolted as the wheels passed over the hillocks of frozen mud.

Grandmother set to work immediately to clean and scrub the dirty room, and I wandered about from corner to corner on purpose to hinder her.

"Go away!" she cried, when she stumbled over me.

"Why did you send him away then
^?
"

"Don't talk about things you don't understand."

"You are fools--all of you!" I said.

She flicked me with her wet floorcloth, crying:

"Are you mad, you little wretch?"

"I did not mean you, but the others," I said, trying to pacify her; but with no success.

At supper grandfather exclaimed:

"Well, thank God he has gone! I should never have been surprised, from what I saw of him', to find him one day with a knife through his heart. Och! It was time he went."

I broke a spoon out of revenge, and then I relapsed into my usual state of sullen endurance. Thus ended my friendship with the first one of that endless chain of friends belonging to my own country--the verv best of her people.

CHAPTER IX

I IMAGINE myself, in my childhood, as a hive to which all manner of simple, undistinguished people brought, as the bees bring honey, their knowledge and thoughts about life, generously enriching my soul with what they had to give. The honey was often dirty, and bitter, but it was all the same knowledge-- and honey.

After the departure of "Good-business," Uncle Peter became my friend. He was in appearance like grandfather, in that he was wizened, neat, and clean; but he was shorter and altogether smaller than grandfather. He looked like a person hardly grown-up dressed up like an old man for fun. His face was creased like a square of very fine leather, and his comical, lively eyes, with their yellow whites, danced amidst these wrinkles like siskins in a cage. His raven hair, now growing gray, was curly, his beard also fell into ringlets, and he smoked a pipe, the smoke from which--the same color as his hair--curled upward into rings too; his style of speech was florid, and abounded in quaint sayings. He always spoke in a buzzing voice, and sometimes very kindly, but I always had an idea that he was making fun of everybody.

"When I first went to her, the lady-countess Tatian --her name was Lexievna--said to me, 'You shall be blacksmith'; but after a time she orders me to go and help the gardener. 'All right, I don't mind, only I did n't engage to work as a laborer, and it is not right that I should have to.' Another time she 'd say 'Now, Petrushka, you must go fishing.' It was all one to me whether I went fishing or not, but I preferred to say 'good-by' to the fish, thank you!--and I came to the town as a drayman. And here I am, and have never been anything else. So far I have not done much good for myself by the change. The only thing I possess is the horse, which reminds me of the Countess."

This was an old horse, and was really white, but one day a drunken house painter had begun to paint it in various colors, and had never finished his job. Its legs were dislocated, and altogether it looked as if it were made of rags sewn together; the bony head, with its dim, sadly drooping eyes, was feebly attached to the carcass by swollen veins and old, worn-out skin. Uncle Peter waited upon the creature with much respect, and called it "Tankoe."

"Why do you call that animal by a Christian name?" asked grandfather one day.

"Nothing of the kind, Vassili Vassilev, nothing of the kind--in all respect I say it. There is no such Christian name as Tanka--but there is 'Tatiana'!"

Uncle Peter was educated and well-read, and he and grandfather used to quarrel as to which of the saints was the most holy; and sit in judgment, each more severely than the other, on the sinners of ancient times. The sinner who was most hardly dealt with was Absalom. Sometimes the dispute took a purely grammatical form, grandfather saying that it ought to be
"sogryeshikhom, bezzakonnovakhom,
nepravdava
khom,"
and Uncle Peter insisting that it was "sogry
eshisha, bezzakonnovasha, nepra\dovaska."

"I
say it one way, and you say it another!" said grandfather angrily, turning livid. Then he jeered:
"Vasha! Shisha!"

But Uncle Peter, enveloped in smoke, asked maliciously:

"And what is the use of your 'khoms'? Do you think God takes any notice of them? What God says when He listens to our prayers is: 'Pray how you like, pray what you like.'"

"Go away, Lexei!" shrieked grandfather in a fury, with his green eyes flashing.