My Childhood (7 page)

"Well, that was soon unloaded!" they cried with loud approval.

Uncle Michael especially was in raptures, jumping about the load, sniffing hard at the poultry, smacking his lips with relish, closing his restless eyes in ecstasy. He resembled his father; he had the same dried-up appearance, only he was taller and his hair was dark.

Slipping his chilled hands up his sleeves, he inquired of Tsiganok:

"How much did my father give you?"

"Five roubles."

"There is fifteen roubles' worth here! How much did you spend?"

"Four roubles, ten kopecks."

"Perhaps the other ninety kopecks is in your pocket. Have n't you noticed, Jaakov, how money gets all over the place?"

Uncle Jaakov, standing in the frost in his shirtsleeves, laughed quietly, blinking in the cold blue light.

"You have some brandy for us, Vanka, have n't you?" he asked lazily.

Grandmother meanwhile was unharnessing the horse.

"There, my little one! There! Spoiled child! There, God's plaything!"

Great Sharapa, tossing his thick mane, fastened his white teeth in her shoulder, pushed his silky nose into her hair, gazed into her face with contented eyes, and shaking the frost from his eyelashes, softly neighed.

"Ah! you want some bread."

She thrust a large, salted crust in his mouth, and making her apron into a bag under his nose, she thoughtfully watched him eat.

Tsiganok, himself as playful as a young horse, sprang to her side.

"He is such a good horse, Grandma! And so clever!"

"Get away! Don't try your tricks on me!" cried grandmother, stamping her foot. "You know that I am not fond of you to-day."

She afterwards explained to me that Tsiganok had not bought so much in the market as he had stolen. "If grandfather gives him five roubles, he spends three and steals three roubles' worth," she said sadly. "He takes a pleasure in stealing. He is like a spoiled child. He tried it once, and it turned out well; he was laughed at and praised for his success, and that is how he got into the habit of thieving. And grandfather, who in his youth ate the bread of poverty till he wanted no more of it, has grown greedy in his old age, and money is dearer to him now than the blood of his own children! He is glad even of a present! As for Michael and Jaakov . . ."

She made a gesture of contempt and was silent a moment; then looking fixedly at the closed lid of her snuff-box, she went on querulously:

"But there, Lenya, that's a bit of work done by a blind woman . . . Dame Fortune . . . there she sits spinning for us and we can't even choose the pattern. . . . But there it is! If they caught Ivan thieving they would beat him to death."

And after another silence she continued quietly:

"Ah! we have plenty of principles, but we don't put them into practice."

The next day I begged Vanka not to steal any more. "If you do they 'll beat you to death."

"They won't touch me ... I should soon wriggle out of their clutches. I am as lively as a mettlesome horse," he said, laughing; but the next minute his face fell. "Of course I know quite well that it is wrong and risky to steal. I do it . . . just to amuse myself, because I am bored. And I don't save any of the money. Your uncles get it all out of me before the week is over. But I don't care! Let them take it. I have more than enough."

Suddenly he took me up in his arms, shaking me gently.

"You will be a strong man, you are so light and slim, and your bones are so firm. I say, why don't you learn to play on the guitar? Ask Uncle Jaakov! But you are too small yet, that's a pity! You 're little, but you have a temper of your own! You don't like your grandfather much, do you?"

"I don't know."

"I don't like any of the Kashmirins except your grandmother. Let the devil like them!"

"What about me?"

"You? You are not a Kashmirin. You are a Pyeshkov. . . . That's different blood--a different stock altogether."

Suddenly he gave me a violent squeeze.

"Ah!" he almost groaned. "If only I had a good voice for singing! Good Lord! what a stir I should make in the world! . . . Run away now, old chap. I must get on with my work."

He set me down on the floor, put a handful of fine nails into his mouth, and began to stretch and nail damp breadths of black material on a large square board.

His end came very soon after this.

It happened thus. Leaning up against a partition by the gate in the yard was placed a large oaken cross with stout, knotty arms. It had been there a long time. I had noticed it in the early days of my life in the house, when it had been new and yellow, but now it was blackened by the autumn rains. It gave forth the bitter odor of barked oak, and it was in the way in the crowded, dirty yard.

Uncle Jaakov had bought it to place over the grave of his wife, and had made a vow to carry it on his shoulders to the cemetery on the anniversary of her death, which fell on a Saturday at the beginning of winter.

It was frosty and windy and there had been a fall of snow. Grandfather and grandmother, with the three grandchildren, had gone early to the cemetery to hear the requiem; I was left at home as a punishment for some fault.

My uncles, dressed alike in short black fur coats, lifted the cross from the ground and stood under its arms. Gregory and some men not belonging to the yard raised the heavy beams with difficulty, and placed the cross on the broad shoulders of Tsiganok. He tottered, and his legs seemed to give way.

"Are you strong enough to carry it
^'
?" asked Gregory.

"I don't know. It seems heavy."

"Open the gate, you blind devil!" cried Uncle Michael angrily.

And Uncle Jaakov said:

"You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Vanka. You are stronger than the two of us together."

But Gregory, throwing open the gate, persisted in advising Ivan:

"Take care you don't break down! Go, and may God be with you!"

"Bald-headed fool!" cried Uncle Michael, from the street.

All the people in the yard, meanwhile, laughed and talked loudly, as if they were glad to get rid of the cross.

Gregory Ivanovitch took my hand and led me to the workshop, saying kindly:

"Perhaps, under the circumstances, grandfather won't thrash you to-day."

He sat me on a pile of woolens ready for dyeing, carefully wrapping them round me as high as my shoulders; and inhaling the vapor which rose from the vats, he said thoughtfully:

"I have known your grandfather for thirty-seven years, my dear. I saw his business at its commencement, and I shall see the end of it. We were friends then--in fact, we started and planned out the business together. He is a clever man, is your grandfather! He meant to be master, but I did not know it. However, God is more clever than any of us. He has only to smile and the wisest man will blink like a fool. You don't understand yet all that is said and done, but you must learn to understand everything. An orphan's life is a hard one. Your father, Maxim Savatyevitch, was a trump. He was well-educated too. That is why your grandfather did not like him, and would have nothing to do with him."

It was pleasant to listen to these kind words and to watch the red and gold flames playing in the stove, and the milky cloud of steam which rose from the vats and settled like a dark blue rime on the slanting boards of the roof, through the uneven chinks of which the sky could be seen, like strands of blue ribbon. The wind had fallen; the yard looked as if it were strewn with glassy dust; the sledges gave forth a sharp sound as they passed up the street; a blue smoke rose from the chimneys of the house; faint shadows glided over the snow . . . also telling a story.

Lean, long-limbed Gregory, bearded and hatless, large-eared, just like a good-natured wizard, stirred the boiling dye, instructing me the while.

"Look every one straight in the eyes. And if a dog should fly at you, do the same; he will let you alone then."

His heavy spectacles pressed on the bridge of his nose, the tip of which was blue like grandmother's-- and for the same reason.

"What is that
^?
" he exclaimed suddenly, listening; then closing the door of the stove with his foot, he ran, or rather hopped, across the yard, and I dashed after him. In the middle of the kitchen floor lay Tsiganok, face upwards; broad streaks of light from the window fell on his head, his chest, and on his feet. His forehead shone strangely; his eyebrows were raised; his squinting eyes gazed intently at the blackened ceiling; a red-flecked foam bubbled from his discolored lips, from the corners of which also flowed blood over his cheeks, his neck, and on to the floor; and a thick stream of blood crept from under his back. His legs were spread out awkwardly, and it was plain that his trousers were wet; they clung damply to the boards, which had been polished with sand, and shone like the sun. The rivulets of blood intersected the streams of light, and, showing up very vividly, flowed towards the threshold.

Tsiganok was motionless, except for the fact that as he lay with his hands alongside his body, his fingers scratched at the floor, and his stained fingernails shone in the sunlight.

Nyanya Eugenia, crouching beside him, put a slender candle into his hand, but he could not hold it and it fell to the floor, the wick being drenched in blood. Nyanya Eugenia picked it up and wiped it dry, and made another attempt to fix it in those restless fingers. A gentle whispering made itself heard in the kitchen; it seemed to blow me away from the door like the wind, but I held firmly to the doorpost.

"He stumbled!" Uncle Jaakov was explaining, in a colorless voice, shuddering and turning his head about. His face was gray and haggard; his eyes had lost their color, and blinked incessantly. "He fell, and it fell on top of him . . . and hit him on the back. We should have been disabled if we had not dropped the cross in time."

"This is your doing," said Gregory dully.

"But how . . .?"

"IWdidit!"

All this time the blood was flowing, and by the door had already formed a pool which seemed to grow darker and deeper. With another effusion of bloodflecked foam, Tsiganok roared out as if he were dreaming, and then collapsed, seeming to grow flatter and flatter, as if he were glued to the floor, or sinking through it.

"Michael went on horseback to the church to find father," whispered Uncle Jaakov, "and I brought him here in a cab as quickly as I could. It is a good job that I was not standing under the arms myself, or I should have been like this."

Nyanya Eugenia again fixed the candle in Tsiganok's hand, dropping wax and tears in his palm.

"That's right! Glue his head to the floor, you careless creature," said Gregory gruffly and rudely.

"What do you mean?"

"Why don't you take off his cap?"

Nyanya dragged Ivan's cap from his head, which struck dully on the floor. Then it fell to one side and the blood flowed profusely from one side of his mouth only. This went on for a terribly long time. At first I expected Tsiganok to sit up on the floor with a sigh, and say sleepily, "Phew! It is baking hot!" as he used to do after dinner on Sundays.

But he did not rise; on the contrary he seemed to be sinking into the ground. The sun had withdrawn from him now; its bright beams had grown shorter, and fell only on the window-sill. His whole form grew darker; his fingers no longer moved; the froth had disappeared from his lips. Round his head three candles stood out from the darkness, waving their golden flames, lighting up his dishevelled blue-black hair, and throwing quivering yellow ripples on his swarthy cheek, illuminating the tip of his pointed nose and his blood-stained teeth.

Nyanya, kneeling at his side, shed tears as she lisped: "My little dove! My bird of consolation!"

It was painfully cold. I crept under the table and hid myself there. Then grandfather came tumbling into the kitchen, in his coat of racoon fur; with him came grandmother in a cloak with a fur collar, Uncle Michael, the children, and many people not belonging to the house.

Throwing his coat on the floor, grandfather cried:

"Riff-raff! See what you have done for me, between you, in your carelessness! He would have been worth his weight in gold in five years--that's certain!"

The coats which had been thrown on the floor hindered me from seeing Ivan, so I crept out and knocked myself against grandfather's legs. He hurled me to one side, as he shook his little red fist threateningly at my uncles.

"You wolves!"

He sat down on a bench, and resting his arms upon it, burst into dry sobs, and said in a shrill voice:

"I know all about it! . . . He stuck in your gizzards! That was it! Oh, Vaniushka, poor fool! What have they done to you, eh? 'Rotten reins are good enough for a stranger's horse!' Mother! God has not loved us for the last year, has He? Mother!"

Grandmother, doubled up on the floor, was feeling Ivan's hands and che6t, breathing upon his eyes, holding his hands and chafing them. Then, throwing down all the candles, she rose with difficulty to her feet, looking very somber in her shiny black frock, and with her eyes dreadfully wide open, she said in a low voice: "Go, accursed ones!"

All, with the exception of grandfather, straggled out of the kitchen.

Tsiganok was buried without fuss, and was soon forgotten.

CHAPTER IV

I WAS lying in a wide bed, with a thick blanket folded four times around me, listening to grandmother, who was saying her prayers. She was on her knees; and pressing one hand against her breast, she reverently crossed herself from time to time with the other. Out in the yard a hard frost reigned; a greenish moonlight peeped through the ice patterns on the window-panes, falling flatteringly on her kindly face and large nose, and kindling a phosphorescent light in her dark eyes. Her silky, luxuriant tresses were lit up as if by a furnace; her dark dress rustled, falling in ripples from her shoulders and spreading about her on the floor.

When she had finished her prayers grandmother undressed in silence, carefully folding up her clothes and placing them on the trunk in the corner. Then she came to bed. I pretended to be fast asleep.