Chapter 6

    AT Sarapulia, Maxim left the boat. He went away in silence, saying farewellto no one, serious and calm. Behind him, laughing, came the gay woman,and, following her, the girl, looking disheveled, with swollen eyes. Sergei wason his knees a long time before the captain’s cabin, kissing the panel of thedoor, knocking his forehead against it, and crying:

　　“Forgive me! It was not my fault, but Maxim’s.”

　　The sailors, the stewards, and even some of the passengers knew that hewas lying, yet they advised:

　　“Come, forgive him!”

　　But the captain drove him away, and even kicked him with such forcethat he fell over. Notwithstanding, he forgave him, and Sergei at once rushedon deck, carrying a tray of tea-things, looking with inquiring, dog-likeexpression into the eyes of the passengers.

　　In Maxim’s place came a soldier from Viatski, a bony man, with a smallhead and brownish red eyes. The assistant cook sent him first to kill somefowls. He killed a pair, but let the rest escape on deck. The passengers triedto catch them, but three hens flew over — board. Then the soldier sat onsome wood near the fowl-house, and cried bitterly.

　　“What’s the matter, you fool?” asked Smouri, angrily. “Fancy a soldiercrying!”

　　“I belong to the Home Defense Corps,” said the soldier in a low voice.

　　That was his ruin. In half an hour every one on the boat was laughing athim. They would come quite close to him, fix their eyes on his face, and ask:

　　“Is this the one?”

　　And then they would go off into harsh, insulting, absurd laughter.

　　At first the soldier did not see these people or hear their laughter; he wasdrying his tears with the sleeve of his old shirt, exactly as if he were hidingthem up his sleeve. But soon his brown eyes flashed with ragt, and he said inthe quick speech of Viatski :

　　“What are you staring at me for? Oi, may you be torn to bits!”

　　But this only amused the passengers the more, and they began to snaptheir fingers at him, to pluck at his shirt, his apron, to play with him as if hehad been a goat, baiting him cruelly until dinner-time. At dinner some oneput a piece of squeezed lemon on the handle of a wooden spoon, and tied itbehind his back by the strings of his apron. As he moved, the spoon waggledbehind him, and every one laughed, but he was in a fluster, like an entrappedmouse, ignorant of what had aroused their laughter.

　　Smouri sat behind him in silence. His face had become like a woman’s. Ifelt sorry for the soldier, and asked :

　　“May I tell him about the spoon?”

　　He nodded his head without speaking.

　　When I explained to the soldier what they were laughing at, he hastilyseized the spoon, tore it off, threw it on the floor, crushed it with his foot,and took hold of my hair with both hands. We began to fight, to the greatsatisfaction of the passengers, who made a ring round us at once.

　　Smouri pushed the spectators aside, separated us, and, after boxing myear, seized the soldier by the ear. When the passengers saw how the littleman danced under the hand of the cook they roared with excitement,whistled, stamped their feet, split their sides with laughter.

　　“Hurrah! Garrison! Butt the cook in the stomach!”

　　This wild joy on the part of others made me feel that I wanted to throwmyself upon them and hit their dirty heads with a lump of wood.

　　Smouri let the soldier go, and with his hands behind his back turnedupon the passengers like a wild boar, bristling, and showing his teethterrifyingly.

　　“To your places! March! March!”

　　The soldier threw himself upon me again, but Smouri seized him roundthe body with one hand and carried him to the hatchway, where he began topump water on his head, turning his frail body about as if he were a rag-doll.

　　The sailors came running on the scene, with the boatswain and thecaptain’s mate. The passengers crowded about again. A head above theothers stood the head-steward, quiet, dumb, as always.

　　The soldier, sitting on some wood near the kitchen door, took off hisboots and began to wring out his leggings, though they were not wet. But thewater dripped from his greasy hair, which again amused the passengers.

　　“All the same,” said the soldier, “I am going to kill that boy.”

　　Taking me by the shoulder, Smouri said something to the captain’s mate.

　　The sailors sent the passengers away, and when they had all dispersed, heasked the soldier:

　　“What is to be done with you?”

　　The latter was silent, looking at me with wild eyes, and all the whileputting a strange restraint upon himself.

　　“Be quiet, you devilskin!” said Smouri.

　　“As you are not the piper, you can’t call the tune,” answered the soldier.

　　I saw that the cook was confused. His blown-out cheeks became flabby;he spat, and went away, taking me with him. I walked after him, feelingfoolish, with backward glances at the soldier. But Smouri muttered in aworried tone :

　　“There’s a wild creature for you! What? What do you think of him?”

　　Sergei overtook us and said in a whisper:

　　“He is going to kill himself.”

　　“Where is he?” cried Smouri, and he ran.

　　The soldier was standing at the door of the steward’s cabin with a largeknife in his hand. It was the knife which was used for cutting off the heads offowls and for cutting up sticks for the stoves. It was blunt, and notched like asaw. In front of the cabin the passengers were assembled, looking at thefunny little man with the wet head. His snub-nosed face shook like a jelly; hismouth hung wearily open; his lips twitched. He roared:

　　“Tormentors! Tormentors!”

　　Jumping up on something, I looked over the heads of people into theirfaces. They were smiling, giggling, and saying to one another :

　　“Look! Look!”

　　When he pushed his crumpled shirt down into his trousers with hisskinny, childish hand, a good-looking man near me said:

　　“He is getting ready to die, and he takes the trouble to hitch up histrousers.”

　　The passengers all laughed loudly. It was perfectly plain that they did notthink it probable that the soldier would really kill himself, nor did I think so;but Smouri, after one glance at him, pushed the people aside with hisstomach, saying:

　　“Get away, you fools!”

　　He called them fools over and over again, and approaching one littleknot of people, said:

　　“To your place, fool!”

　　This was funny ; but, however, it seemed to be true, for they had all beenacting like one big fool from the first thing in the morning. When he haddriven the passengers, off, he approached the soldier, and, holding out hishand, said:

　　“Give me that knife.”

　　“I don’t care,” said the soldier, holding out the handle of the knife.

　　The cook gave the knife to me, and pushed the soldier into the cabin.

　　“Lie down and go to sleep. What is the matter with you, eh?”

　　The soldier sat on a hammock in silence.

　　“He shall bring you something to eat and some vodka. Do you drinkvodka?”

　　“A little sometimes.”

　　“But, look you, don’t you touch him. It was not he who made fun of you,do you hear? I tell you that it was not he.”

　　“But why did they torment me?” asked the soldier, softly.

　　Smouri answered gruffly after a pause:

　　“How should I know?”

　　As he came with me to the kitchen he muttered :

　　“Well, they have fastened upon a poor wretch this time, and no mistake!

　　You see what he is? There you are! My lad, people can be sent out of theirminds; they can really. Stick to them like bugs, and the thing is done. In fact,there are some people here like bugs — worse than bugs!”

　　When I took bread, meat, and vodka to the soldier he was still sitting inthe hammock, rocking himself and crying softly, sobbing like a woman.

　　I placed the plate on the table, saying:

　　“Eat.”

　　“Shut the door.”

　　“That will make it dark.”

　　“Shut it, or they will come crawling in here.”

　　I went away. The sight of the soldier was unpleasant to me. He arousedmy commiseration and pity and made me feel uncomfortable. Times withoutnumber grandmother had told me:

　　“One must have pity on people. We are all unhappy. Life is hard for all ofus.”

　　“Did you take it to him?” asked the cook. “Well, how is he — the soldier?”

　　“I feel sorry for him.”

　　“Well, what’s the matter now, eh?’

　　“One can’t help being sorry for people.”

　　Smouri took me by the arm, drew me to him, and said:

　　“You do not pity in vain, but it is waste of time to chatter about it. Whenyou are not accustomed to mix jellies, you must teach yourself the way.”

　　And pushing me away from him, he added gruffly:

　　“This is no place for you. Here, smoke.”

　　I was deeply distressed, quite crushed by the behavior of the passengers.

　　There was something in expressibly insulting and oppressive in the way theyhad worried the soldier and had laughed with glee whenSmouri had him by the ear. What pleasure could they find in such adisgusting, pitiful affair? What was there to cause them to laugh so joyfully?

　　There they were again, sitting or lying under the awning, drinking,making a buzz of talk, playing cards, conversing seriously and sensibly,looking at the river, just as if they had never whistled and hooted an hourago. They were all as quiet and lazy as usual. From morning to night theysauntered about the boat like pieces of fluff or specks of dust in thesunbeams. In groups of ten they would stroll to the hatchway, crossthemselves, and leave the boat at the landing-stage from which the samekind of people embarked as they landed, bending their backs under the sameheavy wallets and trunks and dressed in the same fashion.

　　This continual change of passengers did not alter the life on the boat onebit. The new passengers spoke of the same things as those who had left: theland, labor, God, women, and in the same words. “It is ordained by the LordGod that we should suffer; all we can do is to be patient. There is nothingelse to be done. It is fate.”

　　It was depressing to hear such words, and they exasperated me. I couldnot endure dirt, and I did not wish to endure evil, unjust, and insultingbehavior toward myself. I was sure that I did not deserve such treatment.

　　And the soldier had not deserved it, either. Perhaps he had meant to befunny.

　　Maxim, a serious, good-hearted fellow, had been dismissed from theship, and Sergei, a mean fellow, was left. And why did these people, capableof goading a man almost to madness, always submit humbly to the furiousshouts of the sailors, and listen to their abuse without taking offense?

　　“What are you rolling about on the deck for?” cried the boatswain,blinking his handsome, though malevolent, eyes. “If the boat heeled, it wouldbe the end of you, you devils.”

　　The “devils” went peaceably enough to the other deck, but they chasedthem away from there, too, as if they had been sheep.

　　“Ah, accursed ones!”

　　On hot nights, under the iron awning, which had been made red-hot bythe sun during the day, it was suffocating. The passengers crawled over thedeck like beetles, and lay where they happened to fall. The sailors awokethem at the landing-stages by prodding them with marlinespikes.

　　“What are you sprawling in the way for? Go away to your proper place!”

　　They would stand up, and move sleepily in the direction whither theywere pushed. The sailors were of the same class as themselves, only theywere dressed differently; but they ordered them about as if they werepolicemen. The first thing which I noticed about these people was that theywere so quiet, so timid, so sadly meek. It was terrible when through thatcrust of meekness burst the cruel, thoughtless spirit of mischief, which hadvery little fun in it. It seemed to me that they did not know where they werebeing taken; it was a matter of indifference to them where they were landedfrom the boat. Wherever they went on shore they stayed for a short time, andthen they embarked again on our boat or another, starting on a freshjourney. They all seemed to have strayed, to have no relatives, as if all theearth were strange to them. And every single one of them was senselesslycowardly.

　　Once, shortly after midnight, something burst in the machinery andexploded like a report from a cannon. The deck was at once enveloped in acloud of steam, which rose thickly from the engine-room and crept throughevery crevice. An invisible person shouted deafeningly:

　　“Gavrilov, some red lead — and some felt!”

　　I slept near the engine-room, on the table on which the dishes werewashed up, and the explosion and shaking awoke me. It was quiet on deck.

　　The engine uttered a hot, steamy whisper; a hammer sounded repeatedly.

　　But in the course of a few minutes all the saloon passengers howled, roaredwith one voice, and suddenly a distressing scene was in progress.

　　In a white fog which swiftly rarefied, women with their hair loose,disheveled men with round eyes like fishes’ eyes, rushed about, tramplingone another, carrying bundles, bags, boxes, stumbling, falling, call — ingupon God and St. Nicholas, striking one another. It was very terrible, but atthe same time it was interesting. I ran after them to see what they would donext.

　　This was my first experience of a night alarm, yetI understood at once that the passengers had made a mistake. The boathad not slowed down. On the right hand, quite near, gleamed the life-belts.

　　The night was light, the full moon stood high. But the passengers rushedwildly about the deck, and now those traveling in the other classes had comeup, too. Some one jumped overboard. He was followed by another, and yet athird. Two peasants and a monk with heavy pieces of wood broke off a benchwhich was screwed to the desk. A large cage of fowls was thrown into thewater from the stern. In the center of the deck, near the steps leading to thecaptain’s bridge, knelt a peasant who prostrated himself before the people asthey rushed past him, and howled like a wolf:

　　“I am Orthodox and a sinner — ”

　　“To the boats, you devils!” cried a fat gentleman who wore only trousersand no shirt, and he beat his breast with his fist.

　　The sailors came running, seized people by the collars, knocked theirheads together, and threw them on the deck. Smouri approached heavily,wearing his overcoat over his night-clothes, addressed them all in aresounding voice:

　　“Yes, you ought to be ashamed of yourselves. What are you making allthis fuss for? Has the steamer stopped, eh? Are we going slower? There is theshore. Those fools who jumped into the water have caught the life-belts, theyhave had to drag them out. There they are. Do you see? Two boats — ”

　　He struck the third-class passengers on the head with his fist, and theysank like sacks to the deck.

　　The confusion was not yet hushed when a lady in a cloak flew to Smouriwith a tablespoon in her hand, and, flourishing it in his face, cried:

　　“How dare you?”

　　A wet gentleman, restraining her, sucked his mustache and said irritably:

　　“Let him alone, you imbecile!”

　　Smouri, spreading out his hands, blinked with embarrassment, andasked me:

　　“What’s the matter, eh? What does she want with me? This is nice, Imust say! Why, I never saw her before in my life!”

　　And a peasant, with his nose bleeding, cried :

　　“Human beings, you call them? Robbers!”

　　Before the summer I had seen two panics on board the steamboat, andon both occasions they were caused not by real danger, but by the merepossibility of it. On a third occasion the passengers caught two thieves, oneof them was dressed like a foreigner, beat them for almost an hour, unknownto the sailors, and when the latter took their victims away from them, thepassengers abused them.

　　“Thieves shield thieves. That is plain. You are rogues yourselves, and yousympathize with rogues.”

　　The thieves had been beaten into unconsciousness. They could not standwhen they were handed over to the police at the next stopping-place.

　　There were many other occasions on which my feelings were aroused toa high pitch, and I could not make up my mind as to whether people werebad or good, peaceful or mischief-making, and why they were so peculiarlycruel, lusting to work malevolence, and ashamed of being kind.

　　I asked the cook about this, but he enveloped his face in a cloud ofsmoke, and said briefly in a tone of vexation :

　　“What are you chattering about now? Human creatures are humancreatures. Some are clever, some are fools. Read, and don’t talk so much. Inbooks, if they are the right sort, you will find all you want to know.”

　　I wanted to please him by giving him a present of some books.

　　In Kazan I bought, for five copecks, “The Story of how a Soldier SavedPeter the Great” ; but at that time the cook was drinking and was very cross,so I began to read it myself. I was delighted with it, it was so simple, easy tounderstand, interesting, and short. I felt that this book would give greatpleasure to my teacher; but when I took it to him he silently crushed it in hishand into a round ball and threw it overboard.

　　“That for your book, you fool!” he said harshly. “I teach you like a dog,and all you want to do is to gobble up idle tales, eh?” He stamped and roared.

　　“What kind of book is that? Do I read nonsense? Is what is written theretrue? Well, speak!”

　　“I don’t know.”

　　“Well, I do know. If a man’s head were cut off, his body would fall downthe staircase, and the other man would not have climbed on the haystack.

　　Soldiers are not fools. He would have set fire to the hay, and that would havebeen the end. Do you understand?”

　　“Yes.”

　　“That’s right. I know all about Czar Peter, and that never happened tohim. Run along.”

　　I realized that the cook was right, but nevertheless the book pleased me.

　　I bought the “Story” again and read it a second time. To my amazement, Idiscovered that it was really a bad book. This puzzled me, and I began toregard the cook with even more respect, while he said to me more frequentlyand more crossly than ever:

　　“Oh, what a lot you need to be taught! This is no place for you.”

　　I also felt that it was no place for me. Sergei behaved disgustingly to me,and several times I observed him stealing pieces of the tea-service, andgiving them to the passengers on the sly. I knew that this was theft. Smourihad warned me more than once :

　　“Take care. Do not give the attendants any of the cups and plates fromyour table.”

　　This made life still harder for me, and I often longed to run away fromthe boat into the forest; but Smouri held me back. He was more tender to meevery day, and the incessant movement on the boat held a terriblefascination for me. I did not like it when we stayed in port, and I was alwaysexpecting something to happen, and that we should sail from Kama to Byela,as far as Viatka, and so up the Volga, and I should see new places, towns, andpeople. But this did not happen. My life on the steamer came to an abruptend. One evening when we were going from Kazan to Nijni the steward calledme to him. I went. He shut the door behind me, and said to Smouri, who satgrimly on a small stool:

　　“Here he is.”

　　Smouri asked me roughly :

　　“Have you been giving Serejka any of the dinner-and tea-services?”

　　“He helps himself when I am not looking.”

　　The steward said softly:

　　“He does not look, yet he knows.”

　　Smouri struck his knee with his fist; then he scratched his knee as hesaid :

　　“Wait; take time.”

　　I pondered. I looked at the steward. He looked at me, and there seemedto be no eyes behind his glasses.

　　He lived without making a noise. He went about softly, spoke in lowtones. Sometimes his faded beard and vacant eyes peeped out from somecorner and instantly vanished. Before going to bed he knelt for a long time inthe buffet before the icon with the ever-burning lamp. I could see himthrough the chink of the door, looking like a black bundle ; but I had neversucceeded in learning how the steward prayed, for he simply knelt andlooked at the icon, stroking his beard and sighing.

　　, After a silence Smouri asked:

　　“Has Sergei ever given you any money?”

　　“No.”

　　“Never?”

　　“Never.”

　　“He does not tell lies,” said Smouri to the steward, who answered at oncein his low voice:

　　“It comes to the same thing, please — ”

　　“Come!” cried the cook to me, and he came to my table, and rapped mycrown lightly with his fingers.

　　“Fool! And I am a fool, too. I ought to have looked after you.”

　　At Nijni the steward dismissed me. I received nearly eight rubles, thefirst large money earned by me.

　　When Smouri took farewell of me he said roughly :

　　“Well, here you are. Now keep your eyes open, — do you understand?

　　You mustn’t go about with your mouth open.”

　　He put a tobacco-pouch of colored beads into my hand.

　　“There you are! That is good handwork. My godchild made it for me.

　　Well, good-by. Read books; that is the best thing you can do.”

　　He took me under the arms, lifted me up, kissed me, and placed mefirmly on the jetty. I was sorry for him and for myself. I could hardly keepfrom crying when I saw him returning to the steamer, pushing aside theporters, looking so large, heavy, solitary. So many times since then I havemet people like him, kind, lonely, cut off from the lives of other people.