MAYAKIN lived in an enormous two-story house near a big palisade, where sturdy, old spreading linden trees were growing magnificently. The rank branches covered the windows with a dense1, dark embroidery2, and the sun in broken rays peeped into the small rooms, which were closely crowded with miscellaneous furniture and big trunks, wherefore a stern and melancholy3 semi- darkness always reigned4 there supreme6. The family was devout7 — the odour of wax, of rock-rose and of image-lamp oil filled the house, and penitent8 sighs and prayers soared about in the air. Religious ceremonials were performed infallibly, with pleasure, absorbing all the free power of the souls of the dwellers9 of the house. Feminine figures almost noiselessly moved about the rooms in the half-dark, stifling10, heavy atmosphere. They were dressed in black, wore soft slippers11 on their feet, and always had a penitent look on their faces.
The family of Yakov Tarazovich Mayakin consisted of himself, his wife, a daughter and five kinswomen, the youngest of whom was thirty-four years old. These were alike devout and impersonal12, and subordinate to Antonina Ivanovna, the mistress of the house. She was a tall, thin woman, with a dark face and with stern gray eyes, which had an imperious and intelligent expression. Mayakin also had a son Taras, but his name was never mentioned in the house; acquaintances knew that since the nineteen-year-old Taras had gone to study in Moscow — he married there three years later, against his father’s will — Yakov disowned him. Taras disappeared without leaving any trace. It was rumoured13 that he had been sent to Siberia for something.
Yakov Mayakin was very queerly built. Short, thin, lively, with a little red beard, sly greenish eyes, he looked as though he said to each and every one:
“Never mind, sir, don’t be uneasy. Even though I know you for what you are, if you don’t annoy me I will not give you away.”
His beard resembled an egg in shape and was monstrously14 big. His high forehead, covered with wrinkles, joined his bald crown, and it seemed as though he really had two faces — one an open, penetrating15 and intellectual face, with a long gristle nose, and above this face another one, eyeless and mouthless, covered with wrinkles, behind which Mayakin seemed to hide his eyes and his lips until a certain time; and when that time had arrived, he would look at the world with different eyes and smile a different smile.
He was the owner of a rope-yard and kept a store in town near the harbour. In this store, filled up to the ceiling with rope, twine16, hemp17 and tow, he had a small room with a creaking glass door. In this room stood a big, old, dilapidated table, and near it a deep armchair, covered with oilcloth, in which Mayakin sat all day long, sipping18 tea and always reading the same “Moskovskiya Vedomosty,” to which he subscribed19, year in and year out, all his life. Among merchants he enjoyed the respect and reputation of a “brainy” man, and he was very fond of boasting of the antiquity20 of his race, saying in a hoarse21 voice:
“We, the Mayakins, were merchants during the reign5 of ‘Mother’ Catherine, consequently I am a pure-blooded man.”
In this family Ignat Gordyeeff’s son lived for six years. By the time he was seven years old Foma was a big-headed, broad- shouldered boy, seemingly older that his years, both in his size and in the serious look of his dark, almond-shaped eyes. Quiet, silent and persistent22 in his childish desires, he spent all his days over his playthings, with Mayakin’s daughter, Luba, quietly looked after by one of the kinswomen, a stout23, pock-marked old maid, who was, for some reason or other, nicknamed “Buzya.” She was a dull, somewhat timid creature; and even to the children she spoke24 in a low voice, in words of monosyllables. Having devoted26 her time to learning prayers, she had no stories to tell Foma.
Foma was on friendly terms with the little girl, but when she angered or teased him he turned pale, his nostrils27 became distended28, his eyes stared comically and he beat her audaciously. She cried, ran to her mother and complained to her, but Antonina loved Foma and she paid but little attention to her daughter’s complaints, which strengthened the friendship between the children still more. Foma’s day was long and uniform. Getting out of bed and washing himself, he used to place himself before the image, and under the whispering of the pock-marked Buzya he recited long prayers. Then they drank tea and ate many biscuits, cakes and pies. After tea — during the summer — the children went to the big palisade, which ran down to a ravine, whose bottom always looked dark and damp, filling them with terror. The children were not allowed to go even to the edge of the ravine, and this inspired in them a fear of it. In winter, from tea time to dinner, they played in the house when it was very cold outside, or went out in the yard to slide down the big ice hill.
They had dinner at noon, “in Russian style,” as Mayakin said. At first a big bowl of fat, sour cabbage soup was served with rye biscuits in, but without meat, then the same soup was eaten with meat cut into small pieces; then they ate roast meat — pork, goose, veal29 or rennet, with gruel30 — then again a bowl of soup with vermicelli, and all this was usually followed by dessert. They drank kvass made of red bilberries, juniper-berries, or of bread — Antonina Ivanovna always carried a stock of different kinds of kvass. They ate in silence, only now and then uttering a sigh of fatigue31; the children each ate out of a separate bowl, the adults eating out of one bowl. Stupefied by such a dinner, they went to sleep; and for two or three hours Mayakin’s house was filled with snoring and with drowsy32 sighs.
Awaking from sleep, they drank tea and talked about local news, the choristers, the deacons, weddings, or the dishonourable conduct of this or that merchant. After tea Mayakin used to say to his wife:
“Well, mother, hand me the Bible.”
Yakov Tarasovich used to read the Book of Job more often than anything else. Putting his heavy, silver-framed spectacles on his big, ravenous33 nose, he looked around at his listeners to see whether all were in their places.
They were all seated where he was accustomed to see them and on their faces was a familiar, dull and timid expression of piety34.
“There was a man in the land of Uz,” began Mayakin, in a hoarse voice, and Foma, sitting beside Luba on the lounge in the corner of the room, knew beforehand that soon his godfather would become silent and pat his bald head with his hand. He sat and, listening, pictured to himself this man from the land of Uz. The man was tall and bare, his eyes were enormously large, like those of the image of the Saviour35, and his voice was like a big brass36 trumpet37 on which the soldiers played in the camps. The man was constantly growing bigger and bigger; and, reaching the sky, he thrust his dark hands into the clouds, and, tearing them asunder38, cried out in a terrible voice:
“Why is light given to a man whose way is hid, and whom God hath hedged in?”
Dread39 fell on Foma, and he trembled, slumber40 fled from his eyes, he heard the voice of his godfather, who said, with a light smile, now and then pinching his beard:
“See how audacious he was!”
The boy knew that his godfather spoke of the man from the land of Uz, and the godfather’s smile soothed41 the child. So the man would not break the sky; he would not rend42 it asunder with his terrible arms. And then Foma sees the man again — he sits on the ground, “his flesh is clothed with worms and clods of dust, his skin is broken.” But now he is small and wretched, he is like a beggar at the church porch.
Here he says:
“What is man, that he should be clean? And he which is born of woman, that he should be righteous?” [These words attributed by Mayakin to Job are from Eliphaz the Temanite’s reply — Translator’s Note.]
“He says this to God,” explained Mayakin, inspired. “How, says he, can I be righteous, since I am made of flesh? That’s a question asked of God. How is that?”
And the reader, triumphantly43 and interrogatively looks around at his listeners.
“He merited it, the righteous man,” they replied with a sigh.
Yakov Mayakin eyes them with a smile, and says:
“Fools! You better put the children to sleep.”
Ignat visited the Mayakins every day, brought playthings for his son, caught him up into his arms and hugged him, but sometimes dissatisfied he said to him with ill-concealed44 uneasiness:
“Why are you such a bugbear? Oh! Why do you laugh so little?”
And he would complain to the lad’s godfather:
“I am afraid that he may turn out to be like his mother. His eyes are cheerless.”
“You disturb yourself rather too soon,” Mayakin smilingly replied.
He, too, loved his godson, and when Ignat announced to him one day that he would take Foma to his own house, Mayakin was very much grieved.
“Leave him here,” he begged. “See, the child is used to us; there! he’s crying.”
“He’ll cease crying. I did not beget45 him for you. The air of the place is disagreeable. It is as tedious here as in an old believer’s hermitage. This is harmful to the child. And without him I am lonesome. I come home — it is empty. I can see nothing there. It would not do for me to remove to your house for his sake. I am not for him, he is for me. So. And now that my sister has come to my house there will be somebody to look after him.”
And the boy was brought to his father’s house.
There he was met by a comical old woman, with a long, hook-like nose and with a mouth devoid46 of teeth. Tall, stooping, dressed in gray, with gray hair, covered by a black silk cap, she did not please the boy at first; she even frightened him. But when he noticed on the wrinkled face her black eyes, which beamed so tenderly on him, he at once pressed his head close to her knees in confidence.
“My sickly little orphan47!” she said in a velvet48-like voice that trembled from the fulness of sound, and quietly patted his face with her hand, “stay close to me, my dear child!”
There was something particularly sweet and soft in her caresses49, something altogether new to Foma, and he stared into the old woman’s eyes with curiosity and expectation on his face. This old woman led him into a new world, hitherto unknown to him. The very first day, having put him to bed, she seated herself by his side, and, bending over the child, asked him:
“Shall I tell you a story, Fomushka?”
And after that Foma always fell asleep amid the velvet-like sounds of the old woman’s voice, which painted before him a magic life. Giants defeating monsters, wise princesses, fools who turned out to be wise — troops of new and wonderful people were passing before the boy’s bewitched imagination, and his soul was nourished by the wholesome50 beauty of the national creative power. Inexhaustible were the treasures of the memory and the fantasy of this old woman, who oftentimes, in slumber, appeared to the boy — now like the witch of the fairy-tales — only a kind and amiable51 old witch — now like the beautiful, all-wise Vasilisa. His eyes wide open, holding his breath, the boy looked into the darkness that filled his chamber52 and watched it as it slowly trembled in the light of the little lamp that was burning before the image. And Foma filled this darkness with wonderful pictures of fairy- tale life. Silent, yet living shadows, were creeping over the walls and across the floor; it was both pleasant and terrible to him to watch their life; to deal out unto them forms and colours, and, having endowed them with life, instantly to destroy them all with a single twinkle of the eyelashes. Something new appeared in his dark eyes, something more childish and naive53, less grave; the loneliness and the darkness, awaking in him a painful feeling of expectation, stirred his curiosity, compelled him to go out to the dark corner and see what was hidden there beyond the thick veils of darkness. He went and found nothing, but he lost no hope of finding it out.
He feared his father and respected him. Ignat’s enormous size, his harsh, trumpet-like voice, his bearded face, his gray-haired head, his powerful, long arms and his flashing eyes — all these gave to Ignat the resemblance of the fairy-tale robbers.
Foma shuddered54 whenever he heard his voice or his heavy, firm steps; but when the father, smiling kind-heartedly, and talking playfully in a loud voice, took him upon his knees or threw him high up in the air with his big hands the boy’s fear vanished.
Once, when the boy was about eight years old, he asked his father, who had returned from a long journey:
“Papa, where were you?”
“On the Volga.”
“Were you robbing there?” asked Foma, softly.
“Wha-at?” Ignat drawled out, and his eyebrows55 contracted.
“Aren’t you a robber, papa? I know it,” said Foma, winking56 his eyes slyly, satisfied that he had already read the secret of his father’s life.
“I am a merchant!” said Ignat, sternly, but after a moment’s thought he smiled kind-heartedly and added: “And you are a little fool! I deal in corn, I run a line of steamers. Have you seen the ‘Yermak’? Well, that is my steamer. And yours, too.”
“It is a very big one,” said Foma with a sigh.
“Well, I’ll buy you a small one while you are small yourself. Shall I?”
“Very well,” Foma assented57, but after a thoughtful silence he again drawled out regretfully: “But I thought you were a robber or a giant.”
“I tell you I am a merchant!” repeated Ignat, insinuatingly58, and there was something discontented and almost timorous59 in his glance at the disenchanted face of his son.
“Like Grandpa Fedor, the Kalatch baker60?” asked Foma, having thought awhile.
“Well, yes, like him. Only I am richer than he. I have more money than Fedor.”
“Have you much money?”
Well, some people have still more.”
“How many barrels do you have?”
“Of what?”
“Of money, I mean.”
“Fool! Is money counted by the barrel?”
“How else?” exclaimed Foma, enthusiastically, and, turning his face toward his father, began to tell him quickly: “Maksimka, the robber, came once to a certain town and filled up twelve barrels with money belonging to some rich man there. And he took different silverware and robbed a church. And cut up a man with his sword and threw him down the steeple because he tried to sound an alarm.”
“Did your aunt tell you that?” asked Ignat admiring his son’s enthusiasm.
“Yes! Why?”
“Nothing!” said Ignat, laughing. “So you thought your father was a robber.”
“And perhaps you were a robber long ago?”
Foma again returned to his theme, and it was evident on his face that he would be very glad to hear an affirmative answer.
“I was never a robber. Let that end it.”
“Never?”
“I tell you I was not! What a queer little boy you are! Is it good to be a robber? They are all sinners, the robbers. They don’t believe in God — they rob churches. They are all cursed in the churches. Yes. Look here, my son, you’ll have to start to study soon. It is time; you’ll soon be nine years old. Start with the help of God. You’ll study during the winter and in spring I’ll take you along with me on the Volga.”
“Will I go to school?” asked Foma, timidly.
“First you’ll study at home with auntie.” Soon after the boy would sit down near the table in the morning and, fingering the Slavonic alphabet, repeat after his aunt:
“Az, Buky, Vedy.”
When they reached “bra, vra, gra, dra” for a long time the boy could not read these syllables25 without laughter. Foma succeeded easily in gaining knowledge, almost without any effort, and soon he was reading the first psalm61 of the first section of the psalter: “Blessed is the man that walketh not in the counsel of the ungodly.”
“That’s it, my darling! So, Fomushka, that’s right!” chimed in his aunt with emotion, enraptured62 by his progress.
“You’re a fine fellow, Foma!” Ignat would approvingly say when informed of his son’s progress. “We’ll go to Astrakhan for fish in the spring, and toward autumn I’ll send you to school!”
The boy’s life rolled onward63, like a ball downhill. Being his teacher, his aunt was his playmate as well. Luba Mayakin used to come, and when with them, the old woman readily became one of them.
They played at “hide and seek and “blind man’s buff;” the children were pleased and amused at seeing Anfisa, her eyes covered with a handkerchief, her arms outstretched, walking about the room carefully, and yet striking against chairs and tables, or looking for them in each and every commodious64 corner, saying:
“Eh, little rascals65. Eh, rogues66. Where have they hidden themselves? Eh?”
And the sun shone cheerfully and playfully upon the old worn-out body, which yet retained a youthful soul, and upon the old life, that was adorning67, according to its strength and abilities, the life-path of two children.
Ignat used to go to the Exchange early in the morning and sometimes stayed away until evening; in the evening he used to go to the town council or visiting or elsewhere. Sometimes he returned home intoxicated68. At first Foma, on such occasions, ran from him and hid himself, then he became accustomed to it, and learned that his father was better when drunk than sober: he was kinder and plainer and was somewhat comical. If it happened at night, the boy was usually awakened70 by his trumpet-like voice:
“Anfisa! Dear sister! Let me in to my son; let me in to my successor!”
And auntie answered him in a crying and reproachful voice:
“Go on. You better go to sleep, you cursed devil! Drunk again, eh? You are gray already?”
“Anfisa! May I see my son, with one eye?” Foma knew that Anfisa would not let him in, and he again fell asleep in spite of the noise of their voices. But when Ignat came home intoxicated during the day he immediately seized his son with his enormous paws and carried him about the rooms, asking him with an intoxicated, happy laughter:
“Fomka! What do you wish? Speak! Presents? Playthings? Ask! Because you must know there’s nothing in this world that I wouldn’t buy for you. I have a million! Ha, ha, ha! And I’ll have still more! Understand? All’s yours! Ha, ha!”
And suddenly his enthusiasm was extinguished like a candle put out by a violent puff71 of the wind. His flushed face began to shake, his eyes, burning red, filled with tears, and his lips expanded into a sad and frightened smile.
“Anfisa, in case he should die, what am I to do then?”
And immediately after these words he was seized with fury.
“I’d burn everything!” he roared, staring wildly into some dark corner of the room. “I’d destroy everything! I’d blow it up with dynamite72!”
“Enough, you ugly brute73! Do you wish to frighten the child? Or do you want him to take sick?” interposed Anfisa, and that was sufficient for Ignat to rush off hastily, muttering:
“Well, well, well! I am going, I am going, but don’t cry! Don’t make any noise. Don’t frighten him.”
And when Foma was somewhat sick, his father, casting everything aside, did not leave the house for a moment, but bothered his sister and his son with stupid questions and advice; gloomy, sighing, and with fear in his eyes, he walked about the house quite out of sorts.
“Why do you vex74 the Lord?” said Anfisa. “Beware, your grumblings will reach Him, and He will punish you for your complaints against His graces.”
“Eh, sister!” sighed Ignat. “And if it should happen? My entire life is crumbling76 away! Wherefore have I lived? No one knows.”
Similar scenes and the striking transitions of his father from one mood to another frightened the child at first, but he soon became accustomed to all this, and when he noticed through the window that his father, on coming home, was hardly able to get out of the sledge77, Foma said indifferently:
“Auntie, papa came home drunk again.”
.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Spring came, and, fulfilling his promise, Ignat took his son along on one of his steamers, and here a new life, abounding78 in impressions, was opened before Foma’s eyes.
The beautiful and mighty79 “Yermak,” Gordyeeff’s steam tow-boat, was rapidly floating down the current, and on each side the shores of the powerful and beautiful Volga were slowly moving past him — the left side, all bathed in sunshine, stretching itself to the very end of the sky like a pompous80 carpet of verdure; the right shore, its high banks overgrown with woods, swung skyward, sinking in stern repose81.
The broad-bosomed river stretched itself majestically82 between the shores; noiselessly, solemnly and slowly flowed its waters, conscious of their invincible83 power; the mountainous shore is reflected in the water in a black shadow, while on the left side it is adorned84 with gold and with verdant85 velvet by a border of sand and the wide meadows. Here and there villages appear on mountain and on meadow, the sun shines bright on the window-panes of the huts and on the yellow roofs of straw, the church crosses sparkle amid the verdure of the trees, gray wind-mill wings revolve86 lazily in the air, smoke from the factory chimney rises skyward in thick, black curling clouds. Crowds of children in blue, red or white shirts, standing87 on the banks, shouted loudly at the sight of the steamer, which had disturbed the quiet of the river, and from under the steamer’s wheels the cheerful waves are rushing toward the feet of the children and splash against the bank. Now a crowd of children, seated in a boat, rowed toward the middle of the river to rock there on the waves as in a cradle. Trees stood out above the water; sometimes many of them are drowned in the overflow88 of the banks, and these stand in the water like islands. From the shore a melancholy song is heard:
“Oh, o-o-o, once more!”
The steamer passes many rafts, splashing them with waves. The beams are in continual motion under the blows of the waves; the men on the rafts in blue shirts, staggering, look at the steamer and laugh and shout something. The big, beautiful vessel89 goes sidewise on the river; the yellow scantlings with which it is loaded sparkle like gold and are dimly reflected in the muddy, vernal water. A passenger steamer comes from the opposite side and whistles — the resounding90 echo of the whistle loses itself in the woods, in the gorges91 of the mountainous bank, and dies away there. In the middle of the river the waves stirred up by the two vessels92 strike against one another and splash against the steamers’ sides, and the vessels are rocked upon the water. On the slope of the mountainous bank are verdant carpets of winter corn, brown strips of fallow ground and black strips of ground tilled for spring corn. Birds, like little dots, soar over them, and are clearly seen in the blue canopy93 of the sky; nearby a flock is grazing; in the distance they look like children’s toys; the small figure of the shepherd stands leaning on a staff, and looks at the river.
The glare of the water — freedom and liberty are everywhere, the meadows are cheerfully verdant and the blue sky is tenderly clear; a restrained power is felt in the quiet motion of the water; above it the generous May sun is shining, the air is filled with the exquisite94 odour of fir trees and of fresh foliage95. And the banks keep on meeting them, caressing96 the eyes and the soul with their beauty, as new pictures constantly unfold themselves.
Everything surrounding them bears the stamp of some kind of tardiness97: all — nature as well as men — live there clumsily, lazily; but in that laziness there is an odd gracefulness98, and it seems as though beyond the laziness a colossal99 power were concealed; an invincible power, but as yet deprived of consciousness, as yet without any definite desires and aims. And the absence of consciousness in this half-slumbering life throws shades of sadness over all the beautiful slope. Submissive patience, silent hope for something new and more inspiriting are heard even in the cry of the cuckoo, wafted100 to the river by the wind from the shore. The melancholy songs sound as though imploring101 someone for help. And at times there is in them a ring of despair. The river answers the songs with sighs. And the tree- tops shake, lost in meditation102. Silence.
Foma spent all day long on the captain’s bridge beside his father. Without uttering a word, he stared wide-eyed at the endless panorama103 of the banks, and it seemed to him he was moving along a broad silver path in those wonderful kingdoms inhabited by the sorcerers and giants of his familiar fairy-tales. At times he would load his father with questions about everything that passed before them. Ignat answered him willingly and concisely104, but the boy was not pleased with his answers; they contained nothing interesting and intelligible105 to him, and he did not hear what he longed to hear. Once he told his father with a sigh:
“Auntie Anfisa knows better than you.”
“What does she know?” asked Ignat, smiling.
“Everything,” replied the boy, convincedly.
No wonderful kingdom appeared before him. But often cities appeared on the banks of the river, just such cities as the one where Foma lived. Some of them were larger, some smaller, but the people, and the houses, and the churches — all were the same as in his own city. Foma examined them in company with his father, but was still unsatisfied and returned to the steamer gloomy and fatigued106.
“Tomorrow we shall be in Astrakhan,” said Ignat one day.
“And is it just the same as the other cities?”
“Of course. How else should it be?”
“And what is beyond Astrakhan?”
“The sea. The Caspian Sea it is called.”
“And what is there?”
“Fishes, queer fellow! What else can there be in the water?”
“There’s the city Kitezh standing in the water.”
“That’s a different thing! That’s Kitezh. Only righteous people live there.”
“And are there no righteous cities on the sea?”
No,” said Ignat, and, after a moment’s silence, added: “The sea water is bitter and nobody can drink it.”
“And is there more land beyond the sea?”
“Certainly, the sea must have an end. It is like a cup.”
“And are there cities there too?”
“Again cities. Of course! Only that land is not ours, it belongs to Persia. Did you see the Persians selling pistachio-nuts and apricots in the market?”
“Yes, I saw them,” replied Foma, and became pensive107.
One day he asked his father:
“Is there much more land left?”
“The earth is very big, my dear! If you should go on foot, you couldn’t go around it even in ten years.”
Ignat talked for a long time with his son about the size of the earth, and said at length:
“And yet no one knows for certain how big it really is, nor where it ends.”
“And is everything alike on earth?”
“What do you mean?”
“The cities and all?”
“Well, of course, the cities are like cities. There are houses, streets — and everything that is necessary.”
After many similar conversations the boy no longer stared so often into the distance with the interrogative look of his black eyes.
The crew of the steamer loved him, and he, too, loved those fine, sun-burnt and weather-beaten fellows, who laughingly played with him. They made fishing tackles for him, and little boats out of bark, played with him and rowed him about the anchoring place, when Ignat went to town on business. The boy often heard the men talking about his father, but he paid no attention to what they said, and never told his father what he heard about him. But one day, in Astrakhan, while the steamer was taking in a cargo108 of fuel, Foma heard the voice of Petrovich, the machinist:
“He ordered such a lot of wood to be taken in. What an absurd man! First he loads the steamer up to the very deck, and then he roars. ‘You break the machinery109 too often,’ he says. ‘You pour oil,’ he says, ‘at random110.’”
The voice of the gray and stern pilot replied:
“It’s all his exorbitant111 greediness. Fuel is cheaper here, so he is taking all he can. He is greedy, the devil!”
“Oh, how greedy!”
This word, repeated many times in succession, fixed112 itself in Foma’s memory, and in the evening, at supper, he suddenly asked his father:
“Papa!”
“What?”
“Are you greedy?”
In reply to his father’s questions Foma told him of the conversation between the pilot and the machinist. Ignat’s face became gloomy, and his eyes began to flash angrily.
“That’s how it is,” ejaculated Ignat, shaking his head. “Well, you — don’t you listen to them. They are not your equals; don’t have so much to do with them. You are their master, they are your servants, understand that. If we choose to, we can put every one of them ashore113. They are cheap and they can be found everywhere like dogs. Understand? They may say many bad things about me. But they say them, because I am their master. The whole thing arises because I am fortunate and rich, and the rich are always envied. A happy man is everybody’s enemy.”
About two days later there was a new pilot and another machinist on the steamer.
“And where is Yakov?” asked the boy.
“I discharged him. I ordered him away.”
“Yes, for that very thing.”
“And Petrovich, too?”
“Yes, I sent him the same way.”
Foma was pleased with the fact that his father was able to change the men so quickly. He smiled to his father, and, coming out on the deck, walked up to a sailor, who sat on the floor, untwisting a piece of rope and making a swab.
“We have a new pilot here,” announced Foma.
“I know. Good health to you, Foma Ignatich! How did you sleep?”
“And a new machinist, too.”
“And a new machinist. Are you sorry for Petrovich?”
“Really? And he was so good to you.”
“Well, why did he abuse my father?”
“Oh? Did he abuse him?”
“Of course he did. I heard it myself.”
“Mm — and your father heard it, too?”
“No, I told him.”
“You — so”— drawled the sailor and became silent, taking up his work again.
“And papa says to me: ‘You,’ he says, ‘you are master here — you can drive them all away if you wish.’”
“So,” said the sailor, gloomily looking at the boy, who was so enthusiastically boasting to him of his supreme power. From that day on Foma noticed that the crew did not regard him as before. Some became more obliging and kind, others did not care to speak to him, and when they did speak to him, it was done angrily, and not at all entertainingly, as before. Foma liked to watch while the deck was being washed: their trousers rolled up to their knees, or sometimes taken off altogether, the sailors, with swabs and brushes in their hands, cleverly ran about the deck, emptying pails of water on it, besprinkling one another, laughing, shouting, falling. Streams of water ran in every direction, and the lively noise of the men intermingled with the gray splash of the water. Before, the boy never bothered the sailors in this playful and light work; nay115, he took an active part, besprinkling them with water and laughingly running away, when they threatened to pour water over him. But after Yakov and Petrovich had been discharged, he felt that he was in everybody’s way, that no one cared to play with him and that no one regarded him kindly116. Surprised and melancholy, he left the deck, walked up to the wheel, sat down there, and, offended, he thoughtfully began to stare at the distant green bank and the dented117 strip of woods upon it. And below, on the deck, the water was splashing playfully, and the sailors were gaily118 laughing. He yearned119 to go down to them, but something held him back.
“Keep away from them as much as possible,” he recalled his father’s words; “you are their master.” Then he felt like shouting at the sailors — something harsh and authoritative120, so his father would scold them. He thought a long time what to say, but could not think of anything. Another two, three days passed, and it became perfectly121 clear to him that the crew no longer liked him. He began to feel lonesome on the steamer, and amid the parti-coloured mist of new impressions, still more often there came up before Foma the image of his kind and gentle Aunt Anfisa, with her stories, and smiles, and soft, ringing laughter, which filled the boy’s soul with a joyous122 warmth. He still lived in the world of fairy-tales, but the invisible and pitiless hand of reality was already at work tearing the beautiful, fine web of the wonderful, through which the boy had looked at everything about him. The incident with the machinist and the pilot directed his attention to his surroundings; Foma’s eyes became more sharp- sighted. A conscious searchfulness appeared in them and in his questions to his father rang a yearning123 to understand which threads and springs were managing the deeds of men.
One day a scene took place before him: the sailors were carrying wood, and one of them, the young, curly-haired and gay Yefim, passing the deck of the ship with hand-barrows, said loudly and angrily:
“No, he has no conscience whatever! There was no agreement that I should carry wood. A sailor — well, one’s business is clear — but to carry wood into the bargain — thank you! That means for me to take off the skin I have not sold. He is without conscience! He thinks it is clever to sap the life out of us.”
The boy heard this grumbling75 and knew that it was concerning his father. He also noticed that although Yefim was grumbling, he carried more wood on his stretcher than the others, and walked faster than the others. None of the sailors replied to Yefim’s grumbling, and even the one who worked with him was silent, only now and then protesting against the earnestness with which Yefim piled up the wood on the stretchers.
“Enough!” he would say, morosely124, “you are not loading a horse, are you?”
“And you had better keep quiet. You were put to the cart — cart it and don’t kick — and should your blood be sucked — keep quiet again. What can you say?”
Suddenly Ignat appeared, walked up to the sailor and, stopping in front of him, asked sternly:
“What were you talking about?”
“I am talking — I know,” replied Yefim, hesitating. “There was no agreement — that I must say nothing.”
“And who is going to suck blood?” asked Ignat, stroking his beard.
The sailor understood that he had been caught unawares, and seeing no way out of it, he let the log of wood fall from his hands, rubbed his palms against his pants, and, facing Ignat squarely, said rather boldly:
“And am I not right? Don’t you suck it?”
“I?”
“You.”
Foma saw that his father swung his hand. A loud blow resounded126, and the sailor fell heavily on the wood. He arose immediately and worked on in silence. Blood was trickling127 from his bruised128 face on to the white bark of the birch wood; he wiped the blood off his face with the sleeve of his shirt, looked at his sleeve and, heaving a sigh, maintained silence, and when he went past Foma with the hand-harrows, two big, turbid129 tears were trembling on his face, near the bridge of his nose, and Foma noticed them.
At dinner Foma was pensive and now and then glanced at his father with fear in his eyes.
“Why do you frown?” asked his father, gently.
“Frown?”
“Are you ill, perhaps? Be careful. If there is anything, tell me.”
“You are strong,” said Foma of a sudden musingly130.
“I? That’s right. God has favoured me with strength.”
“How hard you struck him!” exclaimed the boy in a low voice, lowering his head.
Ignat was about to put a piece of bread with caviar into his mouth, but his hand stopped, held back by his son’s exclamation131; he looked interrogatively at Foma’s drooping132 head and asked:
“You mean Yefim, don’t you?”
“Yes, he was bleeding. And how he walked afterward133, how he cried,” said the boy in a low voice.
“Mm,” roared Ignat, chewing a bite. “Well, are you sorry for him?”
“It’s a pity!” said Foma, with tears in his voice.
“Yes. So that’s the kind of a fellow you are,” said Ignat.
Then, after a moment’s silence, he filled a wineglass with vodka, emptied it, and said sternly, in a slightly reprimanding tone:
“There is no reason why you should pity him. He brawled134 at random, and therefore got what he deserved. I know him: he is a good fellow, industrious135, strong and not a bit foolish. But to argue is not his business; I may argue, because I am the master. It isn’t simple to be master. A punch wouldn’t kill him, but will make him wiser. That’s the way. Eh, Foma! You are an infant, and you do not understand these things. I must teach you how to live. It may be that my days on earth are numbered.”
Ignat was silent for awhile, drank some more vodka and went on instinctively136:
“It is necessary to have pity on men. You are right in doing so. But you must pity them sensibly. First look at a man, find out what good there is in him, and what use may be made of him! And if you find him to be strong and capable — pity and assist him. And if he is weak and not inclined to work — spit upon him, pass him by. Just keep this in mind — the man who complains against everything, who sighs and moans all the time — that man is worth nothing; he merits no compassion137 and you will do him no good whatever, even if you help him. Pity for such people makes them more morose125, spoils them the more. In your godfather’s house you saw various kinds of people — unfortunate travellers and hangers- on, and all sorts of rabble138. Forget them. They are not men, they are just shells, and are good for nothing. They are like bugs139, fleas140 and other unclean things. Nor do they live for God’s sake — they have no God. They call His name in vain, in order to move fools to pity, and, thus pitied, to fill their bellies141 with something. They live but for their bellies, and aside from eating, drinking, sleeping and moaning they can do nothing. And all they accomplish is the soul’s decay. They are in your way and you trip over them. A good man among them — like fresh apples among bad ones — may soon be spoilt, and no one will profit by it. You are young, that’s the trouble. You cannot comprehend my words. Help him who is firm in misery142. He may not ask you for assistance, but think of it yourself, and assist him without his request. And if he should happen to be proud and thus feel offended at your aid, do not allow him to see that you are lending him a helping143 hand. That’s the way it should be done, according to common sense! Here, for example, two boards, let us say, fall into the mud — one of them is a rotten one, the other, a good sound board. What should you do? What good is there in the rotten board? You had better drop it, let it stay in the mud and step on it so as not to soil your feet. As to the sound board, lift it up and place it in the sun; if it can be of no use to you, someone else may avail himself of it. That’s the way it is, my son! Listen to me and remember. There is no reason why Yefim should be pitied. He is a capable fellow, he knows his value. You cannot knock his soul out with a box on the ear. I’ll just watch him for about a week, and then I’ll put him at the helm. And there, I am quite sure, he’ll be a good pilot. And if he should be promoted to captain, he wouldn’t lose courage — he would make a clever captain! That’s the way people grow. I have gone through this school myself, dear. I, too, received more than one box on the ear when I was of his age. Life, my son, is not a dear mother to all of us. It is our exacting144 mistress.”
Ignat talked with his son about two hours, telling him of his own youth, of his toils145, of men; their terrible power, and of their weakness; of how they live, and sometimes pretend to be unfortunate in order to live on other people’s money; and then he told him of himself, and of how he rose from a plain working man to be proprietor146 of a large concern. The boy listened to his words, looked at him and felt as though his father were coming nearer and nearer to him. And though his father’s story did not contain the material of which Aunt Anfisa’s fairy-tales were brimful, there was something new in it, something clearer and more comprehensible than in her fairy-tales, and something just as interesting. Something powerful and warm began to throb147 within his little heart, and he was drawn148 toward his father. Ignat, evidently, surmised149 his son’s feelings by his eyes: he rose abruptly150 from his seat, seized him in his arms and pressed him firmly to his breast. And Foma embraced his neck, and, pressing his cheek to that of his father, was silent and breathed rapidly.
“My son,” whispered Ignat in a dull voice, “My darling! My joy! Learn while I am alive. Alas151! it is hard to live.”
The child’s heart trembled at this whisper; he set his teeth together, and hot tears gushed152 from his eyes.
Until this day Ignat had never kindled153 any particular feeling in his son: the boy was used to him; he was tired of looking at his enormous figure, and feared him slightly, but was at the same time aware that his father would do anything for him that he wanted. Sometimes Ignat would stay away from home a day, two, a week, or possibly the entire summer. And yet Foma did not even notice his absence, so absorbed was he by his love for Aunt Anfisa. When Ignat returned the boy was glad, but he could hardly tell whether it was his father’s arrival that gladdened him or the playthings he brought with him. But now, at the sight of Ignat, the boy ran to meet him, grasped him by the hand, laughed, stared into his eyes and felt weary if he did not see him for two or three hours: His father became interesting to him, and, rousing his curiosity, he fairly developed love and respect for himself. Every time that they were together Foma begged his father:
“Papa, tell me about yourself.”
.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
The steamer was now going up the Volga. One suffocating154 night in July, when the sky was overcast155 with thick black clouds, and everything on the Volga was somewhat ominously156 calm, they reached Kazan and anchored near Uslon at the end of an enormous fleet of vessels. The clinking of the anchor chains and the shouting of the crew awakened Foma; he looked out of the window and saw, far in the distance, small lights glimmering157 fantastically: the water about the boat black and thick, like oil — and nothing else could be seen. The boy’s heart trembled painfully and he began to listen attentively158. A scarcely audible, melancholy song reached his ears — mournful and monotonous159 as a chant on the caravan160 the watchmen called to one another; the steamer hissed161 angrily getting up steam. And the black water of the river splashed sadly and quietly against the sides of the vessels. Staring fixedly162 into the darkness, until his eyes hurt, the boy discerned black piles and small lights dimly burning high above them. He knew that those were barges163, but this knowledge did not calm him and his heart throbbed164 unevenly165, and, in his imagination, terrifying dark images arose.
“O-o-o,” a drawling cry came from the distance and ended like a wail166.
Someone crossed the deck and went up to the side of the steamer.
“O-o-o,” was heard again, but nearer this time.
“Yefim!” some one called in a low voice on the deck. “Yefimka!”
“Well?”
“Devil! Get up! Take the boat-hook.”
“O-o-o,” someone moaned near by, and Foma, shuddering167, stepped back from the window.
The queer sound came nearer and nearer and grew in strength, sobbed168 and died out in the darkness. While on the deck they whispered with alarm:
“Yefimka! Get up! A guest is floating!”
“Where?” came a hasty question, then bare feet began to patter about the deck, a bustle169 was heard, and two boat-hooks slipped down past the boy’s face and almost noiselessly plunged170 into the water.
“A gue-e-est!” Some began to sob69 near by, and a quiet, but very queer splash resounded.
The boy trembled with fright at this mournful cry, but he could not tear his hands from the window nor his eyes from the water.
“Light the lantern. You can’t see anything.”
“Directly.”
And then a spot of dim light fell over the water. Foma saw that the water was rocking calmly, that a ripple171 was passing over it, as though the water were afflicted172, and trembled for pain.
“Look! Look!” they whispered on the deck with fright.
At the same time a big, terrible human face, with white teeth set together, appeared on the spot of light. It floated and rocked in the water, its teeth seemed to stare at Foma as though saying, with a smile:
“Eh, boy, boy, it is cold. Goodbye!”
The boat-hooks shook, were lifted in the air, were lowered again into the water and carefully began to push something there.
“Shove him! Shove! Look out, he may be thrown under the wheel.”
“Shove him yourself then.”
The boat-hooks glided173 over the side of the steamer, and, scratching against it, produced a noise like the grinding of teeth. Foma could not close his eyes for watching them. The noise of feet stamping on the deck, over his head, was gradually moving toward the stern. And then again that moaning cry for the dead was heard:
“A gue-e-est!”
“Papa!” cried Foma in a ringing voice. “Papa!” His father jumped to his feet and rushed toward him.
“What is that? What are they doing there?” cried Foma.
Wildly roaring, Ignat jumped out of the cabin with huge bounds. He soon returned, sooner than Foma, staggering and looking around him, had time to reach his father’s bed.
“They frightened you? It’s nothing!” said Ignat, taking him up in his arms. “Lie down with me.”
“What is it?” asked Foma, quietly.
“It was nothing, my son. Only a drowned man. A man was drowned and he is floating. That’s nothing! Don’t be afraid, he has already floated clear of us.”
“Why did they push him?” interrogated174 the boy, firmly pressing close to his father, and shutting his eyes for fright.
“It was necessary to do so. The water might have thrown him under the wheel. Under ours, for instance. Tomorrow the police would notice it, there would be trouble, inquests, and we would be held here for examination. That’s why we shoved him along. What difference does it make to him? He is dead; it doesn’t pain him; it doesn’t offend him. And the living would be troubled on his account. Sleep, my son.
“So he will float on that way?”
“He will float. They’ll take him out somewhere and bury him.”
“And will a fish devour175 him?”
“Fish do not eat human bodies. Crabs176 eat them. They like them.”
Foma’s fright was melting, from the heat of his father’s body, but before his eyes the terrible sneering177 face was still rocking in the black water.
“And who is he?”
“God knows! Say to God about him: ‘0h Lord, rest his soul! ‘”
“Lord, rest his soul!” repeated Foma, in a whisper.
“That’s right. Sleep now, don’t fear. He is far away now! Floating on. See here, be careful as you go up to the side of the ship. You may fall overboard. God forbid! And —”
“Did he fall overboard?”
“Of course. Perhaps he was drunk, and that’s his end! And maybe he threw himself into the water. There are people who do that. They go and throw themselves into the water and are drowned. Life, my dear, is so arranged that death is sometimes a holiday for one, sometimes it is a blessing178 for all.”
“Papa.”
“Sleep, sleep, dear.”
收听单词发音 |
1
dense
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| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
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embroidery
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| n.绣花，刺绣；绣制品 | |
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melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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reigned
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| vi.当政，统治（reign的过去式形式） | |
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reign
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| n.统治时期，统治，支配，盛行；v.占优势 | |
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supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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devout
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| adj.虔诚的，虔敬的，衷心的 (n.devoutness) | |
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penitent
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| adj.后悔的；n.后悔者；忏悔者 | |
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dwellers
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| n.居民，居住者( dweller的名词复数 ) | |
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stifling
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| a.令人窒息的 | |
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slippers
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| n. 拖鞋 | |
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impersonal
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| adj.无个人感情的，与个人无关的，非人称的 | |
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rumoured
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| adj.谣传的；传说的；风 | |
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monstrously
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penetrating
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| adj.（声音）响亮的，尖锐的adj.（气味）刺激的adj.（思想）敏锐的，有洞察力的 | |
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twine
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| v.搓，织，编饰；（使）缠绕 | |
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hemp
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| n.大麻；纤维 | |
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sipping
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| v.小口喝，呷，抿( sip的现在分词 ) | |
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subscribed
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| v.捐助( subscribe的过去式和过去分词 )；签署，题词；订阅；同意 | |
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antiquity
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| n.古老；高龄；古物，古迹 | |
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hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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persistent
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| adj.坚持不懈的，执意的；持续的 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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syllables
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| n.音节( syllable的名词复数 ) | |
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devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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distended
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| v.（使）膨胀，肿胀( distend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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veal
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| n.小牛肉 | |
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gruel
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| n.稀饭，粥 | |
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fatigue
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| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
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drowsy
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| adj.昏昏欲睡的，令人发困的 | |
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ravenous
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| adj.极饿的，贪婪的 | |
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piety
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| n.虔诚，虔敬 | |
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saviour
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| n.拯救者，救星 | |
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brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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trumpet
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| n.喇叭，喇叭声；v.吹喇叭，吹嘘 | |
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asunder
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| adj.分离的，化为碎片 | |
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dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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slumber
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| n.睡眠，沉睡状态 | |
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soothed
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| v.安慰( soothe的过去式和过去分词 )；抚慰；使舒服；减轻痛苦 | |
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rend
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| vt.把…撕开，割裂；把…揪下来，强行夺取 | |
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triumphantly
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| ad.得意洋洋地；得胜地；成功地 | |
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concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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beget
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| v.引起；产生 | |
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devoid
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| adj.全无的，缺乏的 | |
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orphan
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| n.孤儿；adj.无父母的 | |
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velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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caresses
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| 爱抚，抚摸( caress的名词复数 ) | |
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wholesome
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| adj.适合；卫生的；有益健康的；显示身心健康的 | |
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amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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naive
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| adj.幼稚的，轻信的；天真的 | |
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shuddered
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| v.战栗( shudder的过去式和过去分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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winking
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| n.瞬眼，目语v.使眼色( wink的现在分词 )；递眼色（表示友好或高兴等）；（指光）闪烁；闪亮 | |
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assented
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| 同意，赞成( assent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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insinuatingly
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timorous
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| adj.胆怯的，胆小的 | |
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baker
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| n.面包师 | |
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psalm
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| n.赞美诗，圣诗 | |
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enraptured
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| v.使狂喜( enrapture的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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63
onward
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| adj.向前的，前进的；adv.向前，前进，在先 | |
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64
commodious
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| adj.宽敞的；使用方便的 | |
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65
rascals
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| 流氓( rascal的名词复数 )； 无赖； （开玩笑说法）淘气的人（尤指小孩）； 恶作剧的人 | |
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66
rogues
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| n.流氓( rogue的名词复数 )；无赖；调皮捣蛋的人；离群的野兽 | |
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67
adorning
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| 修饰，装饰物 | |
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68
intoxicated
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| 喝醉的，极其兴奋的 | |
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69
sob
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| n.空间轨道的轰炸机；呜咽，哭泣 | |
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70
awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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71
puff
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| n.一口(气)；一阵(风)；v.喷气，喘气 | |
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72
dynamite
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| n./vt.(用)炸药(爆破) | |
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73
brute
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| n.野兽，兽性 | |
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74
vex
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| vt.使烦恼，使苦恼 | |
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75
grumbling
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| adj. 喃喃鸣不平的, 出怨言的 | |
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76
crumbling
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| adj.摇摇欲坠的 | |
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77
sledge
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| n.雪橇，大锤；v.用雪橇搬运，坐雪橇往 | |
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78
abounding
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| adj.丰富的，大量的v.大量存在，充满，富于( abound的现在分词 ) | |
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79
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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80
pompous
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| adj.傲慢的，自大的；夸大的；豪华的 | |
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81
repose
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| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
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82
majestically
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| 雄伟地； 庄重地； 威严地； 崇高地 | |
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83
invincible
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| adj.不可征服的，难以制服的 | |
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84
adorned
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| [计]被修饰的 | |
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85
verdant
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| adj.翠绿的，青翠的，生疏的，不老练的 | |
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86
revolve
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| vi.(使)旋转；循环出现 | |
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87
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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88
overflow
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| v.(使)外溢，(使)溢出；溢出，流出，漫出 | |
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89
vessel
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| n.船舶；容器，器皿；管，导管，血管 | |
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90
resounding
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| adj. 响亮的 | |
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91
gorges
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| n.山峡，峡谷( gorge的名词复数 )；咽喉v.（用食物把自己）塞饱，填饱( gorge的第三人称单数 )；作呕 | |
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92
vessels
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| n.血管( vessel的名词复数 )；船；容器；（具有特殊品质或接受特殊品质的）人 | |
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93
canopy
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| n.天篷，遮篷 | |
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94
exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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95
foliage
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| n.叶子，树叶，簇叶 | |
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96
caressing
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| 爱抚的，表现爱情的，亲切的 | |
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97
tardiness
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| n.缓慢；迟延；拖拉 | |
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98
gracefulness
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99
colossal
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| adj.异常的，庞大的 | |
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100
wafted
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| v.吹送，飘送，（使）浮动( waft的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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101
imploring
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| 恳求的，哀求的 | |
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102
meditation
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| n.熟虑，（尤指宗教的）默想，沉思，（pl.）冥想录 | |
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103
panorama
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| n.全景，全景画，全景摄影，全景照片[装置] | |
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104
concisely
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| adv.简明地 | |
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105
intelligible
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| adj.可理解的，明白易懂的，清楚的 | |
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106
fatigued
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| adj. 疲乏的 | |
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107
pensive
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| a.沉思的,哀思的,忧沉的 | |
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108
cargo
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| n.(一只船或一架飞机运载的)货物 | |
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109
machinery
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| n.(总称)机械，机器；机构 | |
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110
random
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| adj.随机的；任意的；n.偶然的(或随便的)行动 | |
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111
exorbitant
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| adj.过分的；过度的 | |
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112
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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113
ashore
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| adv.在(向)岸上，上岸 | |
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114
queried
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| v.质疑，对…表示疑问( query的过去式和过去分词 )；询问 | |
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115
nay
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| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
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116
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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117
dented
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| v.使产生凹痕( dent的过去式和过去分词 )；损害；伤害；挫伤（信心、名誉等） | |
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118
gaily
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| adv.欢乐地，高兴地 | |
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119
yearned
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| 渴望，切盼，向往( yearn的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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120
authoritative
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| adj.有权威的，可相信的；命令式的；官方的 | |
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121
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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122
joyous
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| adj.充满快乐的；令人高兴的 | |
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123
yearning
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| a.渴望的；向往的；怀念的 | |
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124
morosely
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| adv.愁眉苦脸地，忧郁地 | |
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125
morose
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| adj.脾气坏的，不高兴的 | |
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126
resounded
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| v.（指声音等）回荡于某处( resound的过去式和过去分词 )；产生回响；（指某处）回荡着声音 | |
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127
trickling
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| n.油画底色含油太多而成泡沫状突起v.滴( trickle的现在分词 )；淌；使)慢慢走；缓慢移动 | |
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128
bruised
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| [医]青肿的，瘀紫的 | |
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129
turbid
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| adj.混浊的，泥水的，浓的 | |
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130
musingly
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| adv.沉思地，冥想地 | |
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131
exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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132
drooping
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| adj. 下垂的，无力的 动词droop的现在分词 | |
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133
afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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134
brawled
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| 打架，争吵( brawl的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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135
industrious
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| adj.勤劳的，刻苦的，奋发的 | |
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136
instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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137
compassion
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| n.同情，怜悯 | |
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138
rabble
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| n.乌合之众，暴民；下等人 | |
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139
bugs
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| adj.疯狂的，发疯的n.窃听器( bug的名词复数 )；病菌；虫子；[计算机]（制作软件程序所产生的意料不到的）错误 | |
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140
fleas
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| n.跳蚤( flea的名词复数 )；爱财如命；没好气地（拒绝某人的要求） | |
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141
bellies
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| n.肚子( belly的名词复数 )；腹部；（物体的）圆形或凸起部份；腹部…形的 | |
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142
misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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143
helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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144
exacting
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| adj.苛求的，要求严格的 | |
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145
toils
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| 网 | |
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146
proprietor
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| n.所有人；业主；经营者 | |
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147
throb
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| v.震颤，颤动；(急速强烈地)跳动，搏动 | |
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148
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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149
surmised
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| v.臆测，推断( surmise的过去式和过去分词 )；揣测；猜想 | |
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150
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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151
alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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152
gushed
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| v.喷，涌( gush的过去式和过去分词 )；滔滔不绝地说话 | |
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153
kindled
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| （使某物）燃烧，着火( kindle的过去式和过去分词 )； 激起（感情等）； 发亮，放光 | |
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154
suffocating
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| a.使人窒息的 | |
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155
overcast
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| adj.阴天的，阴暗的，愁闷的；v.遮盖，（使）变暗，包边缝；n.覆盖，阴天 | |
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156
ominously
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| adv.恶兆地，不吉利地；预示地 | |
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157
glimmering
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| n.微光，隐约的一瞥adj.薄弱地发光的v.发闪光，发微光( glimmer的现在分词 ) | |
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158
attentively
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| adv.聚精会神地；周到地；谛；凝神 | |
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159
monotonous
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| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
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160
caravan
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| n.大蓬车；活动房屋 | |
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161
hissed
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| 发嘶嘶声( hiss的过去式和过去分词 )； 发嘘声表示反对 | |
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162
fixedly
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| adv.固定地；不屈地，坚定不移地 | |
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163
barges
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| 驳船( barge的名词复数 ) | |
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164
throbbed
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| 抽痛( throb的过去式和过去分词 )； （心脏、脉搏等）跳动 | |
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165
unevenly
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| adv.不均匀的 | |
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166
wail
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| vt./vi.大声哀号，恸哭；呼啸，尖啸 | |
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167
shuddering
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| v.战栗( shudder的现在分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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168
sobbed
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| 哭泣，啜泣( sob的过去式和过去分词 )； 哭诉，呜咽地说 | |
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169
bustle
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| v.喧扰地忙乱，匆忙，奔忙；n.忙碌；喧闹 | |
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170
plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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171
ripple
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| n.涟波，涟漪，波纹，粗钢梳；vt.使...起涟漪，使起波纹； vi.呈波浪状，起伏前进 | |
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172
afflicted
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| 使受痛苦，折磨( afflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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173
glided
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| v.滑动( glide的过去式和过去分词 )；掠过；（鸟或飞机 ） 滑翔 | |
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174
interrogated
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| v.询问( interrogate的过去式和过去分词 )；审问；（在计算机或其他机器上）查询 | |
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175
devour
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| v.吞没；贪婪地注视或谛听，贪读；使着迷 | |
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176
crabs
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| n.蟹( crab的名词复数 )；阴虱寄生病；蟹肉v.捕蟹( crab的第三人称单数 ) | |
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177
sneering
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| 嘲笑的，轻蔑的 | |
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178
blessing
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| n.祈神赐福；祷告；祝福，祝愿 | |
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