My Childhood (13 page)

Grandmother reeled, and almost lost her balance, but she managed to steady herself, and putting her hand to her lips, said quietly: "Fool!" And she spit blood at his feet; but he only gave two prolonged howls and raised both hands to her.

"Go away, or I will kill you!"

"Fool!" she repeated as she was leaving the room.

Grandfather rushed at her, but, with haste, she stepped over the threshold and banged the door in his face.

"Old hag!" hissed grandfather, whose face had become livid, as he clung to the door-post, clawing it viciously.

I was sitting on the couch, more dead than alive, hardly able to believe my eyes. This was the first time he had struck grandmother in my presence, and I was overwhelmed with disgust at this new aspect of his character--at this revelation of a trait which I \ found unforgivable, and I felt as if I were being suffocated. He stayed where he was, hanging on to the door-post, his face becoming gray and shriveled up as if it were covered with ashes.

Suddenly he moved to the middle of the room, knelt down, and bent forward, resting his hands on the floor; but he straightened himself almost directly, and beat his breast.

"And now, O Lord--!"

I slipped off the warm tiles of the stove-couch, and crept out of the room, as carefully as if I were treading on ice. I found grandmother upstairs, walking up and down the room, and rinsing her mouth at intervals.

"Are you hurt?"

She went into the corner, spit out some water into the hand-basin, and replied coolly:

"Nothing to make a fuss about. My teeth are all right; it is only my lips that are bruised."

"Why did he do it?"

Glancing out of the window she said:

"He gets into a temper. It is hard for him in his old age. Everything seems to turn out badly. Now you go to bed, say your prayers, and don't think any more about this."

I began to ask some more questions; but with a severity quite unusual in her, she cried:

"What did I say to you? Go to bed at once! I never heard of such disobedience!"

She sat at the window, sucking her lip and spitting frequently into her handkerchief, and I undressed, looking at her. I could see the stars shining above her black head through the blue, square window. In the street all was quiet, and the room was in darkness. When I was in bed she came over to me and softly stroking my head, she said:

"Sleep well! I shall go down to him. Don't be anxious about me, sweetheart. It was my own fault, you know. Now go to sleep!"

She kissed me and went away; but an overwhelming sadness swept over me. I jumped out of the wide, soft, warm bed, and going to the window, gazed down upon the empty street, petrified by grief.

CHAPTER VII

I WAS not long in grasping the fact that there was one God for grandfather and another for grandmother. The frequency with which this difference was brought to my notice made it impossible to ignore it.

Sometimes grandmother woke up in the morning and sat a long while on the bed combing her wonderful hair. Holding her head firmly, she would draw the comb with its jagged teeth through every thread of that black, silky mane, whispering the while, not to wake me:

"Bother you! The devil take you for sticking together like this!"

When she had thus taken all the tangles out, she quickly wove it into a thick plait, washed in a hurry, with many angry tossings of her head, and without washing away the signs of irritation from her large face, which was creased by sleep, she placed herself before the icon and began her real morning ablutions, by which her whole being was instantly refreshed.

She straightened her crooked back, and raising her head, gazed upon the round face of Our Lady of Kazan, and after crossing herself reverently, said in a loud, fierce whisper:

"Most Glorious Virgin! Take me under thy protection this day, dear Mother."

Having made a deep obeisance, she straightened her back with difficulty, and then went on whispering ardently, and with deep feeling:

"Source of our Joy! Stainless Beauty! Apple tree in bloom!"

Every morning she seemed to find fresh words of praise; and for that reason I used to listen to her prayers with strained attention.

"Dear Heart, so pure, so heavenly! My Defense and my Refuge! Golden Sun! Mother of God! Guard me from temptation; grant that I may do no one harm, and may not be offended by what others do to me thoughtlessly."

With her dark eyes smiling, and a general air of rejuvenation about her, she crossed herself again, with that slow and ponderous movement of her hand.

"Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy qn me, a sinner, for Thy Mother's sake!"

Her prayers were always non-liturgical, full of sincere praise, and very simple.

She did not pray long in the mornings because she had to get the samovar ready, for grandfather kept no servants, and if the tea was not made to the moment, he used to give her a long and furious scolding.

Sometimes he was up before her, and would come up to the attic. Finding her at prayer, he would stand for some minutes listening to her, contemptuously curling his thin, dark lips, and when he was drinking his tea, he would growl:

"How often have I taught you how to say your prayers, blockhead. But you are always mumbling some nonsense, you heretic! I can't think why God puts up with you."

"He understands," grandmother would reply confidently, "what we don't say to Him. He looks into everything."

"You cursed dullard! U--u--ugh,
you!"
was all he said to this.

Her God was with her all day; she even spoke to the animals about Him. Evidently this God, with willing submission, made Himself subject to all creatures--to men, dogs, bees, and even the grass of the field; and He was impartially kind and accessible to every one on earth.

Once the petted cat belonging to the innkeeper's wife--an artful, pretty, coaxing creature, smoke-colored with golden eyes--caught a starling in the garden. Grandmother took away the nearly exhausted bird and punished the cat, crying:

"Have you no fear of God, you spiteful wretch?"

The wife of the innkeeper and the porter laughed at these words, but she said to them angrily:

"Do you think that animals don't understand about God? All creatures understand about Him better than you do, you heartless things!"

When she harnessed Sharapa, who was growing fat and melancholy, she used to hold a conversation with him.

"Why do you look so miserable, toiler of God? Why? You are getting old, my dear, that's what it is." And the horse would sigh and toss his head.

And yet she did not utter the name of God as frequently as grandfather did. Her God was quite comprehensible to me, and I knew that I must not tell lies in His presence; I should be ashamed to do so. The thought of Him produced such an invincible feeling of shame, that I never lied to grandmother. It would be simply impossible to hide anything from this good God; in fact, I had not even a wish to do so.

One day the innkeeper's wife quarreled with grandfather and abused him, and also grandmother, who had taken no part in the quarrel; nevertheless she abused her bitterly, and even threw a carrot at her.

"You are a fool, my good woman," said grandmother very quietly; but I felt the insult keenly, and resolved to be revenged on the spiteful creature.

For a long time I could not make up my mind as to the best way to punish this sandy-haired, fat woman, with two chins and no eyes to speak of. From my own experience of feuds between people living together, I knew that they avenged themselves on one another by cutting off the tails of their enemy's cat, by chasing his dogs, by killing his cocks and hens, by creeping into his cellar in the night and pouring kerosene over the cabbages and cucumbers in the tubs, and letting the kvass ran out of the barrels; but nothing of this kind appealed to me. I wanted something less crude, and more terrifying.

At last I had an idea. I lay in wait for the innkeeper's wife, and as soon as she went down to the cellar, I shut the trap door on her, fastened it, danced a jig on it, threw the key on to the roof, and rushed into the kitchen where grandmother was busy cooking. At first she could not understand why I was in such an ecstasy of joy, but when she had grasped the cause, she slapped me--on that part of my anatomy provided for the purpose, dragged me out to the yard, and sent me up to the roof to find the key. I gave it to her with reluctance, astonished at her asking for it, and ran away to a corner of the yard, whence I could see how she set the captive free, and how they laughed together in a friendly way as they crossed the yard.

"I 'll pay you for this!" threatened the innkeeper's wife, shaking her plump fist at me; but there was a good-natured smile on her eyeless face.

Grandmother dragged me back to the kitchen by the collar. "Why did you do that?" she asked.

"Because she threw a carrot at you."

"That means that you did it for me? Very well! This is what I will do for you--I will horsewhip you and put you amongst the mice under the oven. A nice sort of protector you are! 'Look at a bubble and it will burst directly.' If I were to tell grandfather he would skin you. Go up to the attic and learn your lesson."

She would not speak to me for the rest of the day, but before she said her prayers that night she sat on the bed and uttered these memorable words in a very impressive tone:

"Now, Lenka, my darling, you must keep yourself from meddling with the doings of grown-up persons. Grown-up people are given responsibilities and they have to answer for them to God; but it is not so with you yet; you live by a child's conscience. Wait till God takes possession of your heart, and shows you the work you are to do, and the way you are to take. Do you understand? It is no business of yours to decide who is to blame in any matter. God judges, and punishes; that is for Him, not for us."

She was silent for a moment while she took a pinch of snuff; then, half-closing her right eye, she added:

"Why, God Himself does not always know where the fault lies."

"Does n't God know everything?" I asked in astonishment.

"If He knew everything, a lot of things that are done would not be done. It is as if He, the Father, looks and looks from Heaven at the earth, and sees how often we weep, how often we sob, and says: 'My people, my dear people, how sorry I am for you!'"

She was crying herself as she spoke; and drying her wet cheeks, she went into the corner to pray.

From that time her God became still closer and still more comprehensible to me.

Grandfather, in teaching me, also said that God was a Being--Omnipresent, Omniscient, All-seeing, the kind Helper of people in all their affairs; but he did not pray like grandmother. In the morning, before going to stand before the icon, he took a long time washing himself; then, when he was fully dressed, he carefully combed his sandy hair, brushed his beard, and looking at himself in the mirror, saw that his shirt sat well, and tucked his black cravat into his waistcoat --after which he advanced cautiously, almost stealthily, to the icon. He always stood on one particular board of the parquet floor, and with an expression in his eyes which made them look like the eyes of a horse, he stood in silence for a minute, with bowed head, and arms held straight down by his sides in soldier fashion; then, upright, and slender as a nail, he began impressively:

"In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost."

After these words it always seemed to me that the room became extraordinarily quiet; the very flies seemed to buzz cautiously.

There he stood, with his head thrown back, his eyebrows raised and bristling, his golden beard sticking out horizontally, and recited the prayers, in a firm tone, as if he were repeating a lesson, and with a voice which was very distinct and very imperious.

"It will be useless when the Judge comes, and every action is laid bare--"

Striking himself lightly on the breast, he prayed fervently:

"To Thee alone can sinners come. Oh, turn Thy face away from my misdeeds."

He recited the "I believe," using the prescribed words only; and all the while his right leg quivered, as if it were noiselessly keeping time with his prayers, and his whole form, straining towards the icon, seemed to become taller, leaner, and drier--so clean he was, so neat, and so persistent in his demands.

"Heavenly Physician, heal my soul of its long-lived passions. To thee, Holy Virgin, I cry from my heart; to thee I offer myself with fervor."

And with his green eyes full of tears he wailed loudly:

"Impute to me, my God, faith instead of works, and be not mindful of deeds which can by no means justify

Here he crossed himself frequently at intervals, tossing his head as if he were about to butt at something, and his voice became squeaky and cracked. Later, when I happened to enter a synagogue, I realized that grandfather prayed like a Jew.

By this time the samovar would have been snorting on the table for some minutes, and a hot smell of rye-cakes would be floating through the room. Grandmother, frowning, strolled about, with her eyes on the floor; the sun looked cheerfully in at the window from the garden, the dew glistened like pearls on the trees, the morning air was deliciously perfumed by the smell of dill, and currant-bushes, and ripening apples, but grandfather went on with his prayers--quavering and squeaking.