"And then Jaakov must begin to join in these pranks. Maxim cut a head out of cardboard, and made a nose, eyes, and a mouth on it, glued tow on it to represent hair, and then went out into the street with Jaakov, and thrust that dreadful face in at the windows; and of course people were terrified and ran away screaming. Another night they went out wrapped in sheets and frightened the priest, who rushed into a sentry-box; and the sentry, as much frightened as he was, called the police. And many other wanton tricks like this they played; and nothing would stop them. I begged them to give up their nonsense, and so did Varia, but it was no good; they would not leave off. Maxim only laughed. It made his sides ache with laughing, he said, to see how folk ran wild with terror, and broke their heads because of his nonsense. 'Come and speak to them!' he would say.
"And it all came back on his own head and nearly caused his ruin. Your Uncle Michael, who was always with grandfather, was easily offended and vindictively disposed, and he thought out a way to get rid of your father. It was in the beginning of winter and they were coming away from a friend's house, four of them--Maxim, your uncles, and a deacon, who was degraded afterwards for killing a cabman. They came out of Yamski Street and persuaded Maxim to go round by the Dinkov Pond, pretending that they were going to skate. They began to slide on the ice like boys and drew him on to an ice-hole, and then they pushed him in--but I have told you about that."
"Why are my uncles so bad?"
"They are not bad," said grandmother calmly, taking a pinch of snuff. "They are simply stupid. Mischka is cunning and stupid as well, but Jaakov is a good fellow, taking him all round. Well, they pushed him into the water, but as he went down he clutched at the edge of the ice-hole, and they struck at his hands, crushing his fingers with their heels. By good luck he was sober, while they were tipsy, and with God's help he dragged himself from under the ice, and kept himself face upwards in the middle of the hole, so that he could breathe; but they could not get hold of him, and after a time they left him, with his head surrounded by ice, to drown. But he climbed out, and ran to the police-station--it is quite close, you know, in the market-place. The Inspector on duty knew him and all the family, and he asked: 'How did this happen?'"
Grandmother crossed herself and went on in a grateful tone:
"God rest the soul of Maxim Savatyevitch! He deserves it, for you must know that he hid the truth from the police. 'It was my own fault,' he said. 'I had been drinking, and I wandered on to the pond, and tumbled down an ice-hole.'
"'That's not true,' said the Inspector; 'you 've not been drinking.'
"Well, the long and short of it was that they rubbed him with brandy, put dry clothes on him, wrapped him in a sheep-skin, and brought him home--the Inspector himself and two others. Jaaschka and Mischka had not returned; they had gone to a tavern to celebrate the occasion. Your mother and I looked at Maxim. He was quite unlike himself; his face was livid, his fingers were bruised, and there was dry blood on them, and his curls seemed to be flecked with snow--only it did not melt. He had turned gray!
"Varvara screamed out 'What have they done to you?'
"The Inspector, scenting the truth, began to ask questions, and I felt in my heart that something very bad had happened.
"I put Varia off on to the Inspector, and I tried to get the truth out of Maxim quietly. 'What has happened?'
"'The first thing you must do,' he whispered, 'is to lie in wait for Jaakov and Michael and tell them that they are to say that they parted from me at Yamski Street and went to Pokrovski Street, while I turned off at Pryadilni Lane. Don't mix it up now, or we shall have trouble with the police.'
"I went to grandfather and said: 'Go and talk to the Inspector while I go and wait for our sons to tell them what evil has befallen us.'
"He dressed himself, all of a tremble, muttering: 'I knew how it would be! This is what I expected.'
"All lies! He knew nothing of the kind. Well, I met my children with my hands before my face. Fear sobered Mischka at once, and Jaashenka, the dear boy, let the cat out of the bag by babbling: 'I don't know anything about it. It is all Michael's doing. He is the eldest.'
"However, we made it all right with the Inspector. He was a very nice gentleman. 'Oh,' he says, 'but you had better take care; if anything bad happens in your house I shall know who is to blame.' And with that he went away.
"And grandfather went to Maxim and said: 'Thank you! Any one else in your place would not have acted as you have done--that I know! And thank you, daughter, for bringing such a good man into your father's house.' Grandfather could speak very nicely when he liked. It was after this that he began to be silly, and keep his heart shut up like a castle.
"We three were left together. Maxim Savatyevitch began to cry, and became almost delirious. 'Why have they done this to me? What harm have I done them? Mama . . . why did they do it?' He never called me 'mamasha,' but always 'mama,' like a child . . . and he was really a child in character. 'Why ... ?' he asked.
"I cried too--what else was there for me to do? I was so sorry for my children. Your mother tore all the buttons off her bodice, and sat there, all dishevelled as if she had been fighting, calling out: 'Let us go away, Maxim. My brothers are our enemies; I am afraid of them. Let us go away!'
"I tried to quieten her. 'Don't throw rubbish on the fire,' I said. 'The house is full of smoke without that.'
"At that very moment that fool of a grandfather must go and send those two to beg forgiveness; she sprang at Mischka and slapped his face. 'There 's your forgiveness!' she said. And your father complained: 'How could you do such a thing, brothers? You might have crippled me. What sort of a workman shall I be without hands?'
"However, they were reconciled. Your father was ailing for some time; for seven weeks he tossed about, and got no better, and he kept saying: 'Ekh! Mama, let us go to another town; I am weary of this place.'
"Then he had a chance of going to Astrakhan; they expected the Emperor there in the summer, and your father was entrusted with the building of a triumphal arch. They sailed on the first boat. It cut me to the heart to part from them, and he was grieved about it too, and kept saying to me that I ought to go with them to Astrakhan; but Varvara rejoiced, and did not even try to hide her joy--the hussy! And so they went away . . . and that is all!"
She drank a drop of vodka, took a pinch of snuff, and added, gazing out of the window at the dark blue sky:
"Yes, your father and I were not of the same blood, but in soul we were akin."
Sometimes, while she was telling me this, grandfather came in with his face uplifted, sniffed the air with his sharp nose, and looking suspiciously at grandmother, listened to what she was saying and muttered:
"That's not true! That's not true!"
Then he would ask, without warning:
"Lexei, has she been drinking brandy here
?
"
"No."
"That's a lie, for I saw her with my own eyes!" And he would go out in an undecided manner.
Grandmother would wink at him behind his back and utter some quaint saying:
"Go along, Avdye, and don't frighten the horses."
One day, as he stood in the middle of the room, staring at the floor, he said softly:
"Mother?"
"Aye?"
"You see what is going on?"
"Yes, I see!"
"What do you think of it?"
"There 'll be a wedding, Father. Do you remember how you used to talk about a nobleman?"
"Yes."
"Well--here he is!"
"He 's got nothing."
"That's her business."
Grandfather left the room, and conscious of a sense of uneasiness, I asked:
"What were you talking about?"
"You want to know everything," she replied querulously, rubbing my feet. "If you know everything when you are young, there will be nothing to ask questions about when you get old." And she laughed and shook her head at me.
"Oh, grandfather! grandfather! you are nothing but a little piece of dust in the eyes of God. Lenka --now don't you tell any one this, but grandfather is absolutely ruined. He lent a certain gentleman a large sum of money, and now the gentleman has gone bankrupt."
Smiling, she fell into a reverie, and sat without speaking for a long time; and her face became wrinkled, and sad, and gloomy.
"What are you thinking about
?
"
"I am thinking of something to tell you," she answered, with a start. "Shall we have the story about Evstignia? Will that do? Well, here goes then.
"A deacon there was called Evstignla,
He thought there was no one more wise than he,
Be he presbyter, or be he boyard;
Not even a huntsman knew more than he.
Like a spike of spear grass he held himself,
So proud, and taught his neighbors great and small;
He found fault with this, and grumbled at that;
He glanced at a church--'Not lofty enough!'
He passed up a street--'How narrow!' he said.
An apple he plucked--'It not red!' he said.
The sun rose too soon for Evstignia!
In all the world there was nothing quite right!"
Grandmother puffed out her cheeks, and rolled her eyes; her kind face assumed a stupid, comical expression as she went on in a lazy, dragging voice:
"'There is nothing I could not do myself,
And do it much better, I think,' he said,
'If I only had a little more time!'"
She was smilingly silent for a moment, and then she continued:
"To the deacon one night some devils came;
'So you find it dull here, deacon?' they said.
'Well, come along with us, old fellow, to hell,
You 'll have no fault to find with the fires there.'
Ere the wise deacon could put on his hat
The devils seized hold of him with their paws
And, with titters and howls, they dragged him down.
A devil on each of his shoulders sat,
And there, in the flames of hell they set him.
'Is it all right, Evstignyeushka
T
The deacon was roasting, brightly he burned,
Kept himself up with his hands to his sides,
Puffed out his lips as he scornfully said:
'It's dreadfully smoky down here--in hell!'"
Concluding in an indolent, low-pitched, unctuous voice, she changed her expression and, laughing quietly, explained:
"He would not give in--that Evstignia, but stuck to his own opinion obstinately, like our grandfather. . . . That's enough now; go to sleep; it is high time."
Mother came up to the attic to see me very seldom, and she did not stay long, and spoke as if she were in a hurry. She was getting more beautiful, and was dressed better every day, but I was conscious of something different about her, as about grandmother; I felt that there was something going on which was being kept from me--and I tried to guess what it was.
Grandmother's stories interested me less and less, even the ones she told me about my father; and they did not soothe my indefinable but daily increasing alarm.
"Why is my father's soul not at rest?" I asked grandmother.
"How can I tell?" she replied, covering her eyes. "That is God's affair ... it is supernatural . . . and hidden from us."
At night, as I gazed sleeplessly through the dark blue windows at the stars floating so slowly across the sky, I made up some sad story in my mind--in which the chief place was occupied by my father, who was always wandering about alone, with a stick in his hand, and with a shaggy dog behind him.
CHAPTER XII
ONE day I fell asleep before the evening, and when I woke up I felt that my legs had waked up too. I put them out of bed, and they became numb again; but the fact remained that my legs were cured and that I should be able to walk. This was such glorious news that I shouted for joy, and put my feet to the floor with the whole weight of my body on them. I fell down, but I crawled to the door and down the staircase, vividly representing to myself the surprise of those downstairs when they should see me.
I do not remember how I got into mother's room on my knees; but there were some strangers with her, and one, a dried-up old woman in green, said sternly, drowning all other voices:
"Give him some raspberry syrup to drink, and cover up his head."
She was green all over: her dress, and hat, and her
face, which had warts under the eyes; even the tufts
of hair on the warts were like grass. Letting her
lower lip droop, she raised the upper one and looked at
me with her green teeth, covering her eyes with a hand
in a black thread mitten.
"Who is that?" I asked, suddenly growing timid.
Grandfather answered in a disagreeable voice:
"That's another grandmother for you."
Mother, laughing, brought Eugen Maximov to me.
"And here is your father!"
She said something rapidly which I did not understand, and Maximov, with twinkling eyes, bent towards me and said:
"I will make you a present of some paints."
The room was lit up very brightly; silver candelabra, holding five candles each, stood on the table, and between them was placed grandfather's favorite icon-- "Mourn not for me, Mother." The pearls with which it was set gave forth an intermittent brilliancy as the lights played on them flickeringly, and the gems in the golden crown shone radiantly; heavy, round faces like pancakes were pressing against the window-panes from outside, flattening their noses against the glass, and everything round me seemed to be floating. The old green woman felt my ears with her cold fingers and said:
"By all means! By all means!"
"He is fainting," said grandmother, and she carried me to the door.
But I was not fainting. I just kept my eyes shut, and as soon as she had half-dragged, half-carried me up the staircase, I asked:
"Why was n't I told of this?"
"That will do. . . . Hold your tongue!"
"You are deceivers--all of you!"
Laying me on the bed, she threw herself down with her head on the pillow and burst into tears, shaking from head to foot; her shoulders heaved, and she muttered chokingly: