The old man's lofty forehead was all covered with wrinkles, and its skin was dark. Gray, curly locks covered his temples and his sharp-pointed ears; his calm blue eyes lent the upper part of his face a wise and good expression. But his cheeks and his lips were thick and red, and seemed out of place on his face. His thin, long nose was turned downward as though it wished to hide itself in his white moustache; the old man moved his lips, and from beneath them small, yellow teeth were gleaming. He had on a pink calico shirt, a silk belt around his waist, and black, loose trousers, which were tucked into his boots. Foma stared at his lips and thought that the old man was surely such as he was said to be.
"As a boy you looked more like your father," said Shchurov suddenly, and sighed. Then, after a moment's silence, he asked: "Do you remember your father? Do you ever pray for him? You must, you must pray!" he went on, after he heard Foma's brief answer. "Ignat was a terrible sinner, and he died without repentance, taken unawares. He was a great sinner!""He was not more sinful than others," replied Foma, angrily, offended in his father's behalf.
"Than who, for instance?" demanded Shchurov, strictly.
"Are there not plenty of sinners?"
"There is but one man on earth more sinful than was the late Ignat--and that is that cursed heathen, your godfather Yashka,"ejaculated the old man.
"Are you sure of it?" inquired Foma, smiling.
"I? Of course, I am!" said Shchurov, confidently, nodding his head, and his eyes became somewhat darker. "I will also appear before the Lord, and that not sinless. I shall bring with me a heavy burden before His holy countenance. I have been pleasing the devil myself, only I trust to God for His mercy, while Yashka believes in nothing, neither in dreams, nor in the singing of birds. Yashka does not believe in God, this I know! And for his non-belief he will yet receive his punishment on earth.""Are you sure of this, too?"
"Yes, I am. And don't you think I also know that you consider it ludicrous to listen to me. What a sagacious fellow, indeed! But he who has committed many sins is always wise. Sin is a teacher.
That's why Yashka Mayakin is extraordinarily clever."Listening to the old man's hoarse and confident voice, Foma thought:
"He is scenting death, it seems."
The waiter, a small man, with a face which was pale and characterless, brought in the samovar and quickly hastened out of the room, with short steps. The old man was undoing some bundles on the window-sill and said, without looking at Foma:
"You are bold, and the look of your eyes is dark. Before, there used to be more light-eyed people, because then the souls used to be brighter. Before, everything was ******r--both the people and the sins, and now everything has become complicated. Eh, eh!"He made tea, seated himself opposite Foma and went on again:
"Your father at your age was a water-pumper and stayed with the fleet near our village. At your age Ignat was as clear to me as glass. At a single glance you could tell what sort of a man he was.
While you--here I am looking at you, but cannot see what you are.
Who are you? You don't know it yourself, my lad, and that's why you'll suffer. Everybody nowadays must suffer, because they do not know themselves. Life is a mass of wind-fallen trees, and you must know how to find your way through it. Where is it? All are going astray, and the devil is delighted. Are you married?""Not yet," said Foma.
"There again, you are not married, and yet, I'm quite sure, you are not pure any longer. Well, are you working hard in your business?""Sometimes. Meanwhile I am with my godfather.""What sort of work is it you have nowadays?" said the old man, shaking his head, and his eyes were constantly twinkling, now turning dark, now brightening up again. "You have no labour now! In former years the merchant travelled with horses on business. Even at night, in snowstorms, he used to go! Murderers used to wait for him on the road and kill him. And he died a martyr, washing his sins away with blood. Now they travel by rail; they are sending telegrams, or they've even invented something that a man may speak in his office and you can hear him five miles away. There the devil surely has a hand in it! A man sits, without motion, and commits sins merely because he feels lonesome, because he has nothing to do: the machine does all his work. He has no work, and without toil man is ruined! He has provided himself with machines and thinks it is good! While the machine is the devil's trap for you. He thus catches you in it. While toiling, you find no time for sin, but having a machine--you have *******. Freedom kills a man, even as the sunbeams kill the worm, the dweller of the depth of earth.
Freedom kills man!"
And pronouncing his words distinctly and positively, the old Anany struck the table four times with his finger. His face beamed triumphantly, his chest rose high, and over it the silver hair of his beard shook noiselessly. Dread fell on Foma as he looked at him and listened to his words, for there was a ring of firm faith in them, and it was the power of this faith that confused Foma. He had already forgotten all he knew about the old man, all of which he had but a while ago believed to be true.
"Whoever gives ******* to his body, kills his soul!" said Anany, looking at Foma so strangely as if he saw behind him somebody, who was grieved and frightened by his words; and whose fear and pain delighted him. "All you people of today will perish through *******. The devil has captured you--he has taken toil away from you, and slipped machines and telegrams into your hands. How ******* eats into the souls of men! Just tell me, why are the children worse than their fathers? Because of their *******, yes.
