"Of course not!" assented Mayakin. "You've lived a good while, that goes without saying! If a mosquito had lived as long it might have grown as big as a hen.""Stop your joking!" Foma warned him, and he did it so calmly that Mayakin started back, and the wrinkles on his face quivered with alarm.
"What did you come here for?" asked Foma.
"Ah! you've done some nasty work here. So I want to find out whether there's much damage in it! You see, I am a relative of yours. And then, I am the only one you have.""You are troubling yourself in vain. Do you know, papa, what I'll tell you? Either give me full *******, or take all my business into your own hands. Take everything! Everything--to the last rouble!"This proposition burst forth from Foma altogether unexpectedly to himself; he had never before thought of anything like it. But now that he uttered such words to his godfather it suddenly became clear to him that if his godfather were to take from him all his property he would become a perfectly free man, he could go wherever he pleased, do whatever he pleased. Until this moment he had been bound and enmeshed with something, but he knew not his fetters and was unable to break them, while now they were falling off of themselves so simply, so easily. Both an alarming and a joyous hope blazed up within his breast, as though he noticed that suddenly light had begun to flash upon his turbid life, that a wide, spacious road lay open now before him. Certain images sprang up in his mind, and, watching their shiftings, he muttered incoherently:
"Here, this is better than anything! Take everything, and be done with it! And--as for me--I shall be free to go anywhere in the wide world! I cannot live like this. I feel as though weights were hanging on me, as though I were all bound. There--I must not go, this I must not do. I want to live in *******, that I may know everything myself. I shall search life for myself. For, otherwise, what am I? A prisoner! Be kind, take everything. The devil take it all! Give me *******, pray! What kind of a merchant am I? I do not like anything. And so--I would forsake men--everything. I would find a place for myself, I would find some kind of work, and would work. By God! Father! set me at liberty!
For now, you see, I am drinking. I'm entangled with that woman."Mayakin looked at him, listened attentively to his words, and his face was stern, immobile as though petrified. A dull, tavern noise smote the air, some people went past them, they greeted Mayakin, but he saw nothing, staring fixedly at the agitated face of his godson, who smiled distractedly, both joyously and pitifully.
"Eh, my sour blackberry!" said Mayakin, with a sigh, interrupting Foma's speech. "I see you've lost your way. And you're prating nonsense. I would like to know whether the cognac is to blame for it, or is it your foolishness?""Papa!" exclaimed Foma, "this can surely be done. There were cases where people have cast away all their possessions and thus saved themselves.""That wasn't in my time. Not people that are near to me!" said Mayakin, sternly, "or else I would have shown them how to go away!""Many have become saints when they went away.""Mm! They couldn't have gone away from me! The matter is ******--you know how to play at draughts, don't you? Move from one place to another until you are beaten, and if you're not beaten then you have the queen. Then all ways are open to you. Do you understand? And why am I talking to you seriously? Psha!""Papa! why don't you want it?" exclaimed Foma, angrily.
"Listen to me! If you are a chimney-sweep, go, carrion, on the roof! If you are a fireman, stand on the watch-tower! And each and every sort of men must have its own mode of life. Calves cannot roar like bears! If you live your own life; go on, live it! And don't talk nonsense, and don't creep where you don't belong. Arrange your life after your pattern." And from the dark lips of the old man gushed forth in a trembling, glittering stream the jarring, but confident and bold words so familiar to Foma. Seized with the thought of *******, which seemed to him so easily possible, Foma did not listen to his words. This idea had eaten into his brains, and in his heart the desire grew stronger and stronger to sever all his connections with this empty and wearisome life, with his godfather, with the steamers, the barges and the carouses, with everything amidst which it was narrow and stifling for him to live.
The old man's words seemed to fall on him from afar; they were blended with the clatter of the dishes, with the scraping of the lackey's feet along the floor, with some one's drunken shouting.
Not far from them sat four merchants at a table and argued loudly:
"Two and a quarter--and thank God!"
"Luka Mitrich! How can I?"
"Give him two and a half!"
