Chapter 19 "My Life - A Mainlander's Story" XIX

nineteen Finally, Masha wrote. "Dear and kind Mi A," she wrote, "kind and gentle 'our angel' (that's what the old painter called you), farewell, I'm going to America with my father to visit the fair In a few days I will see the ocean, so far away from Dubechnya, it is frightening to think about it! It is far away, vast, like the sky, and I would like to go there and live freely, I am happy, I am mad, You see how incoherent my letters are. Dear, kind, set me free, and quickly tear the thread that still connects you and me. When I met you and knew you, then It was like a ray of light from the sky, illuminating my life; but when I became your wife, I made a mistake, you know that, the feeling of making a mistake still weighs on my heart, I Get down on your knees, my magnanimous friend, and send me a telegram as soon as possible, before I set off on my sea voyage, that you agree to correct our common wrong and remove this single stone from my wing, and my father will Get this done, and he promises not to bother you with too many formalities. So now I'm free to fly in all directions? Right?

"Happiness to you, God bless you, and forgive me, a sinner. "I'm alive, I'm healthy. I've squandered my money, I've done a lot of stupid things, and I'm thanking God every minute that a bad woman like me doesn't have a baby. I'm singing and I'm successful, but it's not my hobby , no, this is my safe haven, my monastery, from which I now rest. King David has a ring with the words engraved on it: 'All shall pass'.When people are sad, reading these words will make them happy; when they are happy, they will make them sad again.I had myself one of these rings, engraved with these Hebrew words, and this amulet kept me from being fascinated.Everything will pass, even life will pass, that is to say, nothing will be needed.Or just need a sense of freedom, because when people are free, they don’t need anything, nothing, and nothing.Just rip that thread.Hugs to you and your sister.Please forgive and forget your Ma. "

The sister lay in one room, the turnip in the other, and he had another illness and was recovering.When I received this letter, my sister went quietly into the painter's room, sat down beside him, and began to read.She read him works by Ostrovsky or Gogol every day, and he listened to her, looking at one place, shaking his head instead of laughing, and sometimes muttering to himself: "Anything can happen! Anything can happen!" If something ugly and inappropriate was described in the script, he would poke his finger at the book and say, as if gloating, "That's it, hypocrisy! That's what's wrong with it, hypocrisy!"

The content, implication, and complex and ingenious structure of the script all attracted him.He admired his ability, but never mentioned his name: "How could he have such a great ability to arrange these things so properly!" Now my sister only read a page softly, and couldn't read any more: she couldn't make a sound.Turnip took her hand, moved his parched lips, and said in a hoarse, almost inaudible voice: "The soul of a decent man is white and smooth, like chalk, but the soul of a sinful man is like a pumice stone." The soul of a decent man is clear dry oil, and the soul of a sinful man is coal tar. Man has to work, grieve, and suffer," he went on, "and whoever does not work and grieve cannot go to heaven Woe to those who eat fat, those who are tyrannical, those who are rich, and those who lend money! They cannot see heaven. Aphids eat grass, rust eats iron, ..." "And Hypocrisy eats the soul," the sister went on, laughing.

I read the letter again.At this moment the soldier who came into the kitchen, who came twice a week, brought us tea, French bread, and grouse, which smelled of perfume.I had no work to do, so I had to stay at home for days at a time, presumably the man who brought us bread knew we were poor. I heard my sister talking to the soldier, smiling happily.Then she lay down, ate her bread, and said to me: "When you quit your job to be a painter, Anyuta Bragovo and I knew from the beginning that you were doing the right thing, but we dared not say Speak. Tell me, what is preventing us from saying what we think? Take Anyuta Bragovo. She loves you, adores you, and she knows what you are doing right; She loves me like a sister, and knows that I am doing the right thing, and I am afraid she still envies me, but some kind of force prevents her from coming to us, she hides from us, and is afraid of us."

My sister put her hands on her chest and said enthusiastically: "How she loves you, if only you knew! This love she told only to me, and whispered in the dark. She led me into the dark avenue in the garden , whispered to me how precious she valued you. Just look, she won't marry because she loves you. Do you feel sorry for her?" "Pity." "She brought the bread. To be honest, it's ridiculous. Why hide it? I used to be ridiculous and stupid; but now I've got rid of it, I'm not afraid of anyone, I can think what I want, I can say whatever I want." Saying it out loud made me happy. When I lived at home, I didn’t know what happiness is, and now I don’t even want to be a queen.”

Doctor Bragovo is here.He has a doctorate, is now living in our town, is on leave with his father, and is going to Petersburg again soon, he says.He wants to study vaccines against typhoid, and it seems that there is also a vaccine against cholera; he plans to go abroad for further studies and then come back to become a professor.He had resigned from the Army and wore a baggy tweed jacket, very baggy trousers, and a smart tie.My sister admired the pins on his tie, the cuff buttons, and the red silk handkerchief in the breast pocket of his jacket, probably for the sake of beauty. Once, when my sister and I were free, we counted how many sets of clothes he had from memory, and concluded that he had at least ten sets.He obviously still loves my sister, but he never once said, even in jest, that he was going to take her to Petersburg or abroad, and I can't imagine what would happen to her if she lived, what would happen to her children How about it.She just fantasizes endlessly and doesn't seriously consider the future. She said, let him go wherever he falls in love, even if he loses her, it doesn't matter, as long as he is happy. A short period of life is enough.

When he came to see us, he auscultated her attentively as usual, and asked her to drink the potion together with the milk in his presence.It was the same this time.He auscultated her, forced her to drink a glass of milk, and after that our room smelled of cresol oil. "That's a good boy!" he said, taking the glass from her. "You shouldn't talk much, but you've been chirping like a magpie lately. Please don't talk." she laughed.Then he went into Carrot's room, where I was sitting, and he patted me on the shoulder affectionately. "Oh, how are you, old man?" he asked, stooping close to the sick man.

"Master..." said Carrot, moving his lips slightly, "Master, I would like to tell you... Our fate is all arranged by God, and we are all destined to die. . . Let me tell you the truth... Master, you Can't enter the kingdom of heaven!" "Then what can be done," said the doctor jokingly, "someone must go to hell." Suddenly my mind was a little fuzzy, I seemed to be dreaming, dreaming that I was standing in the yard of the slaughterhouse that night last winter, and Prokofy stood next to me, and he smelled of pepper wine.Trying to control myself, I rubbed my eyes, but at once I felt as if I were going to the prefect for a lecture.This has never happened before or since, and I believe that this strange dream-like recollection is due to the over-exhaustion of my nerves.It seemed to me that I was in the slaughterhouse again, and I was listening to the prefect again, but at the same time I felt vaguely that nothing of the kind happened at this moment.

When I woke up, I saw that I was no longer at home, but in the street, standing with the doctor by the lamppost. "It's sad, it's sad," he said, tears streaming down his cheeks. "She's happy, she laughs, she's hopeful, but she's hopeless, man. Your turnip hates me and keeps trying to make me understand that I don't treat her well. As far as he's concerned, he's right. , but I also have my own point of view, and I don't regret what happened in the past. People should love, we should all love, shouldn't we? Without love, there is no life; not free."

Gradually he moved on to other topics, to science, to his dissertation, which was attracting attention in Petersburg.He talked enthusiastically, and he no longer thought of my sister, his sorrow, or me.Life is attracting him. I thought to myself: that one has the United States and a ring with engraved words; this one has a doctorate and has a scholar's future, only my sister and I are still the same. After I said good-bye to him, I went over to the lamppost and read Masha's letter again.I remembered, vividly remembered how she came to see me at the mill one morning this spring, how she lay down and covered herself with a fur coat, trying to look like an ordinary village woman.Another time, also in the morning, we were fishing for fishing baskets from the water, and the willow trees by the river suddenly sprinkled large drops of water on us, and we laughed. ... It was dark in our house on the Grand Noble Street.I climbed over the fence, and went through the back door into the kitchen, as I had done before, to fetch a lamp.There was no one in the kitchen. A samovar hissed by the stove, waiting for my father.I thought, "Who's going to pour tea for my father now?" I took the lamp, went into the hut, spread old newspapers on the floor as a bed, and lay down.The nails on the wall still stared at me sternly, their shadows flickering, and it was cold.I seemed to think that my sister would come in soon and bring me dinner, but I immediately remembered that she was sick and lying in the carrot's house, so I wondered: how could I climb over the fence and lie in this cold hut.My mind became confused, and I saw all kinds of messy scenes. Doorbell rang.It was a bell I had known since I was a child: first the wire rustled against the wall, and then the kitchen bell sounded short and sad.This is Dad coming back from the club.I stand up and go to the kitchen.The cook, Aksinya, saw me, clapped her hands together, and burst into tears for some reason. "My dear!" she whispered. "Honey! Oh, my God!" She was rubbing her apron with both hands in excitement.On the window sill stood several quarter bottles of Vidreau, filled with white wine infused with berries.I poured myself a teacup of wine and drank it in one gulp, for I was very thirsty.Aksinya had just wiped the table and stools, and the kitchen was filled with the smell of a bright, cozy kitchen run by a tidy cook.Once upon a time, in our childhood, the smell and the sound of the crickets would always draw us children to come here in the kitchen for stories and "kings." ... "Where is Kleopatra?" Aksinya asked hurriedly, holding her breath. "Where is your hat, sir? I hear your daughter-in-law has gone to Petersburg?" She came to my house to work when my mother was alive. She used to bathe me and Kleopatra in a wooden basin. Now, in her opinion, we are still children and must be enlightened.For a good quarter of an hour she confided to me all her thoughts, the thoughts of an old servant, which had been carefully thought out in the quiet kitchen during the time we had not seen each other.She said we could force the doctor to marry Kleopatra, just by frightening him, and that the bishop would annul his first marriage if a proper petition was written, and advised me to keep it a secret My wife secretly sold Dubechnya and deposited the money in a bank with my name on it.She also said that if my sister and I knelt before my father and begged him, he might forgive us, adding that we should pray to Our Lady. ... "Okay, go, young master, go talk to him," she said when she heard her father cough. "Go ahead, go talk, bow down, your head won't fall off." I went.My father was sitting at his desk, sketching a villa with Gothic windows and a low, wide tower, sort of like a fire brigade's watchtower, a very rigid, mediocre sketch. .I went into the study and stopped just where I could see the blueprint.I don't know why I came to see my father, but I still remember that as soon as I saw his thin face, his red neck and his shadow on the wall, I wanted to rush to him, put my arms around his neck, and take a picture of Xinya. Kneel in front of him as I was asked to do.But as soon as I saw the villa with its Gothic windows and low, broad towers, I refrained. "Good evening," I said. He glanced at me, and immediately lowered his eyes to the sketch. "What's the matter with you?" he asked after a while. "I have come to tell you: my sister is very ill. She is dying," I added in a low voice. "Yeah," my father sighed, taking off his glasses and putting them on the table. "Reap what you sow. Reap what you sow," he repeated, rising from his desk, "reap what you sow. I ask you to recall: two years ago you came to see me, in this very place, and I asked You, I want you to know your way back, I remind you, don't forget the duty and honor and your responsibility to the ancestors, we must keep the traditions of the ancestors sacredly. Did you listen to me? You ignored my advice and continued Hold on to your own false views. It was not enough, and you led your sister into your astray, and made her lose her morals and shame. Now you are both out of luck. Yes, you reap what you sow!" As he spoke, he walked up and down in the study.Probably he thought I was here to plead guilty, and he was waiting for me to beg for forgiveness for myself and my sister.I felt cold all over, I shivered as if in a fever, and I spoke hoarsely and with great effort. "I beg you, too," I said, "that I begged you here, too, to understand me, to think carefully, and to solve this problem together; how should we live, and why should we live? You When you answered, you talked about your ancestors, about the grandfather who wrote poetry. Just now I told you that your only daughter was dying, and you talked about your ancestors and traditions... At your age, you are not far from death , I can only live another five or ten years in this world, but I am still so reckless!" "What are you doing here?" snapped my father, visibly annoyed at my rebuking him for his indiscretions. "I don't know. I love you, and I feel unspeakable pain: we are so far away from each other. That's why I have come. I still love you, but my sister has broken with you completely. She can't forgive you, never I won't forgive you either. Just mentioning your name will arouse her hatred of the past and life." "Whose fault is it?" cried the father. "It's your fault, bastard!" "Okay, let's say it's my fault," I said. "I admit that I am wrong in many ways, but why is your life, which you think we must live, so dull, so mediocre? Why is it that in these houses you have built for thirty years, There is no one who can teach us how to live without making mistakes? There is not a single righteous person in the whole city! In these houses of yours, in these damned nests, mothers and daughters are tortured to death and children are abused . . . my poor mother!" I continued in despair. "Poor sister! One must anesthetize oneself with liquor, with cards, with slander, flattery, hypocrisy, or painting for decades, in order not to discover all the horrors hidden in those houses. Our city has It has existed for hundreds of years, and in these hundreds of years it has not sacrificed a single useful person for the motherland, not a single one! Everything that is a little bit alive and a little bit bright has been killed by you in the germination period This city produces only shopkeepers, tavernkeepers, clerks, priests, it is a useless, useless city, and no one would be sorry if it suddenly sank into the ground." "I don't want to listen to you, bastard!" said the father, taking a ruler from the table. "You're drunk! You're so drunk that you dare to come to your father! I tell you for the last time, and I want you to tell it to your shameless sister: you can't get anything from me. I have driven disobedient children out of my heart, and if they suffer because of disobedience, because of stubbornness, I have no pity for them. Go back to where you came from! No matter how God punishes me for you I, too, will meekly bear this ordeal, and like Job I will find solace in pain and long work. You shall not come over my threshold till you are converted. I am just, and all now I Everything I say is good for you, and if you want to be good for yourself, you should remember all your life what I have said to you before and what I am saying now.” I waved my hand and walked out.I don't remember how I spent that night and the next day. It is said that I was walking up and down the street, hatless, wobbling, singing loudly, with gangs of naughty boys following me, yelling, "Small interest! Small interest!" "Notes" ①Vedro, the Russian unit of fluid volume, 1 Widro is equal to 12.3 liters. ②According to the "Book of Job" in the Bible, Job was a person who faithfully carried out God's will and accepted God's test. The Book of Job also discusses the philosophical issue that good people suffer in this world not because of their own crimes.