Chapter 4 "Bishop" IV

Four On Thursdays he presides at mass in the cathedral and washes his feet.When the service in the church is over and people go home, the sun is shining outside, warm and joyful, the water in the ditch is gurgling, and the larks are singing incessantly from the fields outside the city, their voices are gentle, calling for peace .The trees had woken up and smiled kindly, and above them the blue sky was bottomless and vast, and God knows where it stretched. Bishop Peter came home by car, drank enough tea, changed his clothes, lay down on the bed, and ordered the waiter to close the shutters.It was dark in the bedroom.But what a weariness, how his legs and his back ached, an unbearable, cold pain.At the same time, the buzzing in the ears is so loud!At this time, he felt as if he hadn't fallen asleep for a long, long time. As long as he closed his eyes, some trivial things would enter his mind and prevent him from falling asleep.As yesterday, there were voices, glasses, and teaspoons coming from the next room through the wall. . . . Marya Timofeyevna was telling Father Sisoy something cheerfully, mingling with witticisms, when Father Sisoy replied in a sullen and discontented tone: "Go to hell!" Let's go! How can this be done! How can this be done!"

The Bishop was troubled again, and afterward even saddened, for he thought that the old mother, who was at ease and free with strangers, was timid with him, and with her son, who spoke little, and never said what was in her heart, He even felt that these days she always found an excuse to stand up in front of him, because she felt awkward sitting.What about his father?If he was alive, he might not even be able to say a word in front of his son. . . . In the next room something fell on the floor and broke, probably Katya dropped a teacup or saucer, for Father Sisoy suddenly spat and said angrily: " It's a pain to be with this girl, Lord, forgive me a sinner! There are not enough things for you to break!"

Afterwards, everything was silent, only some noises came from the yard.When the bishop opened his eyes, he saw Katya standing in his room, motionless, looking at him.Her reddish-brown hair with a small comb brushed upwards like a halo. "Is that you, Katya?" he asked. "Who keeps opening and closing the door downstairs?" "I didn't hear," replied Katya, listening carefully. "Here, someone has passed by now." "That's the sound of your belly, uncle!" He laughed and stroked her head. "You mean, then, that cousin Nicholasa often disembowels the dead?" he asked after a moment's silence.

"Yes. He's studying." "Is he in a good mood?" "It's nothing, it's fine. It's just that he drinks a lot." "What disease did your father die of?" "Father was weak, and kept losing weight, and then suddenly his voice broke. At that time I was sick too, and my brother Fedya was also sick, and everyone's voices were broken. Dad died, uncle, We're all right." Her jaw began to tremble, and tears formed in her eyes and ran down her cheeks. "Bishop," she said sharply, already weeping bitterly, "good uncle, we and mother have had a hard time. . . . give us some money, . . . be kind, . . He also wept, and was so excited that he couldn't say a word for a long time. Then he stroked her head, patted her shoulder, and said, "Okay, okay, girl. The glorious Easter of Christ is coming, come At that time, let's discuss it....I want to help you...I want to help."

His mother came in timidly without making a sound, and prayed to the icon.Seeing that he was not asleep, she asked, "Would you like some soup?" "No thanks, . . . " he replied. "I don't want to drink." "It seems to me ... that you are sick. Of course, how can you not be sick! All the time, all the time, all the time, my God, it hurts to even look at you.Well, Easter is coming up, you rest, God bless, we'll talk then, I don't want to disturb you by talking to you at the moment. Let us go, Katya, and let the bishop sleep for a while. " He thought back to the past, long, long ago, when he was a child, she also called him the superintendent priest in her speech in a joking and respectful tone.

One could guess that she was his mother only by her unusually kind eyes, by the timid, worried look she gave him a quick glance as she came out of the room.He closed his eyes and seemed to be asleep, but twice he heard the clock strike and Father Sisoy coughing through the wall.His mother came in again and looked at him timidly for a moment.A carriage pulled up to the door, which sounded like a carriage or a carriage.Suddenly someone knocked on the door, the door slammed, and the waiter came into the bedroom. "My lord!" he cried. "What's up?" "The carriage is ready, it's time to go to the service commemorating the Passion of Christ."

"what time is it?" "It's a quarter past seven." He dressed and drove to the cathedral.He had to stand still in the middle of the church during the whole time of the twelve verses, and he himself read the longest and most beautiful first verse.High spirits and good mood.He could recite the first verse of the Gospel "Now the Son of Man is Exalted". When he was reading, he occasionally raised his eyes to look at the sea of ​​candlelight on both sides and listen to the crackling sound of candles. Like the same people he'd seen in church in his childhood and boyhood, and thought it was going to be the same people every year, and God only knew how long this would go on.

His father was a deacon, his grandfather was a priest, his great-grandfather was a deacon, and his whole family had belonged to the religious world perhaps from the time of the adoption of Christianity in Russia; Inborn, deep-rooted, irreversible.In church, especially when he was attending services, he always felt energetic, fresh, and happy.It is the same now.It wasn't until he finished reading the eighth Gospel that he felt that his voice was weak, and he couldn't even hear the cough. He had a splitting headache, and he began to feel uneasy, for fear that he would collapse on the spot.Sure enough, his legs were completely numb, and he gradually no longer felt that there were legs under his body, and he didn't understand how he could stand, what he was standing on, and why he didn't fall down. ... By the time the service was over, it was already a quarter past eleven.The bishop drove home, immediately undressed, and lay down without even praying to God.He could not speak, and felt that he could no longer stand.After he covered himself with the quilt, he suddenly wanted to go abroad. This kind of longing was unbearable!As if he would rather die than see these poor, cheap shutters and low ceilings, and smell this strong monastic smell.Even if you can find someone you can talk to, someone you can confide in!

Someone's footsteps sounded in the next room for a long time, and he couldn't remember who it was anyway.At last the door opened, and Sisoy came in holding a candle and holding a teacup in his hand. "Have you been lying down, my lord?" he asked. "Now I'm here to rub you with vinegar-and-white wine. It's a great benefit if you get it right. Lord Jesus Christ. . . . That's all. . . . . . . I went to our monastery just now. . . . I don't like it! To-morrow I'm leaving here, my lord, and I don't want to stay any longer. Lord Jesus Christ. ...that's it. ..."

Sisoy could not stay in one place for long, and it seemed to him that he had lived in the Pankracheyevsky Monastery for a whole year.The main thing is that no one can tell from his words where his home is, whether he has loved anyone or anything, whether he believes in God or not. ...He himself doesn't understand why he became a monk, and he has never thought about this question at all. As for when he became a monk, it has long been vague in his memory, as if he was born Just like a monk. "I'm leaving tomorrow. God bless him, bless everyone!" "I wanted to talk to you, but . "You know, I don't know anybody here, and I don't know anything."

"I'll stay until Sunday, by your kindness. That's all. I don't want to stay any longer. Fuck them!" "What kind of bishop am I?" the bishop continued in a low voice. "I'd rather be a country priest, a deacon, . ..." "What? Lord Jesus Christ. . . . That's enough. . . . Well, go to sleep, Monsignor! . . . What are you talking about! How can this be done! Good night!" The bishop did not sleep all night.About eight o'clock in the morning, he started bleeding from the intestines.The monk was terrified, and ran first to the monk high priest, and then to Ivan Andreitch, the monastery doctor who lived in the city.The doctor, a stout old man with a long white beard, examined the bishop for a long time, shaking his head, frowning, and then said: "Guess what, my lord? You know, you have typhoid fever." La!" The bishop was thin, pale, and haggard within an hour from the bleeding, his face was wrinkled, his eyes were large, as if he had grown old and small, and he felt to himself that he was taller than everyone else. They are all thin, weak, and insignificant. He feels that what happened in the past has receded to a place far, far away, and will never reappear, and will never continue. "How nice this is!" he thought to himself. "How nice it is!" His old mother came.Startled at the sight of his wrinkled face and his large eyes, she knelt down by his bed and began to kiss his face, his shoulders, and his hands.For some reason, she also felt that he was thinner, weaker, and insignificant than everyone else.She no longer remembered that he was a bishop, but she kissed him as a very sweet, dear child. "Pavlusha, dear," she began, "my darling! . . . my dear son! . . . How have you become like this? Answer me, Pavlusha!" Katya stood aside, pale and stern, not understanding what had happened to her uncle, why her grandmother had such an anguished look on her face, and why she was saying such touching and mournful words.As for him, he couldn't speak a word, he didn't understand anything, he just felt like an ordinary, ordinary person, walking happily and quickly across the fields, beating the ground with his cane. , with the wide sky above, the sun shining, he is free now, and he can go where he likes like a bird! "My dear son, Pavlusha, answer my words!" said the old mother. "What's the matter with you? My dear!" "Don't disturb the Bishop," Sissoy said angrily as he walked up and down the room. "Let him sleep for a while. . . . There's no need to talk, . . . what else is there to say! . . . " The three doctors came by car, consulted, and then left.The days were long, unbelievably long, and then came the night, and after a long, long time, Saturday morning the waiter went up to the old mother who was sleeping on a couch in the living room, and asked her to come into the bedroom: the bishop was dead. . The next day was Easter. There were forty-two churches and six monasteries in the city, and the loud and merry bells were ringing over the city from morning to night, stirring the spring air, birds chirping, and the sun shining brightly. shine brightly.In the big square of the market there was a great deal of voices, the swings were swinging, the hand organ was playing, the accordion was screaming, and there were drunken voices from time to time.In the streets, after noon, the ramblings on fast horses begin, in a word, the earth rejoices, and everything is going well, as it was last year, and probably it will be the same next year. A month later a new vicar was appointed, and no one thought of Bishop Peter anymore.Afterwards he was completely forgotten.Only the mother of the deceased, the old mother, now lives in the home of her son-in-law who is a deacon in a small remote county town, and every evening she goes out to look for her cows, meets other women on the pasture, and talks about her children and her children. When she told her grandchildren that she had a son who was a bishop, she spoke very timidly, for fear that people would not believe her words. ... Indeed, not everyone believed her words. "Notes" ①Christian holiday, the Sunday before Easter. ②The king of Israel in the ninth century BC was famous for his fast driving, see "Bible Kings (Part 2)". ③It is often used in Russia to beat people. ④This is made up of several words, which roughly means "birch branches for treating children and whipping". ⑤ The original meaning of the name is "syntax". ⑥ It was originally a principality in the southwestern suburbs of the Balkan Peninsula in Europe, and now belongs to Yugoslavia.The main residents there are Montenegrin people.