And as to death, do not think of it. It is foolish, dear, for a live man to think of death. 'Ecclesiastes' reflected on death better than anybody else reflected on it, and said that a living dog is better than a dead lion."They came home. The street near the house was crowded with carriages, and from the open windows came loud sounds of talk. As soon as Foma appeared in the hall, he was seized by the arms and led away to the table and there was urged to drink and eat something. A marketplace noise smote the air; the hall was crowded and suffocating. Silently, Foma drank a glass of vodka, then another, and a third. Around him they were munching and smacking their lips; the vodka poured out from the bottles was gurgling, the wine-glasses were tinkling. They were speaking of dried sturgeon and of the bass of the soloist of the bishop's choir, and then again of the dried sturgeon, and then they said that the mayor also wished to make a speech, but did not venture to do so after the bishop had spoken, fearing lest he should not speak so well as the bishop. Someone was telling with feeling:
"The deceased one used to do thus: he would cut off a slice of salmon, pepper it thickly, cover it with another slice of salmon, and then send it down immediately after a drink.""Let us follow his example," roared a thick basso. Offended to the quick, Foma looked with a frown at the fat lips and at the jaws chewing the tasty food, and he felt like crying out and driving away all these people, whose sedateness had but lately inspired him with respect for them.
"You had better be more kind, more sociable," said Mayakin in a low voice, coming up to him.
"Why are they gobbling here? Is this a tavern?" cried Foma, angrily.
"Hush," Mayakin remarked with fright and hastily turned to look around with a kind smile on his face.
But it was too late; his smile was of no avail. Foma's words had been overheard, the noise and the talk was subsiding, some of the guests began to bustle about hurriedly, others, offended, frowned, put down their forks and knives and walked away from the table, all looking at Foma askance.
Silent and angry, he met these glances without lowering his eyes.
"I ask you to come up to the table! "cried Mayakin, gleaming amid the crowd of people like an ember amid ashes. "Be seated, pray! They're soon serving pancakes."Foma shrugged his shoulders and walked off toward the door, saying aloud:
"I shall not eat."
He heard a hostile rumbling behind him and his godfather's wheedling voice saying to somebody:
"It's for grief. Ignat was at once father and mother to him."Foma came out in the garden and sat down on the same place where his father had died. The feeling of loneliness and grief oppressed his heart. He unbuttoned the collar of his shirt to make his breathing easier, rested his elbows on the table, and with his head tightly pressed between his hands, he sat motionless. It was drizzling and the leaves of the apple-tree were rustling mournfully under the drops of the rain. He sat there for a long time alone, motionless, watching how the small drops were falling from the apple-tree. His head was heavy from the vodka, and in his heart there was a growing grudge against men. Some indefinite, impersonal feelings and thoughts were springing up and vanishing within him; before him flashed the bald skull of his godfather with a little crown of silver hair and with a dark face, which resembled the faces of the ancient ikons.
This face with the toothless mouth and the malicious smile, rousing in Foma hatred and fear, augmented in him the consciousness of solitude. Then he recalled the kind eyes of Medinskaya and her small, graceful figure; and beside her arose the tall, robust, and rosy-cheeked Lubov Mayakina with smiling eyes and with a big light golden-coloured braid. "Do not rely upon men, expect but little at their hands"--his father's words began to ring in his memory. He sighed sadly and cast a glance around him. The tree leaves were fluttering from the rain, and the air was full of mournful sounds. The gray sky seemed as though weeping, and on the trees cold tears were trembling.
And Foma's soul was dry, dark; it was filled with a painful feeling of orphanhood. But this feeling gave birth to the question:
"How shall I live now that I am alone?"
The rain drenched his clothes, and when he felt that he was shivering with cold he arose and went into the house.
Life was tugging him from all sides, giving him no chance to be concentrated in thinking of and grieving for his father, and on the fortieth day after Ignat's death Foma, attired in holiday clothes, with a pleasant feeling in his heart, went to the ceremony of the corner-stone laying of the lodging-asylum. Medinskaya notified him in a letter the day before, that he had been elected as a member of the building committee and also as honorary member of the society of which she was president. This pleased him and he was greatly agitated by the part he was to play today at the laying of the corner-stone. On his way he thought of how everything would be and how he should behave in order not to be confused before the people.
"Eh, eh! Hold on!"
He turned around. Mayakin came hastening to him from the sidewalk.
He was in a frock-coat that reached his heels, in a high cap, and he carried a huge umbrella in his hand.
"Come on, take me up there," said the old man, cleverly jumping into the carriage like a monkey. "To tell the truth, I was waiting for you. I was looking around, thinking it was time for you to go.""Are you going there?" asked Foma.
"Of course! I must see how they will bury my friend's money in the ground."Foma looked at him askance and was silent. "Why do you frown upon me? Don't fear, you will also start out as a benefactor among men.""What do you mean?" asked Foma, reservedly. "I've read in the newspaper this morning that you were elected as a member of the building committee and also as an honorary member of Sophya's society.""Yes."
"This membership will eat into your pocket!" sighed Mayakin.
"That wouldn't ruin me."
