"From freedom. The man is not fettered. What is there that he should regret? What does he fear? And what do I fear? What is there that I should regret?"These two questions seemed to strike Foma's heart and called forth in him a dull perplexity. He looked at the movement of the working people and kept on thinking: What did he regret? What did he fear?
"Alone, with my own strength, I shall evidently never come out anywhere. Like a fool I shall keep on tramping about among people, mocked and offended by all. If they would only jostle me aside; if they would only hate me, then--then--I would go out into the wide world! Whether I liked or not, I would have to go!"From one of the landing wharves the merry "dubinushka"["Dubinushka," or the "Oaken Cudgel," is a song popular with the Russian workmen.] had already been smiting the air for a long time. The carriers were doing a certain work, which required brisk movements, and were adapting the song and the refrain to them.
"In the tavern sit great merchants Drinking liquors strong,"narrated the leader, in a bold recitative. The company joined in unison:
"Oh, dubinushka, heave-ho!"
And then the bassos smote the air with deep sounds:
"It goes, it goes."
And the tenors repeated:
"It goes, it goes."
Foma listened to the song and directed his footsteps toward it, on the wharf. There he noticed that the carriers, formed in two rows, were rolling out of the steamer's hold huge barrels of salted fish. Dirty, clad in red blouses, unfastened at the collar, with mittens on their hands, with arms bare to the elbow, they stood over the hold, and, merrily jesting, with faces animated by toil, they pulled the ropes, all together, keeping time to their song. And from the hold rang out the high, laughing voice of the invisible leader:
"But for our peasant throats There is not enough vodka."And the company, like one huge pair of lungs, heaved forth loudly and in unison:
"Oh, dubinushka, heave-ho!"
Foma felt pleased and envious as he looked at this work, which was as harmonious as music. The slovenly faces of the carriers beamed with smiles, the work was easy, it went on smoothly, and the leader of the chorus was in his best vein. Foma thought that it would be fine to work thus in unison, with good comrades, to the tune of a cheerful song, to get tired from work to drink a glass of vodka and eat fat cabbage soup, prepared by the stout, sprightly matron of the company.
"Quicker, boys, quicker!" rang out beside him someone's unpleasant, hoarse voice.
Foma turned around. A stout man, with an enormous paunch, tapped on the boards of the landing bridge with his cane, as he looked at the carriers with his small eyes and said:
"Bawl less and work faster."
His face and neck were covered with perspiration; he wiped it off every now and then with his left hand and breathed heavily, as though he were going uphill.
Foma cast at the man a hostile look and thought:
"Others are working and he is sweating. And I am still worse than he. I'm like a crow on the fence, good for nothing."From each and every impression there immediately stood out in his mind the painful thought of his unfitness for life. Everything that attracted his attention contained something offensive to him, and this something fell like a brick upon his breast. At one side of him, by the freight scales, stood two sailors, and one of them, a square-built, red-faced fellow, was telling the other:
"As they rushed on me it began for fair, my dear chap! There were four of them--I was alone! But I didn't give in to them, because I saw that they would beat me to death! Even a ram will kick out if you fleece it alive. How I tore myself away from them! They all rolled away in different directions.""But you came in for a sound drubbing all the same?" inquired the other sailor.
"Of course! I caught it. I swallowed about five blows. But what's the difference? They didn't kill me. Well, thank God for it!""Certainly."
"To the stern, devils, to the stern, I'm telling you!" roared the perspiring man in a ferocious voice at two carriers who were rolling a barrel of fish along the deck.
"What are you yelling for?" Foma turned to him sternly, as he had started at the shout.
"Is that any of your business?" asked the perspiring man, casting a glance at Foma.
"It is my business! The people are working and your fat is melting away. So you think you must yell at them?" said Foma, threateningly, moving closer toward him.
"You--you had better keep your temper."
The perspiring man suddenly rushed away from his place and went into his office. Foma looked after him and also went away from the wharf; filled with a desire to abuse some one, to do something, just to divert his thoughts from himself at least for a short while. But his thoughts took a firmer hold on him.
"That sailor there, he tore himself away, and he's safe and sound! Yes, while I--"In the evening he again went up to the Mayakins. The old man was not at home, and in the dining-room sat Lubov with her brother, drinking tea. On reaching the door Foma heard the hoarse voice of Taras:
"What makes father bother himself about him?"At the sight of Foma he stopped short, staring at his face with a serious, searching look. An expression of agitation was clearly depicted on Lubov's face, and she said with dissatisfaction and at the same time apologetically:
"Ah! So it's you?"
"They've been speaking of me," thought Foma, as he seated himself at the table. Taras turned his eyes away from him and sank deeper in the armchair. There was an awkward silence lasting for about a minute, and this pleased Foma.
"Are you going to the banquet?"
"What banquet?"
"Don't you know? Kononov is going to consecrate his new steamer.
A mass will be held there and then they are going to take a trip up the Volga.""I was not invited," said Foma.
"Nobody was invited. He simply announced on the Exchange:
'Anybody who wishes to honour me is welcome!
"I don't care for it."
"Yes? But there will be a grand drinking bout," said Lubov, looking at him askance.
