by Maxim Gorky
“What’s the sentence?”
“Deportation.”
“For all?”
“For all.”
“Thank you!”
The man walked away.
“You see?” said Sizov. “People are asking…”
They were suddenly surrounded by up to a dozen young men and girls, and exclamations were quickly flung about, attracting other people. The mother and Sizov stopped. They were asked about the sentence, about how the defendants had conducted themselves, who had made speeches and what about, and in all of the questions could be heard one and the same note of avid curiosity, sincere and fervent, which aroused a desire to satisfy it.
“Gentlemen! This is Pavel Vlasov’s mother!” someone cried in a low voice and, not at once, but quickly, all fell silent.
“Allow me to shake your hand!”
Someone’s strong hand squeezed the mother’s fingers; someone’s voice began speaking excitedly:
“Your son will be an example of courage to us all…”
“Long live the Russian worker!” rang out a resonant cry.
The cries grew and multiplied, flaring up here and there, and from everywhere people came running, gathering around Sizov and the mother. The whistling of the police began leaping through the air, but its trills could not drown the cries. The old man was laughing, and to the mother it all seemed a sweet dream. They smiled, shook hands, bowed, and good, bright tears made her throat contract; her legs were trembling with tiredness, but her heart, sated with joy and swallowing everything, reflected her impressions like the bright face of a lake. And someone’s clear voice nearby was saying nervously:
“Comrades! The monster devouring the Russian people has today again used its bottomless, greedy jaws to swallow…”
“Let’s go, though, mother!” said Sizov.
And at the same moment Sasha appeared from somewhere, took the mother by the arm and quickly dragged her away to the other side of the street, saying:
“Go – they’ll quite likely be hitting people. Or arresting them. Deportation? To Siberia?”
“Yes, yes!”
“And how did he speak? I know, though. He was stronger and simpler than anyone, and sterner than anyone, of course. He’s sensitive and tender, but he’s just embarrassed about letting it show.”
Her ardent half-whisper, her words of love, calmed the mother’s agitation and lifted her fallen strength.
“When will you go to him?” she asked Sasha quietly and affectionately, pressing the girl’s arm against her own body. Gazing confidently ahead, the girl replied:
“As soon as I find someone to take on my work. I’m expecting a sentence as well, after all. They’ll probably send me to Siberia too, and then I’ll state that I want to be settled in the place where he’s going to be.”
From behind them came Sizov’s voice:
“Give him my greetings, then! From Sizov, say. He knows me. Fyodor Mazin’s uncle…”
Sasha stopped and turned, reaching out her hand.
“I know Fedya. My name’s Alexandra.”
“And your patronymic?”
She glanced at him and replied:
“I have no father.”
“He’s dead, then…”
“No, he’s alive!” the girl replied excitedly, and something stubborn and insistent rang out in her voice and appeared on her face. “He’s a landowner, and now he’s a land captain and he’s robbing the peasants…”
“Ri-ight!” Sizov responded dispiritedly, and after a pause, walking beside the girl and giving her sidelong glances, he said:
“So, Mother, farewell! I’ve got a long way to go. Goodbye, young lady – you’re harsh about your father! Of course, that’s your business…”
“But if your son’s a rotten man who does harm to people, will you say so?” Sasha cried passionately.
“Well, yes!” the old man answered, though not immediately.
“That means justice is dearer to you than your son, and to me it’s dearer than my father…”
Sizov smiled, shaking his head, then said with a sigh:
“All right! Good answer! If there’s enough of you to last a long while, you’re going to overcome the old men; you’ve got a good head of steam!… Farewell, I wish you all the best! But be a bit softer on people, eh? Farewell, Nilovna! When you see Pavel, say I heard his speech. I didn’t understand everything, some of it was even scary, but say it was right!”
He raised his hat and turned the corner of the street.
“A good man, I should think!” remarked Sasha, following him with her big, smiling eyes.
It seemed to the mother that the girl’s face was softer and kinder today than it usually was.
At home they sat down on the sofa, pressing up tight to one another, and the mother, resting in the quietness, again began to talk about Sasha going to Pavel. Raising her thick eyebrows pensively, the girl gazed into the distance with her big, dreamy eyes, and across her pale face spread calm contemplation.
“Then, when you have children, I’ll come out to you and look after them. And we’ll have a life there no worse than here. Pasha’ll find work – he’s got good hands…”
Casting an enquiring glance at the mother, Sasha asked:
“And wouldn’t you like to go after him now?”
With a sigh the mother said:
“What does he want me for? I’ll only be a hindrance if there’s an escape. And he wouldn’t agree to it either…”
Sasha nodded her head.
“No, he won’t.”
“What’s more, I’ve got a job to do!” the mother added with a certain pride.
“Yes!” Sasha responded pensively. “That’s a good thing…”
And suddenly, giving a start, as though throwing something off her, she began speaking simply, in a low voice:
“He won’t stay there. He’ll leave, of course…”
“But what about you?… And the child, if there is one?…”
“We’ll see later on. He shouldn’t consider me, and I shan’t hamper him. It’ll be hard for me to part with him, but, it stands to reason, I’ll manage. I shan’t hamper him, no.”
The mother sensed that Sasha was capable of doing as she was saying, and she felt sorry for the girl. Putting her arms around her, she said:
“My dear girl, it’s going to be hard for you!”
Sasha smiled softly, pressing her whole body up against the mother’s.
A weary Nikolai appeared and, taking off his things, began saying hurriedly:
“Well, Sashenka, you get away while you still can! Two spies have been strolling behind me since morning, and so openly that it smells of an arrest. I have a premonition. Something’s happened somewhere. Incidentally, I’ve got Pavel’s speech here; it’s been decided to print it. Take it to Lyudmila, beg her to work really quickly. Pavel spoke splendidly, Nilovna!… Look out for spies, Sasha…”
He rubbed his frozen hands hard as he spoke and, going up to the desk, preoccupied and dishevelled, began hurriedly opening drawers and selecting documents from them, some of which he tore up, while setting others aside.
“It wasn’t so long ago that I cleaned everything out, but there’s so much of this and that already piled up again, damn it! You see, Nilovna, it’s quite likely better if you don’t spend the night at home either, eh? Being present for this particular music is quite tedious, and they might put you in prison too – and it’ll be vital for you to travel to and fro with Pavel’s speech…”
“Why, what do they want me for?” said the mother.
Waving his hand about in front of his eyes, Nikolai said with certainty:
“I can smell something. What’s more, you could help Lyudmila, eh? Keep out of harm’s way…”
The opportunity to take part in the prin
ting of her son’s speech was pleasant for her, and she answered:
“If that’s how it is, then I’ll leave.”
And surprising herself, she said with certainty, but in a low voice:
“I’m not afraid of anything now, thank the Lord!”
“Wonderful!” exclaimed Nikolai without looking at her. “Here’s what: you tell me where my suitcase and my linen are, because you’ve taken everything into your predatory hands, and I’ve completely lost the capacity to dispose freely of my own personal property.”
Sasha was silently burning scraps of paper in the stove and, when they had burnt away, was mixing the ashes thoroughly with the cinders.
“Go away, Sasha!” said Nikolai, reaching a hand out to her. “Goodbye! Don’t forget to send me books, if anything interesting turns up. Well, goodbye, dear comrade! Be really careful…”
“Are you expecting a long sentence?” asked Sasha.
“The devil knows! They’ve probably got something on me. Nilovna, go together, eh? It’s harder to follow two people – all right?”
“I’m going!” the mother replied. “I’ll put my things on at once…”
She had been studying Nikolai carefully but, apart from the preoccupation masking his usual kind and gentle expression, she had not noticed anything. No excessive fussiness in his movements, no sign of agitation did she see in this man who was more dear to her than the others. Equally attentive to all, affectionate and even-tempered with all, always serenely alone, he remained for everyone the same as ever, living a secret life, both inside himself and somewhere out ahead of other people. But she knew he had become closer to her than anyone, and she loved him with a cautious love that did not seem to believe in itself. Now she felt unbearably sorry for him, but she contained this feeling, knowing that if she showed it, Nikolai would be bewildered and embarrassed and would become, as always, a little ridiculous, and she did not want to see him like that.
She went back into the room, where he was shaking Sasha’s hand and saying:
“Wonderful! I’m sure that’s very good for him and for you. There’s no harm in a little personal happiness. Are you ready, Nilovna?”
He went up to her, smiling and adjusting his glasses.
“Well, goodbye, for about three months, I’d like to think, or four, or six at the outside! Six months – that’s a great deal of life… Look after yourself, please, eh? Let’s have a hug…”
Thin and slender, he put his strong arms around her neck, glanced into her eyes and laughed, saying:
“I seem to have fallen in love with you – I’m always giving you hugs!”
She was silent while kissing his forehead and cheeks, but her hands were shaking. So that he would not notice it, she unclasped them.
“Now look, tomorrow be really careful! What you should do is send a boy in the morning – Lyudmila’s got a little lad there – and let him take a look. Well, goodbye, comrades! Everything’s all right!…”
Outside, Sasha said to the mother quietly:
“And he’ll go to his death just as simply, if he needs to, and will probably be in a bit of a hurry in just the same way. And when death looks him in the face, he’ll adjust his glasses, say ‘Wonderful!’ and die.”
“I do love him!” whispered the mother.
“I wonder at him, but love him – no! I respect him a lot. He’s dry somehow, though kind and even-tempered, maybe tender at times, but none of it’s human enough… Someone seems to be watching us. Let’s separate. And don’t go into Lyudmila’s if you think there’s a spy.”
“I know!” said the mother. But Sasha added insistently:
“Don’t go in! If that’s the case, come to me. Farewell for now!”
She turned around quickly and set off in the opposite direction.
XXVIII
A few minutes later, the mother was sitting warming herself by the stove in Lyudmila’s little room. Her hostess, in a belted black dress, was pacing slowly up and down the room, filling it with rustling and the sound of her commanding voice.
The fire in the stove was crackling and howling as it drew in the air from the room, and the woman’s speech rang out evenly:
“People are much more stupid than evil. They only know how to see what’s close to them, what can be had now. But everything that’s close is cheap, and what’s dear is far off. After all, it would, in essence, be advantageous and pleasant for everyone if life became different and easier, and people more reasonable. But for that to happen it’s essential to stir oneself right away…”
Suddenly stopping in front of the mother, she said more quietly, and as though excusing herself:
“I see people rarely, and when anybody comes, I start talking. Is that ridiculous?”
“Why?” the mother responded. She was trying to guess where this woman did the printing, but could see nothing unusual. In the room with its three windows looking into the street stood a sofa and a bookcase, a table and chairs, a bed by the wall; in the corner beside it a washstand, in another corner the stove, and on the walls there were photographs of pictures. Everything was new, sturdy and clean, and the monastic figure of the owner threw a cold shadow upon it all. There was a sense of something hidden away, concealed, but where was unclear. The mother examined the doors: through one she had come in from the little entrance hall, and by the stove was another door, tall and narrow.
“I’ve come to you with work!” she said in embarrassment, noticing that her hostess had been observing her.
“I know! People don’t come to me otherwise…”
The mother thought she heard something strange in Lyudmila’s voice and looked her in the face; she was smiling with the corners of her thin lips, and her matt eyes were shining behind the lenses of her glasses. Shifting her gaze aside, the mother handed her Pavel’s speech.
“Here, they want it printed really quickly…”
And she started telling her about Nikolai’s preparations for arrest.
Silently tucking the paper into her belt, Lyudmila sat down on a chair, and the red glow of the fire was reflected in the lenses of her glasses, while its hot smiles began to play on her immobile face.
“When they come to me, I’m going to shoot at them,” she said in a low, decisive voice, after hearing out the mother’s account. “I have the right to defend myself against force, and I have to fight it myself if I call upon others to do so.”
The reflections of the fire slipped from her face, and again it became severe and a little haughty.
“You don’t have a good life!” the mother suddenly thought affectionately.
Lyudmila started reading Pavel’s speech reluctantly, then bent ever closer over the paper, quickly tossing the sheets she had read aside, and when she had finished reading, she rose, straightened up and went over to the mother.
“It’s good!”
She had a think, bowing her head for a minute.
“I didn’t want to talk to you about your son; I haven’t met him and I don’t like sad conversations. I know what it means when a dear one goes into exile! But I want to ask you – is it good to have such a son?…”
“Yes, it is!” said the mother.
“And frightening, yes?”
Smiling serenely, the mother replied:
“It’s not frightening any more…”
Adjusting her smoothly combed hair with a swarthy hand, Lyudmila turned away to the window. A slight shadow was trembling on her cheeks, perhaps the shadow of a suppressed smile.
“I’ll set it quickly. You lie down: you’ve had a hard day, you’re tired. Lie down here on the bed. I’m not going to sleep, and I may wake you up in the night to help me… When you go to bed, put out the lamp.”
She threw two more logs into the stove, straightened up and went away through the narrow door by the stove, shutting it tight behind her. The mother f
ollowed her with her gaze and then began undressing, thinking about her hostess:
“She’s sad about something…”
Tiredness was making her head spin, but her soul was strangely serene, and everything was lit in her eyes with a soft and gentle light, quietly and evenly filling her breast. She already knew this serenity; it always came to her after great agitation, and previously it had alarmed her somewhat, but now it only expanded her soul, strengthening it with great and powerful feeling. She put the lamp out, lay down in the cold bed, huddled up under the blanket and fell quickly into a deep sleep.
And when she opened her eyes, the room was full of the cold white lustre of a clear winter’s day, her hostess was lying on the sofa with a book in her hands and, smiling, unlike herself, was looking into the mother’s face.
“Oh, good Heavens!” the mother exclaimed in embarrassment. “Look at me – is it late, eh?”
“Good morning!” Lyudmila responded. “It’ll soon be ten, get up and we’ll have some tea.”
“Why didn’t you wake me up?”
“I wanted to. But I came over to you, and you were smiling so nicely in your sleep…”
With a lithe movement of her entire body she rose from the sofa, went over to the bed and bent towards the mother’s face, and the mother saw something in her matt eyes that was dear and close to her and that she could understand.
“I felt it was a shame to trouble you – maybe you were having a happy dream…”
“I didn’t have any!”
“Well, all the same! I liked your smile. Serene, it was, kind… big!”
Lyudmila laughed, and the sound of her laugh was low and velvety.
“And I fell to thinking about you… You have a hard life!”
Twitching her eyebrows, the mother was silent, thinking.
“Of course you do!” Lyudmila exclaimed.
“I really don’t know!” the mother said cautiously. “Sometimes it seems hard. But there are so many things going on, everything’s so serious and surprising, with one thing coming after another quickly, so quickly…”