"I will go and see about the supper," said my mother, and hurriedly
left the room.
"Yes, you are silent," I repeated, with sudden conviction. "Since
morning I have not heard a word from you; I am the only one who chats,
laughs, and makes merry. Are you not glad to see me then? And why do
you all avoid looking at me? Have I changed so? Yes, I am changed. But
I do not see any looking-glasses about. Have you put them all away?
Give me a looking-glass."
"I will bring you one directly," answered my wife, and did not come
back for a long time, and the looking-glass was brought by the maid.
I looked into it, and--I had seen myself before in the train, at the
station--it was the same face, grown older a little, but the most
ordinary face. While they, I believe, expected me to cry out and
faint--so glad were they when I asked calmly,--
"What is there so unusual in me?"
Laughing louder and louder, my sister left the room hurriedly, and my
brother said with calm assurance: "Yes, you have not changed much, only
grown slightly bald."
"You can be thankful that my head is not broken," answered I,
unconcernedly. "But where do they all disappear?--first one, then
another. Wheel me about the rooms, please. What a comfortable armchair,
it does not make the slightest sound. How much did it cost? You bet
I won't spare the money: I will buy myself such a pair of legs,
better.... My bicycle!"
It was hanging on the wall, quite new, only the tyres were limp for
want of pumping. A tiny bit of mud had dried to the tyre of the back
wheel--the last time I had ridden it. My brother was silent and did not
move my chair, and I understood his silence and irresoluteness.
"Only four officers remained alive in our regiment," said I, surlily.
"I am very lucky.... You can take it for yourself--take it away
to-morrow."
"All right, I will take it," agreed my brother submissively. "Yes,
you are lucky. Half of the town is in mourning. While legs--that is
really...."
"Of course I am not a postman."