Ilya looked in the direction of the voice and answered indifferently:
"All right."
Matiza went first up the stair to her garret. She set always the right
foot on each step and dragged the left slowly after with a low moaning.
Ilya followed, unthinking, equally slowly, as though his depression of
soul hindered his ascent as much as Matiza's foot delayed her.
Matiza's room was long and narrow, and the ceiling was actually the
shape of a coffin lid. Near the door stood a Dutch stove, and along
the wall, with its head against the stove a wide bed; opposite the bed
a table and two chairs; a third chair stood in front of the window
that appeared as a dark spot in the grey wall. Up here the howling and
rushing of the wind was heard very distinctly. Ilya sat down in the
chair by the window, looked round the walls and asked, pointing to a
little eikon in one corner:
"What picture is that?"
"Saint Anna," said Matiza softly and devoutly.
"And what's your own name?"
"Anna, too, didn't you know?"
"No."
"Nobody knows!" said Matiza, and sat down heavily on the bed. Ilya
looked at her but felt no desire to speak; Matiza also was silent and
so they sat for a space, three minutes or so, dumb, with no indication
that they noticed one another. Finally Matiza asked: "Well, what shall
we do?"
"I don't know," answered Ilya, undecidedly.
"Well, that's good," said the woman, and laughed scornfully.
"What then?"
"First you can treat me; go and get a jug of beer. No--buy me something
to eat. Nothing else, just something to eat."
She faltered, coughed, and then added in a shamefaced way:
"You see, since my leg's been bad, I've earned nothing--because I can't
go out; all I had is used up; to-day's the fifth day I've sat at home,
so it's no wonder. Yesterday it was a near thing, and to-day I've eaten
nothing; it's true, by God, it's true."
For the first time Ilya became conscious that Matiza was a prostitute.
He looked close into her big face and saw that her eyes smiled a
little, and her lips moved as though they were sucking something
invisible. He felt a certain awkwardness before her, and yet a strange
interest that he could not explain.
"I'll get you something, and beer too." He got up quickly, hurried
downstairs and stood a moment before the kitchen door. Suddenly he felt
a disinclination to go back to the garret; but it only flickered like
a tiny spark in the melancholy darkness of his soul and at once faded
out. He went into the kitchen, bought some scraps of meat from the cook
for ten kopecks, a couple of slices of bread, and other odds and ends
of eatables. The cook put it all in a dirty sieve. Ilya took it in
both hands like a dish, went out into the passage and stood a moment,
wondering how to get the beer. Terenti would question him if he fetched
it himself from the bar. He called the dish-cleaner from the kitchen
and bade him get it. The man ran off, was back in a moment and gave him
the bottles without a word, and lifted the latch of the kitchen door.
"Hold on," said Ilya, "it isn't for myself; a friend is paying me a
visit, it's for him."
"Eh?"
"I'm treating a friend."
"Oh, well, what's the odds?"
Ilya felt that he had no need to lie and was a little uncomfortable.
He went upstairs, slowly, listening attentively lest any one should
call to him. But there was no sound, save the roar of the storm, no
one called him back and he returned to the woman in the garret, with a
distinct, though shy, feeling of pleasure.
Matiza set the sieve on her lap, and with her big fingers picked out
the grey fragments of meat without a word, stuffed them into her mouth
and began to eat noisily. Her teeth were large and sharp, and before
she took a bite she looked at the morsel all round as though to select
the most tasty side.
Ilya looked at her insolently and tried to imagine how he would embrace
her and kiss her, then again feared to conduct himself awkwardly and
be laughed at. He turned hot and cold with the thoughts as they came.
The wind swept over the house. It forced a way through the window in
the roof, and rattled the door, and every time the door shook, Ilya
trembled with anxiety lest any one should enter and surprise him.
"Mayn't I bolt the door?" he said.
Matiza nodded silently. Then she put the sieve on the stove, crossed
herself before the picture of Saint Anna, and said devoutly:
"Praise to thee, at least my hunger is satisfied. Ah! how little is
enough for the children of men!"
Ilya said nothing. She looked at him, sighed, and went on:
"And who desires much, from him also much shall be desired."
"Who will desire it?"
"Why, God! Don't you know that?"
Again Ilya did not reply. The name of God from her lips roused in him a
sudden feeling, vague and not to be expressed in words, that resisted
the desire of his mind. Matiza supported herself on the bed with her
hands, raised up her big body and propped herself against the wall.
Then she said in a careless voice:
"Just now, while I was eating, I was thinking of Perfishka's daughter.
I've thought about her for a long time. She lives there, with you and
Jakov; it won't be good for her, I'm afraid; you will ruin the girl
before her time, and then she'll be started on the road I travel, and
my road is a foul, a damnable road, and the women and girls that go
along it don't go upright as men should, but crawl like worms."
She was silent for a while, looked at her hands as they lay on her
knees, then went on again:
"The girl is growing tall. I've asked all my acquaintances, cooks, and
other women, to see if I could get a place for the child. No, they say
there's no place; they say, 'sell her, it will be better for her,' they
say, 'she'll get money and clothes, and somewhere to live'--it seems
as though they're right. Many a rich man whose body is failing and his
mind filthy, will buy a young girl, when women won't look at him any
more, and will ruin her--the beast. Perhaps she has a good time with
him, but it's disgusting, all the same, really, and it's better without
that. Better for her to live hungry and in honour, than----"
She began to cough, as though a word had stuck in her throat, and then
finished her sentence with evident effort, but in the same indifferent
voice:
"Than in shame and hungry all the same, like me, for instance."
The wind whistled along the floor and rattled fiercely at the door.
A fine rain drummed on the galvanised iron roof, and outside in the
darkness in front of the window a soft whistling sound was heard.
"E--e--e!"
The indifferent tone, and Matiza's plump, inexpressive face, made a
barrier to the feelings surging up in Ilya, and took from him the
courage to express his desire. Matiza pushed him away, he thought, and
he grew angry with her.
"O God! O God!" she sighed softly. "Holy Mother."
Ilya jerked his chair backwards and forwards crossly, and said:
"You call yourself impure, and all the time you're saying: 'God--God.'
Do you think He cares, that His name's always on your lips?"
Matiza looked at him, then after a pause, shaking her head:
"I don't understand," she said.
"There's nothing to understand," Ilya burst out, getting up from his
chair. "You're all alike! first you let your sinfulness drive you--then
it's 'O God!' If you want God, then leave your sin!"
"What!" cried Matiza, troubled. "What do you mean? Who should call to
God if not sinners? Who else?"
"I don't know who else," cried Ilya, feeling an unconquerable desire
to wound this woman and the whole human race, deeply and cruelly. "I
only know it doesn't belong to you to speak of Him, not you, at any
rate. You take Him as a cover for your sins--I see. I'm not a child
now. I can use my eyes. Every one laments, every one complains, but
why are they all so worthless? Why do they lie, and rob one another?
Why are they so greedy for a scrap of bread? Ha! ha! First the sin
is committed, then it's 'O Lord, have mercy!' I see through you, you
liars, you devils! you lie to yourselves, and you lie to your God."
Matiza said nothing, but looked at him with her mouth open, and her
neck outstretched, and an expression of dull-witted astonishment in
her eyes. Ilya strode to the door, drew back the bolt with a jerk and
went out slamming the door to behind him. He felt that he had insulted
Matiza grossly, and he was glad of it; his heart was lighter and his
head clearer. He descended the stairs with a firm step and whistled
as he went through his teeth; but his wrath still supplied him with
hard, contemptuous words. He felt that all these words glowed in him
like flames, and illumined the darkness of his soul, and showed the way
which led him apart from mankind. The words fitted not only Matiza, but
Terenti, too, and Petrusha, and Strogany, and in short, every one.
"That's it," he thought, as he reached the court again. "Just to stand
no nonsense from you rabble!"
The wind chased round the court howling and whistling. Somewhere some
one was knocking and the air was full of short detached sounds, like
horrible, cold-blooded laughter.
Soon after his visit to Matiza, Ilya began to go after women. The first
time it happened in this way. He was going home one evening when a girl
spoke to him:
"Won't you come with me?"
He looked at her, then walked along beside her silently. He hung his
head as he went, and looked round frequently, fearing all the time to
meet an acquaintance. After a few paces side by side, the girl said,
warningly: "You must give me a rouble."
"All right," said Ilya, "only hurry."
And till they reached the girl's house they exchanged no further word;
that was all.
Acquaintance with women led him at once into great expense, and more
and more often Ilya came to the conclusion that his pedlar's trade only
wasted his time and strength to no purpose and would never help him to
the peaceful life he desired to lead. He meditated long, whether to
establish lotteries like the other pedlars, and so cheat the public as
they did. But further consideration convinced him that these methods
were too small and full of anxiety. He would have either to bribe the
police or hide from them, and both courses were distasteful to him.
He liked to look all men straight in the face and felt it a constant
pleasure to be always cleaner and better dressed than the other
pedlars, to drink no brandy and practise no deceptions. Self-controlled
and self-respecting, he walked the streets, and his clean-cut face
with its high cheek-bones had always a serious, sober expression. When
he spoke he drew his dark eyebrows together, but he spoke seldom and
always deliberately.
Often he dreamed how splendid it would be if he could find a thousand
roubles or more. All thieves' tales roused in him a burning interest.
He bought newspapers and read attentively all details of robberies and
then looked for days to know if the thieves were discovered or no. If
they were caught, Ilya would rage and say to Jakov: "Asses! to let
themselves be caught, better let it alone, if they don't understand
the business. Fools!" One day he was sitting in his room with Jakov
when he said:
"The knaves have a better time in the world than the honest people."
A mysterious expression came into Jakov's face. His eyes blinked and he
said in the subdued tone that he always had when he spoke of unusual
things:
"The day before yesterday, your uncle had tea in the bar with an old
man; he must have been a Bible preacher, and this old man said that in
the Bible it was written: 'The tabernacles of robbers prosper, and they
that provoke God are secure; into whose hand God bringeth abundantly.'"
"You're inventing," said Ilya, and looked attentively at Jakov.
"They're not my words," answered Jakov, and stretched out his hands as
though to catch something in the air. "I don't believe that it is in
the Bible; perhaps he made it up, the old fox. I asked him once and
twice, and each time he said the words the same as before exactly. And
there's something in the words sounds right; we must have a look and
see if it really is in the Bible." He bent towards Ilya and went on in
a low voice: "Take my father, for instance, how peacefully he lives,
and yet he does things fit to rouse the anger of God."
"How?" cried Ilya.
"Now they've elected him town councillor."
Jakov let his head fall on his breast, sighed deeply, and said again:
"Everything that concerns man ought to be as clear as spring water
to the conscience, and here----Oh! it disgusts me. I don't know any
longer what to think. I don't know how to fit myself for this life. I
don't want to. Father's always on at me, 'it's time,' he says, 'to stop
your child's play, you must be reasonable at last, and make yourself
useful.' But how can I make myself useful. I wait behind the counter
often when Terenti isn't there, and though I hate it, I do it anyway.
But to start something for myself, I don't know how."
"You must learn," said Ilya decidedly.
"Life is so difficult," said Jakov softly.
"Difficult for you? don't talk nonsense," cried Ilya, and sprang from
his bed and went over to his friend, who was sitting at the window.
"My life is difficult if you like, but yours, what do you want? When
your father's old or dead, you'll take over the business, and be your
own master, but I--I fag about the streets all day long and see in the
shop windows stockings and vests, and watches, and all sorts of things,
and I look at myself and think, I can't buy a watch like that. D'you
understand? And I should like to ever so much, but what I want most is
for people to respect me. Why am I worse than the rest? I'm better,
really! Perhaps I'm a rascal, eh? I know people who think no end of
themselves and are just rascals, and they get elected town councillors.
They've houses and inns; why do such swindlers have all the luck, and I
none? I'll get on, too. I'll get hold of my luck."
Jakov looked at his friend and said quietly, but with emphasis:
"God grant that you never get your luck!"
"What! why?" cried Ilya, and stood still in the middle of the room and
looked angrily at Jakov.
"You're too greedy, you'll never get enough." Ilya laughed drily and
evilly.
"I'll never get enough? Just tell your father to give me half the money
he and my uncle stole from old Jeremy, that'll be enough! Yes--I'm
greedy am I?--and your father first."
Jakov got up and went quietly with bowed head to the door. Ilya saw his
shoulders twitch and his head bend as though he had received a painful
blow in the neck.
"Stop," cried Ilya, confused, and grasped his friend's hand. "Where are
you going?"
"Let go, brother," half whispered Jakov, then stood still and looked at
Ilya. His face was pale, his lips pressed together and his whole figure
bowed as though by a heavy load.
"Oh! don't be angry, stay a minute," said Ilya, penitent, and led Jakov
from the door back to his chair. "Don't get cross with me--it's true,
anyhow."
"I know."
"You know? Who told you?"
"Everybody says it."
"H'm--yes; but those who say it are rascals too." Jakov looked at him
mournfully and sighed.
"I didn't believe it; I thought all the time they said it just out of
meanness, out of spite. But then, I began to believe, and if you say
it, too--then----"
He made a gesture to express his despair, turned away and stood
motionless, his hands grasping the chair, and his head sunk on his
breast; Ilya sat on his bed in the same mood and said nothing, for
he did not know how to comfort his friend. Behind the wall there was
outcry and noise, till the glasses rattled and the voice of a drunken
woman sang:
"I cannot sleep, I cannot rest,
For slumber will not come to me."
"And this is where one has to live!" said Jakov, half aloud.
"Oh yes!" answered Ilya, in the same tone, "I can easily understand,
brother, that you don't like it here. The only consolation is, it's the
same everywhere, men are all alike in the long run."
"Do you know that really for a fact; that about my father and Jeremy?"
asked Jakov timidly, without looking at his friend.
"I? I saw it myself; do you remember how I ran out? I looked through a
chink and saw them sewing up the pillow--the old man was still gasping."
Jakov shrugged his shoulders and said nothing. They sat in silence
for a long time, both in the same position, one on the bed, the other
on the chair. Then Jakov got up, went to the door, and said to Ilya,
"Good-bye."
"Good-bye, brother--take it easy; what can you do after all?"
"I? Nothing, unfortunately," said Jakov, as he opened the door.
Ilya looked after him, then sank heavily on his bed. He was sorry for
Jakov, and again hatred welled up in him against his uncle, against
Petrusha, against all mankind. He saw that a being as weak as Jakov
could not live among them, such a good, quiet, clean-minded fellow.
Ilya let his thoughts run freely over men and in his mind different
memories rose up showing him mankind as evil, horrible, lying
creatures. The times, in truth, were many in which he had seen them so,
and it relieved him to let his scorn loose on them; and the blacker
they seemed to him, the heavier weighed on him a strange feeling,
partly a vague desire, partly a malignant joy at other's suffering,
partly a fear at remaining so alone in the midst of this dark wretched
existence, that raged round him like a mad whirlpool.
Finally he lost patience at lying alone in the little room, where the
noise and reek pressed through the wall, and he got up and went out in
the open. Till late that night he roamed the streets, bearing the heavy
load of dull torturing thought. He felt as though even behind him in
the darkness, some enemy strode and pushed him imperceptibly to all
places that were wearisome and melancholy. All that his unseen enemy
showed him roused rancour and bitterness in his soul. There is good in
the world, good men, and happy events, and cheerfulness; why did he
see nothing of this, but come in contact only with what was gloomy and
evil? Who guided him constantly to the soiled, the wretched, and the
wicked things of life? In the grip of his thoughts he strode through
the fields along the stone wall of a cloister outside the town, and
looked about him. Heavy and slow the clouds drifted towards him out of
a vast dim distance. Here and there above his head the sky glimmered
between the dark masses of cloud, and little stars looked shyly down.
From time to time the metallic tones of the bell rang through the still
night from the tower of the cloister church; it was the only sound in
the deathly quiet that enfolded the earth. Even from the dark mass of
houses behind Ilya came no sound of noisy bustle, though it was not yet
late. It was a cold, frosty night. As he walked Ilya's feet struck the
frozen mud. An uneasy sense of isolation and the fear that his brooding
evoked, brought him to a standstill. He leaned his back against the
stone cloister wall, and thought again who it might be who guided him
through life, and full of mischief let loose on him always evil and
hateful things. A cold shudder ran through his frame, and almost with a
premonition of something awful before him, he started from the wall and
hurried back to the town, stumbling more and more often over the frozen
mud. His arms pressed close to his sides, he ran forward, and full of
fear did not once dare to cast a look behind.