Part 70 (1/2)

”Sometimes I feel very sorry for Foma. What will become of him?”

”That does not concern me. I believe that nothing in particular will become of him--neither good nor bad. The insipid fellow will squander his money away, and will be ruined. What else? Eh, the deuce take him!

Such people as he is are rare nowadays. Now the merchant knows the power of education. And he, that foster-brother of yours, he will go to ruin.”

”That's true, sir!” said Foma, opening the door and appearing on the threshold.

Pale, with knitted brow and quivering lips, he stared straight into Taras's face and said in a dull voice: ”True! I will go to ruin and--amen! The sooner the better!”

Lubov sprang up from the chair with frightened face, and ran up to Taras, who stood calmly in the middle of the room, with his hands thrust in his pockets.

”Foma! Oh! Shame! You have been eavesdropping. Oh, Foma!” said she in confusion.

”Keep quiet, you lamb!” said Foma to her.

”Yes, eavesdropping is wrong!” e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Taras, slowly, without lifting from Foma his look of contempt.

”Let it be wrong!” said Foma, with a wave of the hand. ”Is it my fault that the truth can be learned by eavesdropping only?”

”Go away, Foma, please!” entreated Lubov, pressing close to her brother.

”Perhaps you have something to say to me?” asked Taras, calmly.

”I?” exclaimed Foma. ”What can I say? I cannot say anything. It is you who--you, I believe, know everything.”

”You have nothing then to discuss with me?” asked Taras again.

”I am very pleased.”

He turned sideways to Foma and inquired of Lubov:

”What do you think--will father return soon?”

Foma looked at him, and, feeling something akin to respect for the man, deliberately left the house. He did not feel like going to his own huge empty house, where each step of his awakened a ringing echo, he strolled along the street, which was enveloped in the melancholy gray twilight of late autumn. He thought of Taras Mayakin.

”How severe he is. He takes after his father. Only he's not so restless.

He's also a cunning rogue, I think, while Lubka regarded him almost as a saint. That foolish girl! What a sermon he read to me! A regular judge.

And she--she was kind toward me.” But all these thoughts stirred in him no feelings--neither hatred toward Taras nor sympathy for Lubov.

He carried with him something painful and uncomfortable, something incomprehensible to him, that kept growing within his breast, and it seemed to him that his heart was swollen and was gnawing as though from an abscess. He hearkened to that unceasing and indomitable pain, noticed that it was growing more and more acute from hour to hour, and, not knowing how to allay it, waited for the results.

Then his G.o.dfather's trotter pa.s.sed him. Foma saw in the carriage the small figure of Yakov Mayakin, but even that aroused no feeling in him.

A lamplighter ran past Foma, overtook him, placed his ladder against the lamp post and went up. The ladder suddenly slipped under his weight, and he, clasping the lamp post, cursed loudly and angrily. A girl jostled Foma in the side with her bundle and said:

”Excuse me.”

He glanced at her and said nothing. Then a drizzling rain began to fall from the sky--tiny, scarcely visible drops of moisture overcast the lights of the lanterns and the shop windows with grayish dust. This dust made him breathe with difficulty.

”Shall I go to Yozhov and pa.s.s the night there? I might drink with him,”

thought Foma and went away to Yozhov, not having the slightest desire either to see the feuilleton-writer or to drink with him.