Creatures That Once Were Men
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Maxim Gorky >> Creatures That Once Were Men
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"Six hundred!" and Petunikoff smiled softly. "You are a funny
fellow!"
"The law is on my side. . . I can even demand two thousand. I
can insist on your pulling down the building . . . and enforce it
too. That is why my claim is so small. I demand that you should
pull it down!"
"Very well. Probably we shall do so . . . after three years, and
after having dragged you into enormous law expenses. And then,
having paid up, we shall open our public-house and you will be
ruined . . . annihilated like the Swedes at Poltava. We shall
see that you are ruined . . . we will take good care of that. We
could have begun to arrange about a public-house now, but you see
our time is valuable, and besides we are sorry for you. Why
should we take the bread out of your mouth without any reason?"
Egor Terentievitch looked at his guest, clenching his teeth, and
felt that he was master of the situation, and held his fate in
his hands. Vaviloff was full of pity for himself at having to
deal with this calm, cruel figure in the checked suit.
"And being such a near neighbour you might have gained a good
deal by helping us, and we should have remembered it too. Even
now, for instance, I should advise you to open a small shop for
tobacco, you know, bread, cucumbers, and so on. . . All these
are sure to be in great demand."
Vaviloff listened, and being a clever man, knew that to throw
himself upon the enemy's generosity was the better plan. It was
as well to begin from the beginning, and, not knowing what else
to do to relieve his mind, the soldier began to swear at Kuvalda.
"Curses be upon your head, you drunken rascal! May the Devil
take you!"
"Do you mean the lawyer who composed your petition?" asked
Petunikoff, calmly, and added, with a sigh, "I have no doubt he
would have landed you in rather an awkward fix . . . had we not
taken pity upon you."
"Ah!" And the angry soldier raised his hand. "There are two of
them . . . One of them discovered it, the other wrote the
petition, the accursed reporter!"
"Why the reporter?"
"He writes for the papers . . . He is one of your lodgers . . .
there they all are outside . . . Clear them away, for Christ's
sake! The robbers! They disturb and annoy everyone in the
street. One cannot live for them . . . And they are all
desperate fellows . . . You had better take care, or else they
will rob or burn you . . ."
"And this reporter, who is he?" asked Petunikoff, with interest.
"He? A drunkard. He was a teacher but was dismissed. He drank
everything he possessed . . . and now he writes for the papers
and composes petitions. He is a very wicked man!"
"H'm! And did he write your petition, too? I suppose it was he
who discovered the flaws in the building. The beams were not
rightly put in?"
"He did! I know it for a fact! The dog! He read it aloud in
here and boasted, 'Now I have caused Petunikoff some loss!'"
"Ye--es. . . Well, then, do you want to be reconciled?"
"To be reconciled?" The soldier lowered his head and thought.
"Ah! This is a hard life!" said he, in a querulous voice,
scratching his head.
"One must learn by experience," Petunikoff reassured him,
lighting a cigarette.
"Learn . . . It is not that, my dear sir; but don't you see
there is no freedom? Don't you see what a life I lead? I live
in fear and trembling . . . I am refused the freedom so
desirable to me in my movements, and I fear this ghost of a
teacher will write about me in the papers. Sanitary inspectors
will be called for . . . fines will have to be paid . . . or else
your lodgers will set fire to the place or rob and kill me . . .
I am powerless against them. They are not the least afraid of
the police, and they like going to prison, because they get their
food for nothing there."
"But then we will have them turned out if we come to terms with
you," promised Petunikoff.
"What shall we arrange, then?" asked Vaviloff, sadly and
seriously.
"Tell me your terms."
"Well, give me the six hundred mentioned in the claim."
"Won't you take a hundred roubles?" asked the merchant, calmly,
looking attentively at his companion, and smiling softly. "I
will not give you one rouble more," . . . he added.
After this, he took out his eye-glasses, and began cleaning them
with his handkerchief. Vaviloff looked at him sadly and
respectfully. The calm face of Petunikoff, his grey eyes and
clear complexion, every line of his thickset body betokened
self-confidence and a well-balanced mind. Vaviloff also liked
Petunikoff's straightforward manner of addressing him without any
pretensions, as if he were his own brother, though Vaviloff
understood well enough that he was his superior, he being only a
soldier. Looking at him, he grew fonder and fonder of him, and,
forgetting for a moment the matter in hand, respectfully asked
Petunikoff:
"Where did you study?"
"In the technological institute. Why?" answered the other,
smiling:
"Nothing. Only . . . excuse me!" The soldier lowered his head,
and then suddenly exclaimed, "What a splendid thing education is!
Science--light. My brother, I am as stupid as an owl before the
sun . . . Your honour, let us finish this job."
With an air of decision he stretched out his hand to Petunikoff
and said:
"Well, five hundred?"
"Not more than one hundred roubles, Egor Terentievitch."
Petunikoff shrugged his shoulders as if sorry at being unable to
give more, and touched the soldier's hairy hand with his long
white fingers. They soon ended the matter, for the soldier gave
in quickly and met Petunikoff's wishes. And when Vaviloff had
received the hundred roubles and signed the paper, he threw the
pen down on the table and said, bitterly:
"Now I will have a nice time! They will laugh at me, they will
cry shame on me, the devils!"
"But you tell them that I paid all your claim," suggested
Petunikoff, calmly puffing out clouds of smoke and watching them
float upwards.
"But do you think they will believe it? They are as clever
swindlers if not worse . . ."
Vaviloff stopped himself in time before making the intended
comparison, and looked at the merchant's son in terror. The
other smoked on, and seemed to be absorbed in that occupation.
He went away soon, promising to destroy the nest of vagabonds.
Vaviloff looked after him and sighed, feeling as if he would like
to shout some insult at the young man who was going with such
firm steps towards the steep road, encumbered with its ditches
and heaps of rubbish.
In the evening the Captain appeared in the eating-house. His
eyebrows were knit and his fist clenched. Vaviloff smiled at him
in a guilty manner.
"Well, worthy descendant of Judas and Cain, tell us . . ."
"They decided" . . . said Vaviloff, sighing and lowering his
eyes.
"I don't doubt it; how many silver pieces did you receive?"
"Four hundred roubles . . ."
"Of course you are lying . . . But all the better for me.
Without any further words, Egorka, ten per cent. of it for my
discovery, four per cent. to the teacher for writing the
petition, one 'vedro' of vodki to all of us, and refreshments all
round. Give me the money now, the vodki and refreshments will do
at eight o'clock."
Vaviloff turned purple with rage, and stared at Kuvalda with
wide-open eyes.
"This is humbug! This is robbery! I will do nothing of the
sort. What do you mean, Aristid Fomich? Keep your appetite for
the next feast! I am not afraid of you now . . ."
Kuvalda looked at the clock.
"I give you ten minutes, Egorka, for your idiotic talk. Finish
your nonsense by that time and give me what I demand. If you
don't I will devour you! Kanets has sold you something? Did you
read in the paper about the theft at Basoff's house? Do you
understand? You won't have time to hide anything, we will not
let you . . . and this very night . . . do you understand?"
"Why, Aristid Fomich?" sobbed the discomfited merchant.
"No more words! Did you understand or not?"
Tall, grey, and imposing, Kuvalda spoke in half whispers, and his
deep bass voice rang through the house. Vaviloff always feared
him because he was not only a retired military man, but a man who
had nothing to lose. But now Kuvalda appeared before him in a
new role. He did not speak much, and jocosely as usual, but
spoke in the tone of a commander, who was convinced of the
other's guilt. And Vaviloff felt that the Captain could and
would ruin him with the greatest pleasure. He must needs bow
before this power. But, nevertheless, the soldier thought of
trying him once more. He sighed deeply, and began with apparent
calmness:
"It is truly said that a man's sin will find him out . . . I lied
to you, Aristid Fomich, . . . I tried to be cleverer than I am .
. . I only received one hundred roubles."
"Go on!" said Kuvalda.
"And not four hundred as I told you . . . That means . . ."
"It does not mean anything. It is all the same to me whether you
lied or not. You owe me sixty-five roubles. That is not much,
eh?"
"Oh! my Lord! Aristid Fomich! I have always been attentive to
your honour and done my best to please you."
"Drop all that, Egorka, grandchild of Judas!"
"All right! I will give it you . . . only God will punish you
for this. . . ."
"Silence! You rotten pimple of the earth!" shouted the Captain,
rolling his eyes. "He has punished me enough already in forcing
me to have conversation with you. . . . I will kill you on the
spot like a fly!"
He shook his fist in Vaviloff's face and ground his teeth till
they nearly broke.
After he had gone Vaviloff began smiling and winking to himself.
Then two large drops rolled down his cheeks. They were greyish,
and they hid themselves in his moustache, whilst two others
followed them. Then Vaviloff went into his own room and stood
before the icon, stood there without praying, immovable, with the
salt tears running down his wrinkled brown cheeks. . . .
* * * * *
Deacon Taras, who, as a rule, loved to loiter in the woods and
fields, proposed to the "creatures that once were men" that they
should go together into the fields, and there drink Vaviloff's
vodki in the bosom of Nature. But the Captain and all the rest
swore at the Deacon, and decided to drink it in the courtyard.
"One, two, three," counted Aristid Fomich; "our full number is
thirty, the teacher is not here . . . but probably many other
outcasts will come. Let us calculate, say, twenty persons, and
to every person two-and-a-half cucumbers, a pound of bread, and a
pound of meat . . . That won't be bad! One bottle of vodki
each, and there is plenty of sour cabbage, and three watermelons.
I ask you, what the devil could you want more, my scoundrel
friends? Now, then, let us prepare to devour Egorka Vaviloff,
because all this is his blood and body!"
They spread some old clothes on the ground, setting the
delicacies and the drink on them, and sat around the feast,
solemnly and quietly, but almost unable to control the craving
for drink that shone in their eyes.
The evening began to fall, and its shadows were cast on the human
refuse of the earth in the courtyard of the dosshouse; the last
rays of the sun illumined the roof of the tumble-down building.
The night was cold and silent.
"Let us begin, brothers!" commanded the Captain. "How many cups
have we? Six . . . and there are thirty of us! Aleksei
Maksimovitch, pour it out. Is it ready? Now then, the first
toast. . . Come along!"
They drank and shouted, and began to eat.
"The teacher is not here. . . I have not seen him for three
days. Has anyone seen him?" asked Kuvalda.
"No one."
"It is unlike . . . Let us drink to the health of Aristid
Kuvalda . . . the only friend who has never deserted me for one
moment of my life! Devil take him all the same! I might have had
something to wear had he left my society at least for a little
while."
"You are bitter . . ." said Abyedok, and coughed.
The Captain, with his feeling of superiority to the others, never
talked with his mouth full.
Having drunk twice, the company began to grow merry; the food was
grateful to them.
Paltara Taras expressed his desire to hear a tale, but the Deacon
was arguing with Kubaroff over his preferring thin women to stout
ones, and paid no attention to his friend's request. He was
asserting his views on the subject to Kubaroff with all the
decision of a man who was deeply convinced in his own mind.
The foolish face of Meteor, who was lying on the ground, showed
that he was drinking in the Deacon's strong words.
Martyanoff sat, clasping his large hairy hands round his knees,
looking silently and sadly at the bottle of vodki and pulling his
moustache as if trying to bite it with his teeth, while Abyedok
was teasing Tyapa.
"I have seen you watching the place where your money is hidden!"
"That is your luck," shouted Tyapa.
"I will go halves with you, brother."
"All right, take it and welcome."
Kuvalda felt angry with these men. Among them all there was not
one worthy of hearing his oratory or of understanding him.
"I wonder where the teacher is?" he asked loudly.
Martyanoff looked at him and said, "He will come soon . . ."
"I am positive that he will come, but he won't come in a
carriage. Let us drink to your future health. If you kill any
rich man go halves with me . . . then I shall go to America,
brother. To those . . . what do you call them? Limpas? Pampas?
I will go there, and I will work my way until I become the
President of the United States, and then I will challenge the
whole of Europe to war and I will blow it up! I will buy the
army . . . in Europe that is--I will invite the French, the
Germans, the Turks, and so on, and I will kill them by the hands
of their own relatives. . . Just as Elia Marumets bought a
Tartar with a Tartar. With money it would be possible even for
Elia to destroy the whole of Europe and to take Judas Petunikoff
for his valet. He would go. . . Give him a hundred roubles a
month and he would go! But he would be a bad valet, because he
would soon begin to steal . . ."
"Now, besides that, the thin woman is better than the stout one,
because she costs one less," said the Deacon, convincingly. "My
first Deaconess used to buy twelve arshins for her clothes, but
the second one only ten. . . And so on even in the matter of
provisions and food."
Paltara Taras smiled guiltily. Turning his head towards the
Deacon and looking straight at him, he said, with conviction:
"I had a wife once, too."
"Oh! That happens to everyone," remarked Kuvalda; "but go on
with your lies."
"She was thin, but she ate a lot, and even died from
over-eating."
"You poisoned her, you hunchback!" said Abyedok, confidently.
"No, by God! It was from eating sturgeon," said Paltara Taras.
"But I say that you poisoned her!" declared Abyedok, decisively.
It often happened, that having said something absolutely
impossible and without proof, he kept on repeating it, beginning
in a childish, capricious tone, and gradually raising his voice
to a mad shriek.
The Deacon stood up for his friend. "No; he did not poison her.
He had no reason to do so."
"But I say that he poisoned her!" swore Abyedok.
"Silence!" shouted the Captain, threateningly, becoming still
angrier. He looked at his friends with his blinking eyes, and
not discovering anything to further provoke his rage in their
half-tipsy faces, he lowered his head, sat still for a little
while, and then turned over on his back on the ground. Meteor
was biting cucumbers. He took a cucumber in his hand without
looking at it, put nearly half of it into his mouth, and bit it
with his yellow teeth, so that the juice spurted out in all
directions and ran over his cheeks. He did not seem to want to
eat, but this process pleased him. Martyanoff sat motionless on
the ground, like a statue, and looked in a dull manner at the
half-vedro bottle, already getting empty. Abyedok lay on his
belly and coughed, shaking all over his small body. The rest of
the dark, silent figures sat and lay around in all sorts of
positions, and their tatters made them look like untidy animals,
created by some strange, uncouth deity to make a mockery of man.
"There once lived a lady in Suzdale,
A strange lady,
She fell into hysterics,
Most unpleasantly!"
sang the Deacon in low tones embracing Aleksei Maksimovitch, who
was smiling kindly into his face.
Paltara Taras giggled voluptuously.
The night was approaching. High up in the sky the stars were
shining . . . and on the mountain and in the town the lights of
the lamps were appearing. The whistles of the steamers were
heard all over the river, and the doors of Vaviloff's
eating-house opened noisily. Two dark figures entered the
courtyard, and one of them asked in a hoarse voice:
"Are you drinking?" And the other said in a jealous aside:
"Just see what devils they are!"
Then a hand stretched over the Deacon's head and took away the
bottle, and the characteristic sound of vodki being poured into a
glass was heard. Then they all protested loudly.
"Oh this is sad!" shouted the Deacon. "Krivoi, let us remember
the ancients! Let us sing 'On the Banks of the Babylonian
Rivers.'"
"But can he?" asked Simtsoff.
"He? He was a chorister in the Bishop's choir. Now then,
Krivoi! . . . "On the r-i-v-e-r-s--" The Deacon's voice was loud
and hoarse and cracked, but his friend sang in a shrill falsetto.
The dirty building loomed large in the darkness and seemed to be
coming nearer, threatening the singers, who were arousing its
dull echoes. The heavy, pompous clouds were floating in the sky
over their heads. One of the "creatures that once were men" was
snoring; the rest, not yet so drunk, ate and drank quietly or
spoke to each other at long intervals. It was unusual for
them to be in such low spirits during such a feast, with so much
vodki. Somehow the drink tonight did not seem to have its usual
exhilarating effect.
"Stop howling, you dogs!" . . . said the Captain to the singers,
raising his head from the ground to listen. "Some one is passing
. . . in a droshky. . . ."
A droshky at such a time in the main street could not but attract
general attention. Who would risk crossing the ditches between
it and the town, and why? They all raised their heads and
listened. In the silence of the night the wheels were distinctly
heard. They came gradually nearer. A voice was heard asking
roughly:
"Well, where then?"
Someone answered, "It must be there, that house."
"I shall not go any further."
"They are coming here!" shouted the Captain.
"The police!" someone whispered in great alarm.
"In a droshky! Fool!" said Martyanoff, quietly.
Kuvalda got up and went to the entrance.
"Is this a lodging-house?" asked someone, in a trembling voice.
"Yes. Belonging to Aristid Kuvalda . . ." said the Captain,
roughly.
"Oh! Did a reporter, one Titoff, live here?"
"Aha! Have you brought him?"
"Yes . . ."
"Drunk?"
"Ill."
"That means he is very drunk. Ay, teacher! Now, then, get up!"
"Wait, I will help you . . . He is very ill . . . he has been
with me for the last two days . . . Take him under the arms . .
. The doctor has seen him. He is very bad."
Tyapa got up and walked to the entrance, but Abyedok laughed, and
took another drink.
"Strike a light, there!" shouted the Captain.
Meteor went into the house and lighted the lamp. Then a thin
line of light streamed out over the courtyard, and the Captain
and another man managed to get the teacher into the dosshouse.
His head was hanging on his breast, his feet trailed on the
ground, and his arms hung limply as if broken. With Tyapa's help
they placed him on a wide board. He was shivering all over.
"We worked on the same paper . . . he is very unlucky. . . . I
said, 'Stay in my house, you are not in my way,' . . . but he
begged me to send him 'home.' He was so excited about it that I
brought him here, thinking it might do him good. . . Home! This
is it, isn't it?"
"Do you suppose he has a home anywhere else?" asked Kuvalda,
roughly, looking at his friend. "Tyapa, fetch me some cold
water."
"I fancy I am of no more use," remarked the man in some
confusion. The Captain looked at him critically. His clothes
were rather shiny, and tightly buttoned up to his chin. His
trousers were frayed, his hat almost yellow with age and crumpled
like his lean and hungry face.
"No, you are not necessary! We have plenty like you here," said
the Captain, turning away.
"Then, good-bye!" The man went to the door, and said quietly
from there, "If anything happens . . . let me know in the
publishing office. . . My name is Rijoff. I might write a short
obituary. . . You see he was an active member of the Press."
"H'm, an obituary, you say? Twenty lines forty kopecks? I will
do more than that. When he dies I will cut off one of his legs
and send it to you. That will be much more profitable than an
obituary. It will last you for three days. . . His legs are
fat. You devoured him when he was alive. You may as well
continue to do so after he is dead . . ."
The man sniffed strangely and disappeared. The Captain sat down
on the wooden board beside the teacher, felt his forehead and
breast with his hands and called "Philip!"
The sound re-echoed from the dirty walls of the dosshouse and
died away.
"This is absurd, brother," said the Captain, quietly arranging
the teacher's untidy hair with his hand. Then the Captain
listened to his breathing, which was rapid and uneven, and looked
at his sunken grey face. He sighed and looked upon him, knitting
his eyebrows. The lamp was a bad one. . . The light was fitful,
and dark shadows flickered on the dosshouse walls. The Captain
watched them, scratching his beard. Tyapa returned bringing a
vedro of water, and placing it by the teacher's head, he took his
arm as if to raise him up.
"The water is not necessary," and the Captain shook his head.
"But we must try to revive him," said the old ragcollector.
"Nothing is needed," said the Captain, decidedly.
They sat silently looking at the teacher.
"Let us go and drink, old devil!"
"But he?"
"Can you do him any good?"
Tyapa turned his back on the teacher, and both went out into the
courtyard to their companions.
"What is it?" asked Abyedok, turning his sharp nose to the old
man. The snoring of those who were asleep, and the tinkling
sound of pouring vodki was heard. . . The Deacon was murmuring
something. The clouds swam low, so low that it seemed as if they
would touch the roof of the house and knock it over on the group
of men.
"Ah! One feels sad when someone near at hand is dying," faltered
the Captain, with his head down. No one answered him.
"He was the best among you . . . the cleverest, the most
respectable. . . I mourn for him."
"Re-s-t with the Saints. . . Sing, you crooked hunchback!"
roared the Deacon, digging his friend in the ribs.
"Be quiet!" shouted Abyedok, jumping vengefully to his feet.
"I will give him one on the head," proposed Martyanoff, raising
his head from the ground.
"You are not asleep?" Aristid Fomich asked him very softly.
"Have you heard about our teacher?"
Martyanoff lazily got up from the ground, looked at the line of
light coming out of the dosshouse, shook his head and silently
sat down beside the Captain.
"Nothing particular. . . The man is dying . . ." remarked the
Captain, shortly.
"Have they been beating him?" asked Abyedok, with great interest.
The Captain gave no answer. He was drinking vodki at the moment.
"They must have known we had something in which to commemorate
him after his death!" continued Abyedok, lighting a cigarette.
Someone laughed, someone sighed. Generally speaking, the
conversation of Abyedok and the Captain did not interest them,
and they hated having to think at all. They had always felt the
teacher to be an uncommon man, but now many of them were drunk
and the others sad and silent. Only the Deacon suddenly drew
himself up straight and howled wildly:
"And may the righteous r--e--s--t!"
"You idiot!" hissed Abyedok. "What are you howling for?"
"Fool!" said Tyapa's hoarse voice "When a man is dying one must
be quiet . . . so that he may have peace."
Silence reigned once more. The cloudy sky threatened thunder,
and the earth was covered with the thick darkness of an autumn
night.
"Let us go on drinking!" proposed Kuvalda, filling up the
glasses.
"I will go and see if he wants anything," said Tyapa.
"He wants a coffin!" jeered the Captain.
"Don't speak about that," begged Abyedok in a low voice.
Meteor rose and followed Tyapa. The Deacon tried to get up, but
fell and swore loudly.
When Tyapa had gone the Captain touched Martyanoff's shoulder and
said in low tones:
"Well, Martyanoff . . . You must feel it more than the others.
You were . . . But let that go to the Devil . . . Don't you pity
Philip?"
"No," said the ex-jailer, quietly, "I do not feel things of this
sort, brother . . . I have learned better . . . this life is
disgusting after all. I speak seriously when I say that I should
like to kill someone."
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