Project Gutenberg surfs with a modem donated by Supra.

M >> Maxim Gorky >> Project Gutenberg surfs with a modem donated by Supra.

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15

239 ON A RAFT

"I," said Mitia, suddenly arousing herself; "I shall go away.
I shall go in the autumn to the Caucasian Mountains, and that
will be the end of it all. My God! If only I could get away
from you all! Soulless, godless men! To get away from you,
that's my only hope! What do you live for? Where is your God?
He's nothing but a name! Do you live in Christ? You are
wolves; that's what you are! But over there live other men,
whose souls live in Christ. Their hearts contain love, and
they are athirst for the salvation of the world. But you--you
are beasts, spewing out filth. But other men there are; I have
seen them; they called me, and I must go to them. They gave me
the book of Holy Writ, and they said: 'Read, man of God, our
beloved brother, read the word of truth!' And I read, and my
soul was renewed by the word of God. I shall go away. I shall
leave all you ravening wolves. You are rending each other's
flesh! Accursed be ye!"

Mitia spoke in a passionate whisper, as if overpowered by the
intensity of his contemplative rapture, his anger with the
ravening wolves, and his desire to be with those other men,
whose souls aspired toward the salvation of the world. Sergei
was taken aback. He remained quiet for some time, open-mouthed,
holding his pipe in his hand. After a few moments' thought he
glanced round, and said in a deep, rough voice: "Damn it all!
Why you're turned a bad 'un all at once! Why did you read that
book? It was very likely an evil one. Well, be off, be off!
If not, there'll be an end of you! Be off with you before you
become a regular beast yourself! And who are these fellows in
the Caucasus? Monks? Or what?"

240 ON A RAFT

But the fire of Mitia's spirit died down as quickly as it had
been kindled to a flame; he gasped with the exertion as he
worked the pole, and muttered to himself below his breath.

Sergei waited some time for the answer which did not come. His
simple, hardy nature was quelled by the grim and death-like
stillness of the night. He wanted to recall the fullness of
life, to wake the solitude with sound, to disturb and trouble
the hidden meditative silence of the leaden mass of water,
flowing slowly to the sea; and of the dull, threatening clouds
hanging motionless in the air. At the other end of the raft
there was life, and it called on him to live.

Forward, he could hear every now and then bursts of contented
laughter, exclamations, sounds that seemed to stand out against
the silence of this night, laden with the breath of spring, and
provoking such passionate life desires.

"Hold hard, Mitia! you'll catch it again from the old man!
Look out there!" said Sergei, who could not stand the silence
any longer; and watching Mitia, who aimlessly moved his pole
backward and forward in the water.

Mitia, wiping his moist brow, stood quietly leaning with his
breast against the pole, and panting.

"There are few steamers to-night," continued Sergei; "we've
only passed one these many hours." Seeing that Mitia had no
intention of answering, Sergei replied quietly to himself:
"It's because its too early in the season. It's only just
beginning. We shall soon be at Kazan. The Volga pulls hard.
She has a mighty strong back, that can carry all. Why are
you standing still like that? Are you angry? Hi, there,
Mitia!"

241 ON A RAFT

"What's the matter?" Mitia cried in a vexed tone.

"Nothing, you strange fellow; but why can't you talk? You
are always thinking. Leave it alone! Thinking is bad for a
man. A wise sort of fellow you are! You think and think, and
all the time you can't understand that you're a fool at bottom.
Ha! Ha!"

And Sergei, very well satisfied with his own superiority,
cleared his throat, remained quiet for a moment, whistled a
note, and then continued to develop his theme.

"Thinking? Is that an occupation for a working man? Look at
your father; he doesn't think much; he lives. He loves your
wife, and they laugh at you together; you wise fool! That's
about it! Just listen to them! Blast them! I believe
Marka's already with child. Never fear, the child won't
feature you. He'll be a fine, lusty lad, like Silan himself!
But he'll be your child! Ha! Ha! Ha! He'll call you
father! And you won't be his father, but his brother; and his
real father will be his grandfather! That's a nice state of
things! What a filthy family! But they're a strapping pair!
Isn't that true, Mitia?"

"Sergei!" In a passionate, sobbing whisper. "In the name of
Christ I entreat you don't tear my soul to pieces, don't brand
me with fire. Leave me alone. Do be quiet! In the name of
God and of Christ, I beg you not to speak to me! Don't
disturb me! Don't drain my heart's blood! I'll throw myself
in the river, and yours will be the sin, and a great sin it will
be! I should lose my soul; don't force me to it! For God's
sake, I entreat you!"

242 ON A RAFT

The silence of the night was troubled with shrill, unnatural
sobbing; and Mitia fell on the deck of the raft, as if a blast
from the overhanging clouds had struck him down.

"Come, come!" growled Sergei, anxiously watching his mate
writhing on the deck, as if scorched with fire. "What a
strange man! He ought to have told me if it was not--if it
was not quite--"

"You've been torturing me all the way. Why? Am I your enemy?"
Mitia sobbed again.

"You're a strange lad! a rum un!" murmured Sergei, confused and
offended. "How could I know? I couldn't tell you'd take on
like that!"

"Understand, then, that I want to forget! To forget for ever!
My shame, my terrible torture. You're a cruel lot! I shall go
away, and stay away for ever! I can't stand it any more!"

"Yes, be off with you!" cried Sergei across the raft,
accentuating his exclamation with a loud and cynical curse.
Then he seemed to shrink together, as if himself afraid of the
terrible drama which was unfolding itself before him; drama,
which he was now compelled to understand. . . .

"Hullo! There! I'm calling you! Are you deaf?" sounded up
the river the voice of Silan. "What are you about there? What
are you bawling about? Ahoy! Ahoy!"

243 ON A RAFT

It seemed as if Silan enjoyed shouting, and breaking the heavy
silence of the river with his deep voice, full of strength and
health. The cries succeeded each other, thrilling the warm,
moist air, and seeming to crush down on Mitia's feeble form.
He rose, and once more pressed his body against the steering
pole. Sergei shouted in reply to the master with all his
strength, and cursed him at the same time under his breath.

The two voices broke through and filled the silence of the
night. Then they seemed to meet in one deep note like the
sound of a great horn. Once more rising to shrillness, they
floated in the air, gradually sank away--and were lost.

Silence reigned once more.

Through the cleft clouds, on the dark water the yellow splashes
of moonlight fell, and after glittering a moment disappeared,
swept away in the moist gloom.

The raft continued on its way down stream amid silence and
darkness.

CHAPTER II

Near one of the forward poles stood Silan Petroff in a red
shirt, open at the neck, showing his powerful throat and hairy
chest, hard as an anvil. A thatch of gray hair fell over his
forehead, under which laughed great black, warm eyes. His
sleeves, turned up to the elbow, showed the veins standing out
on his arms as they held the pole. Silan was leaning slightly
forward, and looking watchfully ahead. Marka stood a few paces
from him, glancing with a satisfied smile at the strong form of
her lover. They were both silent and busy with their several
thoughts. He was peering into the distance, and she followed
the movements of his virile, bearded face.

244 ON A RAFT

"That must be a fisherman's fire," said he, turning toward her.

"It's all right; we're keeping on our course, Ouch!" And he
puffed out a full, hot breath, and gave a powerful shove with
his pole.

"Don't tire yourself Mashourka," he continued, watching her,
as with her pole she made a skilful movement.

She was round and plump, with black, bright eyes and ruddy
cheeks; barefooted, dressed only in a damp petticoat, which
clung to her body, and showed the outline of her figure. She
turned her face to Silan and, smiling pleasantly, said: "You
take too much care of me; I'm all right!"

"I kiss you, but I don't take care of you," answered Silan,
moving his shoulders.

"That's not good enough!" she replied, provokingly; and they
both were silent, looking at each other with desiring eyes.

Under the rafts, the water gurgled musically. On the right
bank, very far off, a cock crew. Swaying lightly under their
feet, the raft floated on toward a point where the darkness
dissolved into lighter tones, and the clouds took on themselves
clearer shapes and less sombre hues.

"Silan Petrovitch, do you know what they were shouting about
there? I know. I bet you I know. It was Mitia who was
complaining about us to Sergei; and it was he who cried out
with trouble, and Sergei was cursing us!"

245 ON A RAFT

Marka questioned anxiously Silan's face, which, after her words,
became grim and coldly stubborn.

"Well!" shortly.

"Well, that's all!"

"If that's all, there was nothing to say."

"Don't get angry."

"Angry with you? I should like to be angry with you, but I
can't."

"You love Marsha?" she whispered, coaxingly leaning toward him.

"You bet!" answered Silan, with emphasis, stretching out toward
her his powerful arms. "Come now, don't tease me!"

She twisted her body with the movements of a cat, and once more
leaned toward him.

"We shall upset the steering again," whispered he, kissing her
face which burned under his lips.

"Shut up now! They can see us at the other end;" and motioning
aft with her head, she struggled to free herself, but he held
her more tightly still with one arm, and managed the pole with
the other hand.

"They can see us? Let them see us. I spit on them all! I'm
sinning, that's true; I know it; and shall have to answer for
it to God; but still you never were his wife; you were free;
you belonged to yourself. He's suffering, I know. And what
about me? Is my position a pleasant one? It is true that you
were not his wife; but all the same, with my position, how must
I feel now? Is it not a dreadful sin before God? It is a sin!
I know it all, and I've gone through everything! Because it's
a thing worth doing!

246 ON A RAFT

We love only once, and we may die any day. Oh! Marka! If I'd
only waited a month before marrying you to Mitia, nothing of
this would have happened. Directly after the death of Anfisa
I would have sent my friends to propose for you, and all would
have been right! Right before the law; without sin, without
shame. That was my mistake, and this mistake will take away
from me five or ten years of my life. Such a mistake as that
makes an old man of one before one's time."

Silan Petroff spoke with decision, but quietly, while, an
expression of inflexible determination flashed from his face,
giving him the appearance of a man who was ready then and there
to fight and struggle for the right to love.

"Well, it's all right now; don't trouble yourself any more. We
have talked about it more than once already," whispered Marka,
freeing herself gently from his arms, and returning to her oar.

He began working his pole backward and forward, rapidly and
energetically, as if he wished to get rid of the load that
weighed on his breast, and cast a shadow over his fine face.

Day broke gradually.

The clouds, losing their density, crept slowly away on every
side, as if reluctantly giving place to the sunlight. The
surface of the river grew lighter, and took on it the cold
gleam of polished steel.

247 ON A RAFT

"Not long ago he talked with me about it. 'Father,' he said,
'is it not a deadly shame for you, and for me? Give her up!'
He meant you," explained Silan, and smiled. "'Give her up,'
he said; 'return to the right path!' 'My dear son,' I said,
'go away if you want to save your skin! I shall tear you to
pieces like a rotten rag! There will be nothing left of your
great virtue! It's a sorrow to me to think that I'm your
father! You puny wretch!' He trembled. 'Father,' he said, 'am
I in the wrong?' You are,' I said, 'you whining cur, because
you are in my way! You are,' I said, 'because you can't stand
up for yourself! You lifeless, rotten carrion! If only,'
I said, 'you were strong, one could kill you; but even that
isn't possible! One pities you, poor, wretched creature!'
He only wept. Oh, Marka! This sort of thing makes one good
for nothing. Any one else would--would get their heads out
of this noose as soon as possible, but we are in it, and we
shall perhaps tighten it round each other's necks!"

"What do you mean?" said Marka, looking at him fearfully, as
he stood there grim, strong and cold.

"Nothing! If he were to die! That's all. If he were to die
--what a good thing it would be! Everything would be straight
then! I would give all my land to your family, to make them
shut their mouths; and we two might go to Siberia, or
somewhere far away. They would ask, 'Who is she?' 'My wife!
Do you understand?'

"We could get some sort of paper or document. We could open
a shop somewhere in a village, and live. And we could expiate
our sin before God. We could help other people to live, and
they would help us to appease our consciences. Isn't that so,
Marsha?"

"Yes," said she, with a deep sigh, closing her eyes as if in
thought.

248 ON A RAFT

They remained silent for a while; the water murmured.

"He is sickly. He will, perhaps, die soon," said Silan after
a time.

"Please God it may be soon!" said Marka, as if in prayer, and
making the sign of the cross.

The rays of the spring sun broke through the clouds, and
touched the water with rainbow and golden tints. At the breath
of the wind all nature thrilled, quickened, and smiled. The
blue sky between the clouds smiled back at the sun-warmed
waters. The raft, moving on, left the clouds astern.

Gathering in a thick and heavy mass, they hung motionless, and
dreaming over the bright river, as if seeking a way to escape
from the ardent spring sun, which, rich in color and in joy,
seemed the enemy of these symbols of winter tempests.

Ahead, the sky grew clearer and brighter, and the morning sun,
powerless to warm, but dazzling bright as it glitters in early
spring, rose stately and beautiful from the purple-gold waves
of the river, and mounted higher and ever higher into the blue
limpid sky. On the right showed the brown, high banks of the
river, surmounted by green woods; on the left emerald green
fields glittered with dew diamonds. In the air, floated the
smell of the earth, of fresh springing grass, blended with the
aromatic scent of a fir wood.

Sergei and Mitia stood as if rooted to their oars, but the
expression on their faces could not be distinguished by those
on the forward part of the raft.

Silan glanced at Marka.

249 ON A RAFT

She was cold. She leaned forward on her pole in a doubled-up
attitude. She was looking ahead with dreaming eyes; and a
mysterious, charming smile prayed on her lips--such a smile as
makes even an ugly woman charming and desirable.

"Look ahead, lads! Ahoy! Ahoy!" hailed Silan, with all the
force of his lungs, feeling a powerful pulse of energy and
strength in his strong breast.

And all around seemed to tremble with his cry.
The echo resounded long from the high banks on either side.

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15