第69章 CHAPTER IX(6)

"You have no right to speak about my soul. You have nothing to do with it! And therefore hold your tongue! I may speak! If Iplease, I could tell something to all of you. Eh, how I could tell it! Only,--who will dare to listen to me, if I should speak at the top of my voice? And I have some words about you,--they're like hammers! And I could knock you all on your heads so that you would lose your wits. And although you are all rascals--you cannot be cured by words. You should be burned in the fire--just as frying-pans are burned out on the first Monday of Lent."Raising her hands she abruptly loosened her hair, and when it fell over her shoulders in heavy, black locks--the woman shook her head haughtily and said, with contempt:

"Never mind that I am leading a loose life! It often happens, that the man who lives in filth is purer than he who goes about in silks. If you only knew what I think of you, you dogs, what wrath I bear against you! And because of this wrath--I am silent!

For I fear that if I should sing it to you--my soul would become empty. I would have nothing to live on." Foma looked at her, and now he was pleased with her. In her words there was something akin to his frame of mind. Laughing, he said to her, with satisfaction on his face and in his voice:

"And I also feel that something is growing within my soul. Eh, Itoo shall have my say, when the time comes."

"Against whom?" asked Sasha, carelessly.

"I--against everybody!" exclaimed Foma, jumping to his feet.

"Against falsehood. I shall ask--"

"Ask whether the samovar is ready," Sasha ordered indifferently.

Foma glanced at her and cried, enraged:

"Go to the devil! Ask yourself."

"Well, all right, I shall. What are you snarling about?"And she stepped out of the hut.

In piercing gusts the wind blew across the river, striking against its bosom, and covered with troubled dark waves, the river was spasmodically rushing toward the wind with a noisy splash, and all in the froth of wrath. The willow bushes on the shore bent low to the ground--trembling, they now were about to lie down on the ground, now, frightened, they thrust themselves away from it, driven by the blows of the wind. In the air rang a whistling, a howling, and a deep groaning sound, that burst from dozens of human breasts:

"It goes--it goes--it goes!"

This exclamation, abrupt as a blow, and heavy as the breath from an enormous breast, which is suffocating from exertion, was soaring over the river, falling upon the waves, as if encouraging their mad play with the wind, and they struck the shores with might.

Two empty barges lay anchored by the mountainous shore, and their tall masts, rising skyward, rocked in commotion from side to side, as though describing some invisible pattern in the air. The decks of both barges were encumbered with scaffolds, built of thick brown beams; huge sheaves were hanging everywhere; chains and ropes were fastened to them, and rocking in the air; the links of the chains were faintly clanging. A throng of peasants in blue and in red blouses pulled a large beam across the dock and, heavily stamping their feet, groaned with full chest:

"It goes--it goes--it goes!"

Here and there human figures clung to the scaffoldings, like big lumps of blue and red; the wind, blowing their blouses and their trousers, gave the men odd forms, making them appear now hump-backed, now round and puffed up like bladders. The people on the scaffolds and on the decks of the barges were making fast, hewing, sawing, driving in nails; and big arms, with shirt sleeves rolled up to the elbows were seen everywhere. The wind scattered splinters of wood, and a varied, lively, brisk noise in the air; the saw gnawed the wood, choking with wicked joy; the beams, wounded by the axes, moaned and groaned drily; the boards cracked sickly as they split from the blows they received; the jointer squeaked maliciously. The iron clinking of the chains and the groaning creaking of the sheaves joined the wrathful roaring of the waves, and the wind howled loudly, scattering over the river the noise of toil and drove the clouds across the sky.

"Mishka-a! The deuce take you!" cried someone from the top of the scaffolding. And from the deck, a large-formed peasant, with his head thrown upward, answered:

"Wh-a-at?" And the wind, playing with his long, flaxen beard, flung it into his face.

"Hand us the end."

A resounding basso shouted as through a speaking-trumpet:

"See how you've fastened this board, you blind devil? Can't you see? I'll rub your eyes for you!""Pull, my boys, come on!"

"Once more--brave--boys!" cried out some one in a loud, beseeching voice.

Handsome and stately, in a short cloth jacket and high boots, Foma stood, leaning his back against a mast, and stroking his beard with his trembling hand, admired the daring work of the peasants. The noise about him called forth in him a persistent desire to shout, to work together with the peasants, to hew wood, to carry burdens, to command--to compel everybody to pay attention to him, and to show them his strength, his skill, and the live soul within him. But he restrained himself. And standing speechless, motionless, he felt ashamed and afraid of something.

He was embarrassed by the fact that he was master over everybody there, and that if he were to start to work himself, no one would believe that he was working merely to satisfy his desire, and not to spur them on in their work; to set them an example. And then, the peasants might laugh at him, in all probability.