MAXIM GORKY (continued 9)
Isabel Florence Hapgood translation
Efímushka sat down heavily on the ground, and began to laugh in a confused manner.
"Do you believe me?" the prisoner asked him, and sat down beside him, gazing into his face, and laying his hand on the other's shoulder. Efímushka remained dumb. It had become completely dark around them. A confused rustling and whispering arose in the forest. Far away, somewhere in the underbrush, a nocturnal bird was moaning. A dark cloud crept over the forest, with an almost imperceptible movement.
"Well, Efím,—aren't you glad to see me? Or are you glad? Ekh, you ... saintly soul! You are exactly as you were when you were a child ... aren't you, Efím? Come, say something, you dear monster!"
Efímushka began to blow his nose violently on the tail of his smock....
"Come, brother! Aï, aï, aï!—" the prisoner shook his head reproachfully. "What ails you? Shame on you! You're almost fifty years old, and you busy yourself with such a nonsensical matter! Stop it!—" and embracing the policeman's shoulders, he shook him gently. The policeman began to laugh in a quivering tone, and, at last, he began to speak, but without looking at his companion:
"Well, what's the matter with me?... I'm glad ... So it is really you? How am I to believe it? You, and ... such an affair! Vítya ... and in such a guise! In the cooler.... Without a passport ... You nourish yourself on bread.... You have no tobacco.... Oh Lord! Is that right? If it had been I, and you had been the policeman ... it would have been easier to bear! But now, how has it turned out? How can I look you in the eye? I have always remembered you with joy ... Vítya,—I have thought, and my very heart leaped with gladness. But now—what have you come to! Oh, Lord ... why, if I were to tell the folks, they wouldn't believe me...."
He muttered his broken phrases, with his eyes riveted obstinately on his feet, and his hand kept clutching at his breast and at his throat.
"But don't you tell the folks about all this, it's not necessary. And stop grieving—is it any fault of yours? Don't worry about me ... I have my papers, I did not show them to the Elder, because I did not wish to have them recognize me there.... My brother Iván will not put me in prison, but, on the contrary, he will help me to get oh my feet ... I shall stay with him, and you and I will go hunting again together ... You see how well everything is arranging itself."
Vítya said this affectionately, in the tone with which grown-up people soothe grieving children. Out of the forest, to meet the dark cloud, rose the moon, and the edge of the cloud, silvered by her rays, took on soft, opalescent hues. The quails were calling among the grain, a corncrake was chattering somewhere ... The night mist grew denser and denser.
"That's a fact...." began Efímushka, softly, "Iván Alexándrovitch will rejoice to see his own brother, and you, of course, will adapt yourself to life again ... That's all true.... And we will go hunting ... Only, everything isn't as it should be ... I thought you were doing great deeds in life! But instead ... just see...."
Vítya Tutchkóff burst out laughing.
"I have done deeds enough, brother Efímushka ... I have run through my share of the estate, I have not grown rich in the service, I have been an actor, I have been a clerk in the timber trade, then I kept actors myself ... then I was burnt out, I got over head and ears in debt, and got mixed up in a scandal ... ekh! I've done every sort of thing.... And everything has been a failure!"
The prisoner waved his hand, and began to laugh good-humoredly.
"I'm no longer a gentleman, brother Efímushka.... I've cured myself of that. Now you and I will begin to live! Won't we? Come, now! Gather your wits together."
"Why, I don't mind..." began Efímushka, in a suppressed voice,—"only, I'm ashamed. Here I've been saying all sorts of things to you ... nonsensical words, and, in general ... a peasant—everybody knows what he's like ... So we are to pass the night here, you say? I'll just build a fire...."
"All right, go ahead...."
The prisoner stretched himself out on the ground, breast upward, and the policeman vanished into the border of the forest, whence there immediately proceeded a crackling and a rustling of branches. Efímushka speedily made his appearance, with an armful of dry brush-wood, and a moment later a serpent of fire began to crawl merrily among the twigs on the little hillock.
The old comrades gazed thoughtfully at it, as they sat opposite each other, and smoked the pipe by turns.
"It's exactly as it used to be,"—remarked Efímushka sadly.
"Only the times are different,—" said Tutchkóff.
"Ye-es, life has become harsher in character.... Here ... it has ... broken you up...."
"Well, that isn't certain, as yet—whether it has conquered me, or I have conquered it...." laughed Tutchkóff.
They fell silent.
"Ah? Oh Lord God! Vítya! And here's a nice Sunday greeting!"[1] exclaimed Efímushka bitterly.
"Eh, enough of that! What's past is past,—" Tutchkóff comforted him philosophically.
Behind them rose the dark wall of the forest, which was softly whispering about something, the fire crackled merrily, around it the shadows danced noiselessly, and over the plain lay impenetrable mist.