"Ah, of course!" assented Vasily. "How am I to sip cabbage soup with a bast shoe? And yet I am not blind. I can see. There is plenty of brains, but no good comes of it. During the time the clever people think and reflect as to how to act in the wisest way, the fools will down them. That's all.""Wait a little!" said Yozhov.
"I can't! I am on duty today. I am rather late as it is. I'll drop in tomorrow--may I?""Come! I'll give a roasting!"
"That's exactly your business."
Vasily adjusted himself slowly, rose from the lounge, took Yozhov's yellow, thin little hand in his big, swarthy paw and pressed it.
"Goodbye!"
Then he nodded toward Foma and went through the door sideways.
"Have you seen?" Yozhov asked Foma, pointing his hand at the door, behind which the heavy footsteps still resounded.
"What sort of a man is he?"
"Assistant machinist, Vaska Krasnoshchokov. Here, take an example from him: At the age of fifteen he began to study, to read and write, and at twenty-eight he has read the devil knows how many good books, and has mastered two languages to perfection. Now he's going abroad.""What for?" inquired Foma.
"To study. To see how people live there, while you languish here--what for?"
"He spoke sensibly of the fools," said Foma, thoughtfully.
"I don't know, for I am not a fool."
"That was well said. The stupid man ought to act at once. Rush forward and overturn.""There, he's broken loose!" exclaimed Yozhov. "You better tell me whether it is true that Mayakin's son has returned?""Yes."
"Why do you ask?"
"Nothing."
"I can see by your face that there is something.""We know all about his son; we've heard about him.""But I have seen him."
"Well? What sort of man is he?"
"The devil knows him! What have I to do with him?""Is he like his father?"
"He's stouter, plumper; there is more seriousness about him; he is so cold.""Which means that he will be even worse than Yashka. Well, now, my dear, be on your guard or they will suck you dry.""Well, let them do it!"
"They'll rob you. You'll become a pauper. That Taras fleeced his father-in-law in Yekateringburg so cleverly.""Let him fleece me too, if he likes. I shall not say a word to him except 'thanks.'""You are still singing that same old tune?"
"Yes."
"To be set at liberty."
"Yes."
"Drop it! What do you want freedom for? What will you do with it?
Don't you know that you are not fit for anything, that you are illiterate, that you certainly cannot even split a log of wood?
Now, if I could only free myself from the necessity of drinking vodka and eating bread!"Yozhov jumped to his feet, and, stopping in front of Foma, began to speak in a loud voice, as though declaiming:
"I would gather together the remains of my wounded soul, and together with the blood of my heart I would spit them into the face of our intelligent society, the devil take it! I would say to them:
'You insects, you are the best sap of my country! The fact of your existence has been repaid by the blood and the tears of scores of generations of Russian people. 0, you nits! How dearly your country has paid for you! What are you doing for its sake in return? Have you transformed the tears of the past into pearls?
What have you contributed toward life? What have you accomplished? You have permitted yourselves to be conquered? What are you doing? You permit yourselves to be mocked."'
He stamped his feet with rage, and setting his teeth together stared at Foma with burning, angry looks, and resembled an infuriated wild beast.
"I would say to them: 'You! You reason too much, but you are not very wise, and you are utterly powerless, and you are all cowards! Your hearts are filled up with morality and noble intentions, but they are as soft and warm as feather beds; the spirit of creativeness sleeps within them a profound and calm sleep, and your hearts do not throb, they merely rock slowly, like cradles.' Dipping my finger in the blood of my heart, Iwould smear upon their brows the brands of my reproaches, and they, paupers in spirit, miserable in their self-contentment, they would suffer. Oh, how they would suffer! My scourge is sharp, my hand is firm! And I love too deeply to have compassion!
They would suffer! And now they do not suffer, for they speak of their sufferings too much, too often, and too loud! They lie!
Genuine suffering is mute, and genuine passion knows no bounds!
Passions, passions! When will they spring up in the hearts of men? We are all miserable because of apathy."Short of breath he burst into a fit of coughing, he coughed for a long time, hopping about hither and thither, waving his hands like a madman. And then he again stopped in front of Foma with pale face and blood-shot eyes. He breathed heavily, his lips trembled now and then, displaying his small, sharp teeth.
Dishevelled, with his head covered with short heir, he looked like a perch just thrown out of the water. This was not the first time Foma saw him in such a state, and, as always, he was infected by his agitation. He listened to the fiery words of the small man, silently, without attempting to understand their meaning, having no desire to know against whom they were directed, absorbing their force only. Yozhov's words bubbled on like boiling water, and heated his soul.
"I will say to them, to those miserable idlers:
'Look! Life goes onward, leaving you behind!"'
"Eh! That's fine!" exclaimed Foma, ecstatically, and began to move about on the lounge. "You're a hero, Nikolay! Oh! Go ahead!
Throw it right into their faces!"
But Yozhov was not in need of encouragement, it seemed even as though he had not heard at all Foma's exclamations, and he went on:
"I know the limitations of my powers. I know they'll shout at me:
