Among all those sedate people he was the youngest and the handsomest. His well-shaped figure, in a tight-fitting frock coat, stood out, to his advantage, among the mass of stout bodies with prominent paunches. His swarthy face with large eyes was more regularly featured, more full of life than the shrivelled or red faces of those who stood before him with astonishment and expectancy. He threw his chest forward, set his teeth together, and flinging the skirts of his frock coat apart, thrust his hands into his pockets.
"You can't stop up my mouth now with flattery and caresses!" said he, firmly and threateningly, "Whether you will listen or not, Iam going to speak all the same. You cannot drive me away from here."He shook his head, and, raising his shoulders, announced calmly:
"But if any one of you dare to touch me, even with a finger, I'll kill him! I swear it by the Lord. I'll kill as many as I can!"The crowd of people that stood opposite him swayed back, even as bushes rocked by the wind. They began to talk in agitated whispers. Foma's face grew darker, his eyes became round.
"Well, it has been said here that you have built up life, and that you have done the most genuine and proper things."Foma heaved a deep sigh, and with inexpressible aversion scrutinized his listeners' faces, which suddenly became strangely puffed up, as though they were swollen. The merchants were silent, pressing closer and closer to one another. Some one in the back rows muttered:
"What is he talking about? Ah! From a paper, or by heart?""Oh, you rascals!" exclaimed Gordyeeff, shaking his head. "What have you made? It is not life that you have made, but a prison.
It is not order that you have established, you have forged fetters on man. It is suffocating, it is narrow, there is no room for a living soul to turn. Man is perishing! You are murderers!
Do you understand that you exist today only through the patience of mankind?""What does this mean?" exclaimed Reznikov, clasping his hands in rage and indignation. "Ilya Yefimov, what's this? I can't bear to hear such words.""Gordyeeff!" cried Bobrov. "Look out, you speak improper words.""For such words you'll get--oi, oi, oi! " said Zubov, insinuatingly.
"Silence!" roared Foma, with blood-shot eyes. "Now they're grunting.""Gentlemen!" rang out Mayakin's calm, malicious voice, like the screech of a smooth-file on iron. "Don't touch him! I entreat you earnestly, do not hinder him. Let him snarl. Let him amuse himself. His words cannot harm you.""Well, no, I humbly thank you! "cried Yushkov. And close at Foma's side stood Smolin and whispered in his ear:
"Stop, my dear boy! What's the matter with you? Are you out of your wits? They'll do you--!""Get away!" said Foma, firmly, flashing his angry eyes at him.
"You go to Mayakin and flatter him, perhaps something will come your way!"Smolin whistled through his teeth and stepped aside. And the merchants began to disperse on the steamer, one by one. This irritated Foma still more he wished he could chain them to the spot by his words, but he could not find such powerful words.
"You have built up life!" he shouted. "Who are you?
Swindlers, robbers."
A few men turned toward Foma, as if he had called them.
"Kononov! are they soon going to try you for that little girl?
They'll convict you to the galleys. Goodbye, Ilya! You are building your steamers in vain. They'll transport you to Siberia on a government vessel."Kononov sank into a chair; his blood leaped to his face, and he shook his fist in silence. Foma said hoarsely:
"Very well. Good. I shall not forget it."
Foma saw his distorted face with its trembling lips, and understood with what weapons he could deal these men the most forcible blows.
"Ha, ha, ha! Builders of life! Gushchin, do you give alms to your little nephews and nieces? Give them at least a copeck a day. You have stolen sixty-seven thousand roubles from them. Bobrov! why did you lie about that mistress of yours, saying that she had robbed you, and then send her to prison? If you had grown tired of her, you might have given her over to your son. Anyway he has started an intrigue with that other mistress of yours. Didn't you know it? Eh, you fat pig, ha, ha! And you, Lup, open again a brothel, and fleece your guests there as before. And then the devil will fleece you, ha, ha! It is good to be a rascal with a pious face like yours! Whom did you kill then, Lup?"Foma spoke, interrupting his speech with loud, malevolent laughter, and saw that his words were producing an impression on these people. Before, when he had spoken to all of them they turned away from him, stepping aside, forming groups, and looking at their accuser from afar with anger and contempt. He saw smiles on their faces, he felt in their every movement something scornful, and understood that while his words angered them they did not sting as deep as he wished them to. All this had chilled his wrath, and within him there was already arising the bitter consciousness of the failure of his attack on them. But as soon as he began to speak of each one separately, there was a swift and striking change in the relation of his hearers toward him.
When Kononov sank heavily in the chair, as though he were unable to withstand the weight of Foma's harsh words, Foma noticed that bitter and malicious smiles crossed the faces of some of the merchants. He heard some one's whisper of astonishment and approval:
"That's well aimed!"
This whisper gave strength to Foma, and he confidently and passionately began to hurl reproaches, jeers and abuses at those who met his eyes. He growled joyously, seeing that his words were taking effect. He was listened to silently, attentively; several men moved closer toward him.
Exclamations of protest were heard, but these were brief, not loud, and each time Foma shouted some one's name, all became silent, listening, casting furtive, malicious glances in the direction of their accused comrade.
