MOTHER (Russian Literature Classic). Максим Горький

Чтение книги онлайн.

      Pavel sat at Natasha's side. He was the handsomest of them all. Natasha bent down very low over the book. At times she tossed back the thin curls that kept running down over her forehead, and lowered her voice to say something not in the book, with a kind look at the faces of her auditors. The Little Russian bent his broad chest over a corner of the table, and squinted his eyes in the effort to see the worn ends of his mustache, which he constantly twirled. Vyesovshchikov sat on his chair straight as a pole, his palms resting on his knees, and his pockmarked face, browless and thin-lipped, immobile as a mask. He kept his narrow-eyed gaze stubbornly fixed upon the reflection of his face in the glittering brass of the samovar. He seemed not even to breathe. Little Somov moved his lips mutely, as if repeating to himself the words in the book; and his curly-haired companion, with bent body, elbows on knees, his face supported on his hands, smiled abstractedly. One of the men who had entered at the same time as Pavel, a slender young chap with red, curly hair and merry green eyes, apparently wanted to say something; for he kept turning around impatiently. The other, light-haired and closely cropped, stroked his head with his hand and looked down on the floor so that his face remained invisible.

      It was warm in the room, and the atmosphere was genial. The mother responded to this peculiar charm, which she had never before felt. She was affected by the purling of Natasha's voice, mingled with the quavering hum of the samovar, and recalled the noisy evening parties of her youth—the coarseness of the young men, whose breath always smelled of vodka—their cynical jokes. She remembered all this, and an oppressive sense of pity for her own self gently stirred her worn, outraged heart.

      Before her rose the scene of the wooing of her husband. At one of the parties he had seized her in a dark porch, and pressing her with his whole body to the wall asked in a gruff, vexed voice:

      "Will you marry me?"

      She had been pained and had felt offended; but he rudely dug his fingers into her flesh, snorted heavily, and breathed his hot, humid breath into her face. She struggled to tear herself out of his grasp.

      "Hold on!" he roared. "Answer me! Well?"

      Out of breath, shamed and insulted, she remained silent.

      "Don't put on airs now, you fool! I know your kind. You are mighty pleased."

      Some one opened the door. He let her go leisurely, saying:

      "I will send a matchmaker to you next Sunday."

      And he did.

      The mother covered her eyes and heaved a deep sigh.

      "I do not want to know how people used to live, but how they ought to live!" The dull, dissatisfied voice of Vyesovshchikov was heard in the room.

      "That's it!" corroborated the red-headed man, rising.

      "And I disagree!" cried Somov. "If we are to go forward, we must know everything."

      "True, true!" said the curly-headed youth in a low tone.

      A heated discussion ensued; and the words flashed like tongues of fire in a wood pile. The mother did not understand what they were shouting about. All faces glowed in an aureole of animation, but none grew angry, no one spoke the harsh, offensive words so familiar to her.

      "They restrain themselves on account of a woman's presence," she concluded.

      The serious face of Natasha pleased her. The young woman looked at all these young men so considerately, with the air of an elder person toward children.

      "Wait, comrades," she broke out suddenly. And they all grew silent and turned their eyes upon her.

      "Those who say that we ought to know everything are right. We ought to illumine ourselves with the light of reason, so that the people in the dark may see us; we ought to be able to answer every question honestly and truly. We must know all the truth, all the falsehood."

      The Little Russian listened and nodded his head in accompaniment to her words. Vyesovshchikov, the red-haired fellow, and the other factory worker, who had come with Pavel, stood in a close circle of three. For some reason the mother did not like them.

      When Natasha ceased talking, Pavel arose and asked calmly:

      "Is filling our stomachs the only thing we want?"

      "No!" СКАЧАТЬ