Orlóff and His Wife: Tales of the Barefoot Brigade. Maksim Gorky

in a pit. … We did not see the light, we hardly knew people at all. I've got out of the pit, and have recovered my sight. I was like a blind man as regards life. And now I understand that a wife, anyhow, is a man's closest friend in life. Because people are snakes and reptiles, to tell the truth. … They're always trying to deal wounds to other people. … For instance—Prónin, Vasiukóff. … Well, they may go to the. … Hold your peace, Mótrya! We shall get straightened out, all right, never fear. … We shall make our way, and live with understanding. … Well? What do you think of it, my little goose?"

      She shed sweet tears of happiness, and replied to his question with kisses.

      "You are my only one!" he whispered, and kissed her in return.

      They wiped away each other's tears with kisses, and both were conscious of their briny taste. And for a long time Orlóff continued to talk in words which were new for him.

      It was completely dark now. The sky, magnificently adorned with countless swarms of stars, looked down upon the earth with triumphant sadness, and in the plain reigned silence like that of the sky.

      *

      They had got into the habit of drinking tea together. On the morning after their talk in the fields, Orlóff presented himself in his wife's room confused and surly over something. Felitzáta was not feeling well, Matréna was alone in the room, and greeted her husband with a beaming face, which immediately clouded over, and she asked him anxiously:

      "What makes you like that? Are you ill?"

      "No, never mind,"—he replied curtly, as he seated himself on a chair, and drew toward him the tea which she had already poured out.

      "But what is it?" persisted Matréna.

      "I didn't sleep. I kept thinking. … You and I cackled together pretty hard last night, and got silly-soft … and now I'm ashamed of myself. … There's no use in that. You women always try to get a man into your hands, on such occasions … so you do. … Only, don't you dream of such a thing—you won't succeed. … . You can't get around me, and I won't yield to you. … So now you know it!"

      He said all this very impressively, but did not look at his wife. Matréna never took her eyes from his face all the time, and her lips writhed strangely.

      "Are you sorry that you came so near to me last night—is that it?"—she asked quietly.—"Are you sorry that you kissed and caressed me? What does this mean? It insults me to hear it … it is very bitter, you're breaking my heart with such speeches. What do you want? Do you find me tiresome, am not I dear to you, or what?"

      She gazed at him suspiciously, but in her tone resounded pain and a challenge to her husband.

      "N—no. … " said Grigóry abashed, "I was only talking in general … You and I used to live in a hole, you know yourself what sort of a life it was! It makes me sick even to think of it. And now that we've got out of it—I feel afraid of something. Everything changed so suddenly. … I'm like a stranger to myself, and you seem to be a different person too. What is the meaning of this! And what will come next?"

      "What God sends, Grísha!"—said Matréna gravely.—"Only don't feel sorry that you were kind last night."

      "All right, drop it. … " Grigóry stopped her as abashed as ever, and still sighing.—"You see, I'm thinking that we shan't come to anything, after all. And our former life was not flowery, and my present life is not to my taste. And although I don't drink, don't beat you, and don't swear. … "

      Matréna laughed convulsively.

      "You have no time to worry about that now."

      "I could always find time to get drunk,"—smiled Orlóff. "I don't feel tempted to—: that's the wonder. And besides, in general, I feel … not exactly ashamed of it, and yet not exactly afraid of it.. he shook his head, and began to meditate.

      "The Lord only knows what is the matter with you," said Matréna, with a heavy sigh.—"It's a pleasant life, though there's a lot of work; all the doctors are fond of you, and you are behaving well … really, I don't know what to make of it. You're very uneasy."

      "That's true, I'm uneasy. … Now, I was thinking in the night: Piótr Ivánovitch says: all men are equals, and ain't I a man like the rest? Yet Doctor Véshtchenko is better than I am, and Piótr Ivánovitch is better, and so are many others. … That means, that they are not my equals … and I'm not on a level with them, I feel that. … They cured Míshka Úsoff, and rejoiced at it. … And I don't understand that. On the whole, why feel glad that a man has recovered? His life was worse than the cholera convulsions, if you speak the truth. They understand that, but they are glad. … And I would have liked to rejoice too, like them, only I can't. … Because—as I said before … what is there to be glad about?"

      "But they pity the people,"—returned Matréna—"okh, how they pity them! It's the same thing in our section … a sick woman begins to mend, and, oh, Lord, what goings on! And when a poor woman gets her discharge, they give her advice, and money and medicines. … It even makes me shed tears … the kind people, the compassionate people!"

      "Now you say—tears. … But I'm seized with amazement … Nothing less. … " Orlóff shrugged his shoulders, and rubbed his head, and stared in wonder at his wife.

      Eloquence made its appearance in her, from somewhere, and she began zealously to demonstrate to her husband, that people are entirely worthy of compassion. Bending toward him, and gazing into his face with affectionate eyes, she talked long to him about people, and the burden of life, and he stared at her and thought:

      "Eh, how she talks! Where does she get the words?"

      "For you are compassionate yourself—you say, you would strangle the cholera, if you had the power. But what for? Whom does it annoy? People, not you: you have even begun to live better because it made its appearance."

      Orlóff suddenly burst out laughing.

      "Why, that's so, certainly!—I am better off, that's true, isn't it? Akh, you shrewd creature—make the most of it! People die, and I live better in consequence, hey?—That's what life is like! Pshaw!"

      He rose, and went away, laughing, to his duty. As he was walking along the corridor, he suddenly felt regret that no one except himself had heard Matréna's speech. "She spoke cleverly! A woman, a woman, and yet she understands something, too." And absorbed in an agreeable sort of sensation, he entered his ward, greeted by the hoarse rattling and the moans of the sick men.

      With every passing day, the world of his feelings grew wider and wider, and, along with this, his necessity for speech waxed greater. He could not, of course, narrate as a whole what was taking place within him, for the greater part of his sensations and thought were beyond his grasp. An angry envy blazed up within him, because he could not rejoice over people.

      It was after this that the desire was kindled within him to perform some wonderful deed, and astonish everyone thereby. He felt conscious that his position in the barracks placed him between people, as it were: the doctors and students were higher than he, the servitors were lower—what was he himself? And a sense of loneliness laid its grasp upon him; then it seemed to him that Fate was playing with him, had blown him out of his place, and was now carrying him through the air like a feather. He began to feel sorry for himself, and went to his wife. Sometimes he did not wish to do this, considering that frankness toward her would lower him in her eyes, but he went, nevertheless. He arrived gloomy, and now in a vicious, again in a sceptical mood, he went away, almost always, petted and composed. His wife had words of her own; they were not many, they were simple, but there was always a great deal of feeling in them, and he observed, with astonishment, that Matréna was coming to occupy a larger and larger place in his life, that he had to think of her and talk with her "according to the soul," more and more frequently.

      She in her turn understood this very well, indeed, and endeavored, in every way, to broaden her growing significance in his life. Her toilsome and energetic life in the barracks had increased her sense of her own value greatly—it came to pass unnoticed by Matréna. She did not think, she