"See, how they all fawn upon you. The tom-cats have smelt the fat."These words were unpleasant to Foma, but they were useful to him, as they caused him to answer at all events.
At the cemetery, when they sang for Ignat's eternal memory, he cried again bitterly and loud. His godfather immediately seized him by the arms and led him away from the grave, speaking to him earnestly:
"What a faint-hearted fellow you are! Do I not feel sorry for him?
I have known his real value, while you were but his son. And yet, I do not cry. For more than thirty years we lived together in perfect harmony--how much had been spoken, how much thought--how much sorrow drunk. You are young; it is not for you to grieve! Your life is before you, and you will be rich in all sorts of friendship; while I am old, and now that I buried my only friend, I am like a pauper. I can no longer make a bosom friend!"The old man's voice began to jar and squeak queerly. His face was distorted, his lips were stretched into a big grimace and were quivering, and from his small eyes frequent tears were running over the now contracted wrinkles of his face. He looked so pitiful and so unlike himself, that Foma stopped short, pressed him close to his body with the tenderness of a strong man and cried with alarm:
"Don't cry, father--darling! Don't cry."
"There you have it!" said Mayakin, faintly, and, heaving a deep sigh, he suddenly turned again into a firm and clever old man.
"You must not cry," said he, mysteriously, seating himself in the carriage beside his godson. "You are now the commander-in-chief in the war and you must command your soldiers bravely. Your soldiers are the roubles, and you have a great army of these.
Make war incessantly!"
Surprised at the quickness of his transformation, Foma listened to his words and for some reason or other they reminded him of those clods of earth, which the people threw into Ignat's grave upon his coffin.
"On whom am I to make war?" said Foma with a sigh.
"I'll teach you that! Did your father tell you that I was a clever old man and that you should mind me?""He did."
"Then do mind me! If my mind should be added to your youthful strength, a good victory might be won. Your father was a great man, but he did not look far before him and he could not take my advice. He gained success in life not with his mind, but more with his head. Oh, what will become of you? You had better move into my house, for you will feel lonesome in yours.""Aunt is there."
"Aunt? She is sick. She will not live long."
"Do not speak of it," begged Foma in a low voice.
"And I will speak of it. You need not fear death--you are not an old woman on the oven. Live fearlessly and do what you were appointed to do. Man is appointed for the organisation of life on earth. Man is capital--like a rouble, he is made up of trashy copper groshes and copecks. From the dust of the earth, as it is said; and even as he has intercourse with the world, he absorbs grease and oil, sweat and tears--a soul and a mind form themselves in him. And from this he starts to grow upward and downward. Now, you see his price is a grosh, now a fifteen copeck silver piece, now a hundred roubles, and sometimes he is above any price. He is put into circulation and he must bring interests to life. Life knows the value of each of us and will not check our course before time. Nobody, dear, works to his own detriment, if he is wise. And life has saved up much wisdom. Are you listening?""I am."
"And what do you understand?"
"Everything."
"You are probably lying?" Mayakin doubted.
"But, why must we die?" asked Foma in a low voice.
Mayakin looked into his face with regret, smacked his lips and said:
"A wise man would never ask such a question. A wise man knows for himself that if it is a river, it must be flowing somewhere, and if it were standing in one place, it would be a swamp.""You're simply mocking me at random," said Foma, sternly. "The sea is not flowing anywhere.""The sea receives all rivers into itself, and then, powerful storms rage in it at times. Then the sea of life also submits on agitation, stirred up by men, and death renovates the waters of the sea of life, that they might not become spoiled. No matter how many people are dying, they are nevertheless forever growing in number.""What of it? But my father is dead."
"You will die as well."
"Then what have I to do with the fact that people are growing in number?" Foma smiled sadly.
"Eh, he, he!" sighed Mayakin. "That, indeed, concerns none of us.
There, your trousers probably reason in the same way: what have we to do with the fact that there are all sorts of stuff in the world? But you do not mind them--you wear them out and throw them away."Foma glanced at his godfather reproachfully, and noticing that the old man was smiling, he was astonished and he asked respectfully:
"Can it be true, father, that you do not fear death?""Most of all I fear foolishness, my child," replied Mayakin with humble bitterness. "My opinion is this: if a fool give you honey, spit upon it; if a wise man give you poison, drink it! And I will tell you that the perch has a weak soul since his fins do not stand on end."The old man's mocking words offended and angered Foma. He turned aside and said:
"You can never speak without these subterfuges.""I cannot!" exclaimed Mayakin, and his eyes began to sparkle with alarm. "Each man uses the very same tongue he has. Do I seem to be stern? Do I?"Foma was silent.
"Eh, you. Know this--he loves who teaches. Remember this well.
