The Man Who Was Afraid

“But I can get along without drinking.”

“Come, come! Do you want some cognac?”

Foma looked at his father and smiled broadly. And his father answered him with a kindly smile:

“Eh, you. Devil! Drink, but look out – know your business. What can you do? A drunkard will sleep himself sober, a fool – never. Let us understand this much at least, for our own consolation. And did you have a good time with girls, too? Be frank! Are you afraid that I will beat you, or what?”

“Yes. There was one on the steamer. I had her there from Perm to Kazan.”

“So,” Ignat sighed heavily and said, frowning: “You’ve become defiled rather too soon.”

“I am twenty years old. And you yourself told me that in your days fellows married at the age of fifteen,” replied Foma, confused.

“Then they married. Very well, then, let us drop the subject. Well, you’ve had dealings with a woman. What of it? A woman is like vaccination, you cannot pass your life without her. As for myself, I cannot play the hypocrite. I began to go around with women when I was younger than you are now. But you must be on your guard with them.”

Ignat became pensive and was silent for a long time, sitting motionless, his head bent low on his breast.

“Listen, Foma,” he started again, sternly and firmly. “I shall die before long. I am old. Something oppresses my breast. I breathe with difficulty. I’ll die. Then all my affairs will fall on your shoulders. At first your godfather will assist you – mind him! You started quite well; you attended to everything properly; you held the reins firmly in your hands. And though you did squander a big sum of money, it is evident that you did not lose your head. God grant the same in the future. You should know this: business is a living, strong beast; you must manage it ably; you must put a strong bridle on it or it will conquer you. Try to stand above your business. Place yourself so that it will all be under your feet; that each little tack shall be visible to you.”

Foma looked at his father’s broad chest, heard his heavy voice and thought to himself:

“Oh, but you won’t die so soon!”

This thought pleased him and awakened in him a kind, warm feeling for his father.

“Rely upon your godfather. He has enough common sense in his head to supply the whole town with it. All he lacks is courage, or he would have risen high. Yes, I tell you my days on earth are numbered. Indeed, it is high time to prepare myself for death; to cast everything aside; to fast, and see to it that people bear me good-will.”

“They will!” said Foma with confidence.

“If there were but a reason why they should.”

“And the lodging-house?”

Ignat looked at his son and began to laugh.

“Yakov has had time to tell it to you already! The old miser. He must have abused me?”

“A little.” Foma smiled.

“Of course! Don’t I know him?”

“He spoke of it as though it were his own money.”

Ignat leaned back in his chair and burst into still louder laughter.

“The old raven, eh? That’s quite true. Whether it be his own money or mine, it is all the same to him. There he is trembling now. He has an aim in view, the bald-headed fellow. Can you tell me what it is?”

Foma thought awhile and said:

“I don’t know.”

“Eh, you’re stupid. He wants to tell our fortunes.”

“How is that?”

“Come now, guess!”

Foma looked at his father and – guessed it. His face became gloomy, he slightly raised himself from the armchair and said resolutely:

“No, I don’t want to. I shall not marry her!”

“Oh? Why so? She is a strong girl; she is not foolish; she’s his only child.”

“And Taras? The lost one? But I – I don’t want to at all!”

“The lost one is gone, consequently it is not worthwhile speaking of him. There is a will, dear, which says: ‘All my movable and real estates shall go to my daughter, Lubov.’ And as to the fact that she is your godfather’s daughter, we’ll set this right.”

“It is all the same,” said Foma, firmly. “I shall not marry her!”

“Well, it is rather early to speak of it now! But why do you dislike her so much?”

“I do not like such as she is.”

“So-o! Just think of it! And which women are more to your liking, sir, may I ask?”

“Those that are more simple. She’s always busy with her Gymnasium students and with her books. She’s become learned. She’ll be laughing at my expense,” said Foma, emotionally.

“That is quite true. She is too bold. But that is a trifle. All sorts of rust can be removed if you try to do it. That’s a matter for the future. And your godfather is a clever old man. His was a peaceful, sedentary life; sitting in one place he gave a thought to everything. It is worthwhile listening to him, for he can see the wrong side of each and every worldly affair. He is our aristocrat – descending from Mother Yekaterina – ha, ha! He understands a great deal about himself. And as his stem was cut off by Taras, he decided to put you in Taras’s place, do you see?”

“No, I’d rather select my place myself,” said Foma, stubbornly.

“You are foolish as yet.” Ignat smiled in reply to his son’s words.

Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of Aunt Anfisa.

“Foma! You’ve come,” she cried out, somewhere behind the doors. Foma rose and went to meet her, with a gentle smile.

Again his life streamed on slowly, calmly, monotonously. Again the Exchange and his father’s instructions. Retaining a kindly sarcastic and encouraging tone in his relation toward his son, Ignat began to treat him more strictly. He censured him for each and every trifle and constantly reminded him that he brought him up freely; that he was never in his way and that he never beat him.

“Other fathers beat fellows like yourself with logs of wood. And I never even touched you with a finger.”

“Evidently I didn’t deserve it,” said Foma one day, calmly.

Ignat became angry at his son for these words and for the tone.

“Don’t talk so much!” he roared. “You’ve picked up courage because of the softness of my hand. You find an answer to every word I say. Beware; though my hand was soft, it can nevertheless still squeeze you so that tears will gush forth from your heels. You’ve grown up too soon, like a toad-stool, just sprung up from the ground. You have a bad smell already.”

“Why are you so angry at me?” asked Foma, perplexed and offended, when his father chanced to be in a happy frame of mind.