childhood, on earth, my university

Chapter 13: In the world (6)
I never saw him sulking alone, nor did I see him remain silent for long periods of time.He was constantly talking, talking to others or whispering to himself.After being on duty every day, he climbed out of the boiler room dripping with sweat, and his monotonous, steady and slightly hoarse voice sounded from the deck.He never complained of suffering or tiredness like other firemen, nor did he complain about the hardships of life.What he said the most was: "What a big deal!"

He loves money but is not greedy.Once, an old lady on board lost her wallet, and everyone helped her. Later, the old lady said that the money donated by others was three rubles and seven kopecks more than what she lost.Yakov walked up to the old lady and asked seriously:

"Give me the extra money to play cards!"

At first everyone thought he was joking, but unexpectedly he pestered the old lady and begged:
"Give it to me! Old woman! What do you want money for? Maybe you will go to the grave tomorrow..."

So everyone scolded him.He shook his head, surprised why they were meddling.

Another time, he wanted to gamble with me.I have five rubles, he has two more rubles.Needless to say, he won my money without breaking a sweat.I bet again on a coat worth five rubles and a pair of boots worth three rubles, and lost again.Yakov said to me almost angrily:
"You're too impatient to gamble. I don't want these things, you take them back. For money, I'll give you four rubles back, and leave one ruble for tuition."

I was grateful to him, but he said:
"What a big deal!"

I gradually found myself liking him more and more, and disliking him less and less.Sometimes what he said reminded me of my grandmother.There are many things about him that attract me.But his indifference to people sometimes disgusts me.

Once, in the evening, a businessman fell into the water after being drunk.His companion tried to jump down to save him, but was held back.Then the two sailors jumped down.There was chaos on board, but Yakov said calmly:

"Will be drowned, will be drowned, because he's wearing a coat. You see, it's sunk, and I'm not talking nonsense..."

The merchant really sank.Everyone salvaged for two hours, but found nothing.After his companion sobered up, he murmured sadly:

"What to do? How to explain to his family?"

Yakov stood before him, hands behind his back, comforting him and saying:
"What's so great about this! No one knows where they will die. Some people ate mushrooms and died in the blink of an eye. But thousands of people ate mushrooms and they were all right. He was the only one who died after eating mushrooms. Can you blame the mushrooms?"

Yakov talked on and on.The man started crying, but after listening for a while, he cried out angrily:
"You devil! Everyone, drive him away!"

Yakov walked away as if nothing had happened, muttering:

"What a weird person, he kindly persuaded him, but he didn't appreciate it..."

Sometimes, I think Yakov looks like a fool, but I also think he is probably playing stupid.I want to know his life experience and experience very much, but I am often disappointed.

Chef Ivan?Ivanovich didn't like Yakov, always scolded him, but in the evening, he often invited him to tea.

One day the cook said to Yakov:
"If it's still serfdom, and let me be your master, lazy bastard like you, I'll beat you seven times a week!"

"Seven times is too much." Yakov said seriously.

However, the chef often scolded him while stuffing him with food.This time again.

"Eat it! You lazy bastard!" The chef thrust him a piece of bread roughly.

"Getting to know you has given me a lot of strength, Ivan? Ivanovich!" Yakov said while chewing slowly.

"Lazy thing, what's the use of strength?"

"Live long..."

"What are you living for? You lazy bastard!"

"The devil wants to live too. According to you, isn't it good to live? Living is a happy thing..."

"What an idiot!"

"idiot!"

"What's that?" Yakov said in surprise.

The cook turned to me and said:

"Imagine we sweated blood and dried our bones in hellish furnaces while this idiot ate and drank like pigs!"

"Everyone has their own way of living." Yakov said while chewing the food.

I found that anyone on the boat could say hello to him, but everyone thought he was a good guy.However, he was like a locked box in front of me, and there was something in the box that I wanted to know.Although he often talked to me about all kinds of things, I still couldn't really understand him.

Once, I asked him:
"Do you pray to God?"

"Of course I pray..."

"What are you praying for?"

"Pray for everything."

"What prayer do you read?"

"I don't know what prayer to read. It's really simple, man, I pray like this: Lord Jesus, have mercy on the living, let the dead rest in peace, Lord, keep me healthy...and say something else ..."

"What more?"

"You can say whatever you want! No matter what, he can hear it!"

Sometimes, he would ask me out of the blue:

"Hey, Alyosha, read a poem!"

I can recite a lot of poems, and I have a thick notebook with my favorite poems copied on it.I read Pushkin's poem "Ruslan" to him, and he listened quietly, then whispered:
"That's interesting, yes! Did you think of it yourself?"

I also often tell him the stories I read in the book.In the process of telling, I often use my own inspiration to change the character of the characters and remake the plot of the story.When listening to a story, he can often restrain his emotions and not interrupt my narration.

Once, when I told a story about the Frenchman, he sighed and said;

"It's so cool for them..."

"What?" I asked with some doubts.

"You see, we live and work in the heat, but they live a cool life, with nothing to do but eat, drink and be merry!"

"They have to work, too."

"But you don't see it from your story!" he said bluntly.

I suddenly realized that in most of the books I have read, there is almost no mention of how those noble people work and what kind of labor they rely on to maintain their lives.

"Let's stop here. I'll lie down." After speaking, he lay down on his back.After a while, he snored rhythmically.

In autumn, the banks of the Kama River turn brown and red.Just this season, Yakov suddenly left the ship.And on the first night, he also told me that when we arrived in Perm the day after tomorrow, we would go to the bathhouse to take a bath, and then go to a tavern with music.

However, when the boat arrived at Sarapur, a big fat man came up.Yakov soon came to his side, looked at the map on the almanac with him, and talked in a low voice.

Before Yakov went to work, I asked him what the guy did.He smiled and said, "It's so far from Siberia!"

As he spoke, he walked past me, then stopped again, and said:

"I'm going to work with him. We'll disembark as soon as we get to Perm, and we'll part!" Do you know him? "I was surprised by his decision.

"How can we talk about understanding? I have never seen him before, and I have never been to the place where he lives..."

The next morning, Yakov and the fat man left.I hated him, hated him, envied him, and at the same time felt uneasy about him: why did he go to a strange place?What kind of person is he?
12
In the fall of autumn, the ship stopped sailing.I went to an icon workshop as an apprentice.I worked in the shop during the day and studied in the workshop at night.A short, fast-walking shopkeeper was in charge of teaching me in the shop.It was a young lad with a pretty face.Every morning, in the cold and hazy dawn, he and I walked across the city along the sleeping Ilica Merchant Street, to the shop on the second floor of Nijni Market.Side by side with this shop is another shop dealing in icons and books.

Usually, after opening the shop door, I would first go to the small restaurant to fetch boiling water, and after drinking tea, I would start to tidy up the shop, wipe off the dust on the goods, and then go to the balcony at the door of the shop to attract customers, trying not to let them enter the next door That shop to do some shopping.

The shopkeeper neatly packed the small wooden boards of the holy statues, and told me the size and price of the wooden boards of the holy statues, as well as the types and functions of the different saints.I quickly memorized the various sizes and prices of icons and the various Madonnas, but the role of each Madonna was not so easy to remember.

Sometimes when I stand at the door of the shop and think about something, the shopkeeper will suddenly test me:

"Who are the saints who manage dystocia?"

If I got it wrong, he would say contemptuously:

"What do you do with a head?"

However, the most difficult thing is to attract customers.In the stories my grandmother told, the Madonnas were young, beautiful, and kind-hearted, and so were the Madonnas in the magazine illustrations.But the Madonna on the icon in the shop is so old and hideous that I feel ashamed to sell it.

On the market days of Wednesday and Friday, the business in the shop is particularly prosperous.From time to time, country people and old ladies, and sometimes the whole family came to the balcony.They are all old believers on the other side of the Volga.Once, I tried my best to attract a customer, but he looked at me like a watchdog with an unpredictable look, then suddenly pushed me away and walked to the next shop.The shopkeeper yelled at me angrily:
"How did you let him go, thanks to you being a businessman..."

I try my best to do every job well, but I can't learn how to attract customers and negotiate business.I feel sorry for the peasants, they don't look rich, and I sometimes feel tempted to whisper to them the real price of the icon, lest they spend an extra twenty kopecks.I also like these peasants, there is something mysterious about them, like Yakov, that attracts me.One day, I called a silver-haired old man into the shop, and he said to me gently: "Young man, you said that your icon workshop is the best in Russia, this is not true, the best should be the Rogozhin workshop, In Moscow."

I was very embarrassed, and quickly stood aside.He walked slowly.

"Have you hit a snag?" The shopkeeper sarcastically said to me.

"You never told me about Rogozhin's workshop..." I replied.

He cursed:
"These damn things know everything, understand everything..."

Indeed, these mountain men knew more about icons and holy books than the shopkeeper.

Sometimes, some old men and old ladies brought some ancient editions of holy books or manuscripts, as well as old icons, crosses, and folding bronze icons to sell in the shop.For those who sell these things, the shopkeeper and the owner of the shop next door are all fighting for it.The antiques they bought for a few rubles or tens of rubles were resold in the market to wealthy believers, and they could earn hundreds of rubles.

As soon as these sellers came, the shopkeeper sent me for Pyotr Vasiliich, who was well versed in old books, icons, and antiques.He was a tall old man with wise eyes and a kind face.No matter in winter or summer, he always wears a robe-like coat and a velvet hat like a pot.Every time he entered the shop, his shoulders slumped, his waist was bent, he sighed softly, crossed himself with his little fingers, and murmured prayers and hymns.His pious appearance and old-fashioned demeanor immediately won the trust of the seller.

I know that if he says "fake" it means rare.Then he told the shopkeeper the bid for the icon in different coded words. "Disheartened and sad" means ten rubles, "Nikon Tiger" means 25 rubles.I was ashamed to see them cheat the seller like that.However, I have to admire this old man's seamless tricks.

Once, the shopkeeper asked him to identify an icon.He entered the shop, took off his hat, took the icon, carefully examined it from all angles, squinted his eyes at the joints between the planks, and muttered incessantly.Finally, he carefully placed the icon on the counter, put on his hat and said:

"Guilty!" means: buy it!
The shopkeeper bought the holy image for a few rubles, and the seller, impressed by his eloquence and profound knowledge, bowed deeply to him and left.When I came back from turning on the water in the small restaurant, the old man was full of energy and very happy, not at all the same as when he first entered the shop.He looked lovingly at the icon he had just bought, and while drinking tea, he bargained with the shopkeeper about the price of the icon after it was sold.Obviously, the shopkeeper is not the old man's opponent.As soon as the old man left, the shopkeeper would tell me:

"Be careful, don't tell the proprietress about this business!"

Whether in person or behind the scenes, the shopkeeper always admires the old man's knowledge.But sometimes, like me, I want to annoy him and embarrass him a bit.

Once, the shopkeeper stared at the old man with provocative eyes, and suddenly said:

"You're a complete liar."

The old man didn't care, and said with a sneer:
"Only God doesn't lie, but we live among fools. If we don't lie to fools, what advantage can we have?"

Sometimes, the old man also came to pester me:
"What book are you reading?"

"Efrem? Sirin's work."

"Which one writes better, this person or the average writer?"

I didn't say anything.

"What do those ordinary writers mainly write about?" he asked again.

"Write about all life."

"Then, write about dogs and horses. Dogs and horses are everywhere."

The shopkeeper laughed, and I was very angry.When I first came to work in the shop, I once told the shopkeeper a few books I had read.The shopkeeper made up these stories and told the old man.So the old man often asked me some messy questions.I know they don't do it out of malice, out of boredom, out of boredom.But I still feel sick.

There are many similar things.Residents, businessmen, and shopkeepers in this market are all keen to make silly jokes.They deliberately pointed the wrong direction to the countrymen who asked for directions.They tied the tails of the two mice together and watched them struggle as they ran in different directions.They hung a broken iron bucket on the dog's tail.On one occasion they even watched with great interest a shop clerk who ate ten pounds of ham in two hours, and were delighted when they saw that he could hardly eat it.

I don't like their boring way of life.It amazes me that nothing about this way of life is mentioned in the books I've read.

Sometimes, when I shared these ideas with Peter Vasiliich, he always scoffed at me.He was not generally a lover, but when it came to God, he was full of real emotion, and he often said with a sigh:

"This is how people deceive God..."

He is a staunch Pagan believer, and I admire his profound knowledge of religion and his resolute attitude in defending his beliefs.However, once, I mustered up the courage to say to him:

"But you often deceive country folks too."

He said indifferently:
"It's nothing more than cheating three or five rubles."

He was extremely appreciative of my habit of reading.Every time he met me reading a book, he patted me on the shoulder and said:
"Read it, boy, read it, it's good for you! You seem a little clever, but it's a pity you don't respect your elders and talk back to everyone."

Sometimes, he would take the book from me and ask me critical questions.Sometimes he said to the shopkeeper in a surprised tone:

"Look, this little guy can understand this kind of book!"

13
The icon workshops were in two large stone houses.Both rooms were filled with tables, and at each table sat an icon-maker bent over his work.Sometimes two people sit together.

The workshop was very stuffy, and more than 20 icon painters were busy.Some of them wore open-necked floral shirts and twill trousers, some were barefoot, and some wore worn-out shoes.The smoke of bad tobacco wafted over their heads, and the house smelled of drying oil, paint, and rotten eggs.

People are not very involved in painting icons.I don't know who divided this sacred work into a series of trivial steps that have no aesthetic feeling, and can't arouse enthusiasm and interest.Panfil, a joiner, sent over the planed and glued cypress and basswood boards. Dadorov painted the base color for these boards, and Sorokin added a coat of paint, and then Milyashin used a pencil to paint on the boards according to the original drawing. The outline of the icon was drawn on the board, and then Gogolev applied gold and carved the pattern on it, and the costume painter painted the costume and background.After a series of processes, these faceless and handless icons were placed against the wall, waiting for the face painter to process them.After the face painter has painted the entire icon, it is handed over to a craftsman, who then applies enamel according to the pattern carved by the gold painter.The text part is in charge of by a special person.

Foreman Ivan?Larionovich also does some painting work himself.He was a very quiet man, with a gray face, even his beard and gray eyes.The eyes were sunken and full of melancholy.

One day, Kabe Jiuxin, who was in charge of painting the divine flags, ran in drunk and ran around the workshop, swinging his iron fists and beating anyone he saw.Everyone panicked for a moment and ran away one after another.Face painter Yevgeny?Sitanov picked up a bench and threw it at him, causing him to sit down and fall to the ground.Everyone quickly held him down and tied him up with towels.He tore at the towel with beastly teeth.Just then, Foreman Larionovich appeared and put a stop to the chaos.

Looking at Larionovich, I wondered: Why do these strong lunatics listen to him so obediently?He showed everyone how to work, and even the best craftsmen were willing to listen to his advice.Among this group of craftsmen, the one he taught the most was Kabejiushin.Kabejiushin was always absent-minded in his work. He often said that painting icons was not his profession, and that he was a born musician.Indeed, when he sang, everyone was deeply attracted by him, and everyone in the workshop recognized him as their master.He generally seldom sang, but his soul-stirring voice was always irresistible.No matter how heavy people's hearts are, his singing can always cheer people up and give people enthusiasm.Only when he led the singing, everyone sang some cheerful and bold songs.But in normal times, everyone always sings those sad and long songs.

(End of this chapter)