childhood, on earth, my university

Chapter 14: In the world (7)
Sometimes Zhikhalev, the best face-painter in the workshop, suggested singing hymns, but there was very little response.Zhikharev has superb skills and can draw Byzantine-style and French-style holy faces, and he is especially good at painting Italian-style holy faces.He was familiar with the original icon.Larionovich consulted with him whenever he received a job to make a wall of icons.Although Zhikharev has a pivotal position in the workshop, he has never been domineering.He is kind to the apprentice Pavel and me, and is willing to teach us crafts, which no one in the workshop will do except him.But he was also often elusive, and sometimes he would work like a mute for whole weeks without saying a word.Sometimes I can't help complaining loudly:
"These original works have bound our imaginations. Does anyone know the lives of the saints? We live like walking dead. Where is the soul? It is in the original works, but it lacks aura..."

However, his heart-opening words attracted ridicule from everyone, only the face painter Yevgeny?Sitanov remained silent.

Sitanov is a 22-year-old boy, tall and strong, who often looks melancholy and seriously into the corner.Once, after Zhikharev finished copying an icon, he put the icon on the table and said excitedly:
"The Madonna is finished! You are like a bottomless cup, from now on you must be ready to accept people's sincere and painful tears..."

After speaking, he put on his coat and went to the tavern.Everyone laughed and whistled.Sitanov approached the icon, looked at it carefully, and said:
"No wonder he wants to drink, he is reluctant to hand over his work. This feeling is not shared by everyone..."

On Saturdays, Zhikharev's alcohol addiction would break out.He always went to the bathhouse first, dressed up after returning, and then went out in a carriage. Before leaving, he had to order everyone to clean up the workshop.

Everyone was in high spirits like a festival, bathed and changed one after another, and finished dinner in a hurry.After the meal, Zhikharev brought back several packages of appetizers, as well as beer, wine and so on.As a result, the whole workshop was full of carnival.After eating and drinking, they danced, sang, and shouted to their heart's content.Everyone seems to be looking for a kind of stimulation, and it seems that they are in a competition with each other, comparing agility and endurance.

14
The work I do in the workshop is not heavy.Before everyone woke up in the morning, I cooked a samovar for the masters.While they were in the kitchen for tea, Pavel and I cleaned up the workshop, got the egg yolks ready for paint, and then I went to the shop.In the evening, I went back to the workshop to grind the paint and learn from the masters.At the beginning, I had a strong interest in "studying art", but I soon discovered that almost everyone disliked this trivial job.

When I was free at night, I would tell them about the life on the ship and the stories in the book.Before I knew it, I had taken up a certain special place in the workshop, a storyteller and reciter.None of them had as much experience as I did, and they were almost trapped in this small workshop since they were young, except for Zhikharev who had been to Moscow.They like to hear wild and bizarre stories, and real life experiences have little appeal to them.

In Davydov's trunk were the tattered Golitzens, Bulgarin's Ivan?Viking, Pamphlet of Baron Brambius.I read the books to them and they all liked it.Larionovich said:

"It's great to listen to and study, and there will be no more quarrels and nonsense!"

I started trying to find books, and when I found them I read to them at night.They listened calmly and intently, as if they were thinking about something again.At times like this, I especially like them.

However, it is not easy to find a book.Once, the fire chief gave me a collection of poems by Lermontov.I remember that when I just read the first few lines of "The Devil", Sitanov looked at the book, then looked at my face, smiled and shook his body, making the chair creak.

"Be quiet, man!" Larionovich said, and he dropped what he was doing and walked over to the table.I was so deeply moved by the poetry that tears obscured my vision.What makes me even more excited is that the whole workshop seems to have a magnet that attracts everyone to me.When I finished Chapter 1, almost everyone gathered around my table, frowning and smiling slightly.

"Read it, read it!" Zhikharev yelled as soon as I stopped.

After I finished reading, he took the book, looked at the title, and said:

"This has to be read again! You can read it again tomorrow. I will keep the book."

He locked Lermontov's collection of poems in his drawer, and set to work.Everyone also quietly returned to their respective tables, and there was silence in the workshop.Sitanov went to the table and stood there dumbfounded.Zhikharev sighed:
"See, this is life, servants of God, this is life!" Everyone worked in silence, looking at the clock from time to time.As soon as nine o'clock arrived, everyone put down their work.Sitanov and Zhikharev came to the yard, and I followed.Sitanov looked up at the stars in the sky and read Lermontov's poem:
Gazing at the teams of stars abandoned by the sky drifting in the sky...

"What a fine sentence!" he exclaimed.

"I don't remember a word," Zhikharev said, "I forget everything but him!" "

Back in the doorway, Zhikharev reminded me:
"Don't talk about this book in the shop, it's a forbidden book."

After dinner, when I was getting ready to go to bed, Zhikhalev took out his book and said to me:

"How about it, read it again! Read it slowly, don't worry..."

A few people got out of bed without a sound, sat cross-legged around the table without even putting on their clothes.

When I had finished reading, Zhikharev tapped his finger on the table and said:

"That's what life is called! Oh, brother!"

He stood up and said in a trembling voice indignantly:
"We live in this world like a bunch of blind puppies who don't know anything. Even God and the devil don't need us. Can we be God's servants? But whose people are we?"

After speaking, he locked the book in a drawer and went out with Sitanov.

After they left, I slept next to Pavel on the floor by the door.Pavel wept softly, and said:

"I have so much sympathy for them, you know, we have lived together for more than three years, and I know each of them..."

I also feel sorry for these people.We couldn't sleep for a long time, talking about them in low voices.

Pavel was a round-headed kid, two years older than me.He is smart, lively, honest, and gifted at drawing animals such as birds, dogs, and cats.The caricatures he drew for his masters were vivid: Sitanov was a poor snipe; Horrible Lachicken.He painted Gogolev most successfully, a bat with big ears, a strange nose, and six-clawed feet, with a face as vivid as it was vile.

Pavel showed these cartoons to his masters, and everyone was not angry, but they had a bad impression of Gogolev's portrait, so they advised him to tear up the portrait as soon as possible, otherwise it would be bad luck.

Gogolev often secretly told the shopkeeper what happened in the workshop.Because the proprietress planned to marry his niece to the shopkeeper, the shopkeeper often regarded himself as the shopkeeper. Everyone hated and feared him, and they were also somewhat afraid of Gogolev.But Pavel always tries to compete with him, and I often advise Pavel.The masters were very happy to see our pranks, but they often warned us.

But the warning did not deter us.After Gogolev fell asleep, we painted his face.Once, while he was drunk and fell asleep, we painted his nose gold. For three days in a row, the gold powder sticking to the nasal groove could not be washed off.However, if he catches you carelessly, you will inevitably be beaten up by him.After the fight, he still has to complain to the proprietress.

I get along very well with Pavel.He later became an excellent craftsman, but the good times didn't last long. Around the age of 30, he began to drink heavily, then became a homeless man, and later died of typhoid fever.

In the days of snow and wind in winter, books can't relieve everyone from depression.So Pavel and I tried to make everyone laugh: we painted soot and paint on our faces, made beards out of hemp, and made up and acted various comedies to make everyone laugh.Everyone especially likes the story of the Chinese ghost Qin Youdong.Pavel plays the ghost who is bent on doing good but has bad luck.I played the rest of the roles: man, woman, object, everything, even a stone, and when the good deeds didn't work out, the ghost sat down and rested on the stone.

Everyone was amused and laughed.But I know that this happiness is the result of external forces.I really want to evoke in them a genuine, free and easy joy.Everyone applauded my fairly successful performance, and Sitanov even persuaded me to learn acting.He told the tragic story of "The Life of the Actor Yakovlev".He also particularly appreciates the book "Spanish Nobility".In fact, he himself is a bit of a "Spanish nobleman".Once in the square, three firefighters were beating up a countryman for fun, and more than 40 onlookers were cheering and cheering for the firefighters.Sitanov rushed in, knocked the firefighter to the ground, then picked up the countryman and shouted at the onlookers:
"Take him away!"

He himself stayed to deal with the three men.

Every Sunday, young people like to go to the forest farm behind Peter Pavlov's cemetery for a boxing match.The cleaners have a bruiser with excellent boxing skills, who is from Mordovan.It was Kabe Jiuxin who represented the workshop.He and the Mordovan had fought and lost.So he sewed pieces of lead into the glove, and boasted to Sitanov:

"This is the end of the Mordovians!"

"You can't do this, or I will expose you before the game!" Sitanov warned him sternly.

Kabe Jiuxin didn't take his words seriously.So, before the match, Sitanov suddenly said to the Moldovan:

"Wait a minute, I will compete with Kabe Jiuxin first!"

Kabejiuxin stomped his feet angrily, took off the pair of gloves, stuffed them into his arms, and slipped away in a panic.

Disappointed and surprised by both sides, both scolded Sitanov.Sitanov remained silent for a while, but finally said:

"I stopped a murder, what's wrong?"

The people over there immediately understood and thanked him endlessly.

Then, to everyone's surprise, Sitanov challenged the Mordovans.The Mordovan is much stronger than Sitanov, but he is bulky and slow to shoot. He often punches one punch but receives two or three punches from the opponent.However, he is physically strong and can withstand a beating.Suddenly, he punched Sitanov under the armpit, dislocating Sitanov's right arm.Everyone rushed into the field and pulled the two people apart.

The Mordovan said kindly:
"This painter is not strong, but he is very flexible! I guarantee that he will become an excellent boxer."

I sent Sitanov to an orthopedist.Since then, I have more sympathy and respect for him.The cheerful Kabejukhin often teases him with admiration:

"Oh, you polished your soul like a samovar for the festival and showed it off everywhere. Actually your soul is made of copper, it's so boring to be with you..."

In this regard, Sitanov always responded silently and did not care about him. He either worked hard or copied Lermontov's poems in his notebook.He spent all his free time on copying and writing.

Although Sitanov and Kabejukhin have very different personalities, they admire each other.They slept together, and talked about something in a low voice every night, and they talked for a long time.I listened attentively to their conversation.They talked about God and truth and happiness, and the stupidity and cunning of women and the greed and complexity of life of the rich.Like everyone else, they are dissatisfied with the real life and long for a better life.However, I found that although everyone yearns for a better life, when encountering practical problems, no one really takes action to change something.There was a floor at the entrance of the workshop that had rotted into a hole, and the cold wind kept coming in from there. Everyone always said to change a piece of wood, but the hole was getting bigger and bigger, causing everyone to catch a cold and cough.The iron blades on the transom made a nasty screech, and everyone just yelled, and when I put some oil on them, Rykhalev said:
"The transom is not working, but it seems like something is missing!"

There are many similar nasty little things that affect everyone's life, which could be easily solved, but no one does it.

From Christmas to Lent, Davydov, suffering from tuberculosis, lay on a high plank bed, coughing incessantly.At night, he also talked loudly in his sleep, making it impossible to fall asleep.

Everyone said almost every day that he should be sent to the hospital.At first, it was because Davydov's ID card had expired and he couldn't send it.Later, his condition improved, but he was not sent.In the end, it was agreed that he was dying anyway, so they never took him to the hospital.

Davydov himself had the same premonition, but he also said some wisecracks to overcome the dreadful loneliness in the workshop.However, after procrastinating for so long, even he himself became annoyed:

"Why can't I die? It's just torture!"

He was not afraid of death, but he terrified Pavel.One night, I was so exhausted that I wanted to sleep, but Pavel begged me:

"Don't sleep, for God's sake, don't sleep!"

After a while he suddenly got up on his knees and cried out:
"Get up, Davidov is dead!"

Someone woke up, and several people got up from the bed, asking dissatisfiedly.

Kabejiushin climbed onto the high plank bed and said in surprise:
"It seems to be really dead... the body is still hot..."

There was silence all around.Zhikhalev made the sign of the cross and said:

"Oh, may he ascend to heaven!"

Someone suggested:

"Carry it into the aisle..."

Kabejiushin climbed off the high plank bed and looked out the window:
"Just let him lie down until dawn, he didn't disturb anyone when he was alive..."

Pavel buried his head under the pillow and wailed loudly.

15
Accompanied by the noise of spring, the bells of Dazhai kept ringing, hitting people's hearts.

On my name day, people in the workshop gave me a small and exquisite portrait of Saint Alexei, and Zhikhalev said to me:

"You, a 13-year-old orphan. Although I am three times older than you, I still want to praise you, because you dare to face life. You did the right thing, and it should always be like this! Kabe Jiuxin patted me on the shoulder and praised me road:

"Your advantage is that you treat everyone well. Even if you are at fault, let alone beating you, I am embarrassed to scold you."

Everyone looked at me approvingly and laughed kindly at my embarrassment. I was about to cry with joy.

However, on this day, I had a very unpleasant quarrel with the shopkeeper, and even fought.As usual, I arrived at the shop early.After lunch, the shopkeeper asked me to go back to the workshop to shovel off the snow from the shed and fill it in the cellar.Unexpectedly, the people in the workshop held a celebration ceremony for me. I was so happy that I forgot to open the door of the cellar. When I remembered, the door of the cellar was already sealed by snow.The snow froze into a hard block, and I tried so hard to shovel it with a wooden shovel that it broke.Coincidentally, the shopkeeper came. He came over and mocked me:
"Well, I want you to work, hell! I'm going to smash your stupid head..." As he said, he took the handle of the wooden shovel and hit me.I dodged and said angrily:
"I'm not your cleaner!"

He threw the stick at me angrily, and I threw snow back in his face.He stormed off.I also went back to the workshop.Everyone in the workshop scolded the shopkeeper.Kabejiushin says:

"This time you have to go!"

I am not afraid at all.The shopkeeper and I have already had a deadlock.He is always trying to frame me.He threw coins on the floor of the shop.I knew that if I accidentally swept a coin into a crevice in the floor while sweeping, he would say I stole it.He also urged the new clerk in the shop next door to teach me how to steal the Psalter from the shop.However, I was not fooled by him, so he has long regarded me as a thorn in his side.I stayed in the shop, and the days seemed like years, and it was extremely uncomfortable.I have read all the books on religion, and the clichés of connoisseurs no longer appeal to me.Only the talk of Pyotr Vasiliich still interested me.However, when I opened my heart to him, he listened with sympathy on the surface, and told the shopkeeper my thoughts behind his back.When the shopkeeper found out, he either sneered at me or cursed me.

I can't bear this kind of life more and more.I showed the people in the workshop the funny, ridiculous and ugly phenomena I saw in the shop.They were amused by me and laughed.After the performance, I was relieved and felt much more relaxed.However, soon I was disturbed by the ugly life around me, and it was unbearable.Both Zhikharev and Sitanov asked me what was wrong with concern, but I was speechless.

I was already depressed, and the arrival of spring made me even more disturbed.So I decided to go back to work on the ship, and when the ship got to Astrakhan, I went to Persia.

During the week of Easter, I prepared to escape.On a fine day, I went for a walk by the Oka River and met the nephew of the former owner, a grandmother.When he heard that I was going to Persia, he said solemnly:
"Come on, see the ghost of Persia! Brother, I understand you. At your age, I also want to travel the world..."

I like his candor.

Then, he invited me to work with him.He had contracted forty thousand rubles in the market, and wanted me to be the overseer, to take care of the materials, to pay me five rubles a month, plus five kopecks a day for food, and to be free from the women of his family.

Back at the workshop, I said I would leave, and everyone expressed regret.Zhikharev wanted to buy the book of Lermontov's poems for twenty kopeks, but I was reluctant to accept his money, but he still didn't return the book to me.

I went upstairs to say goodbye to the landlady.She said drunkenly:
"Goodbye, God bless you, you are not a good boy, too self-willed! But I don't see, what's wrong with you, but everyone says you are not likable!"

As she spoke, she suddenly burst into tears:
"If my dead husband had been alive, he would beat you and scold you, but he would never let you go. It's different now. If there's anything wrong, you'll be sent out. Oh, boy, where are you going? How do you live? Woolen cloth?"

16
(End of this chapter)