childhood, on earth, my university

Chapter 17 My University (1)
1
I decided to leave for Kazan, to go to university there.The middle school student N. Yefreinov inspired me to go to university.He said that I have a special talent for scientific research.

Before leaving, my grandmother told me repeatedly:

"You don't lose your temper with people. You have to remember: It's not God who likes to blame people, but the devil! Goodbye, alas..."

She wiped her tears and said:
"Perhaps we shall never see each other again. You are a restless man, gone far away, and I am not long..."

In recent years, I have often been away from my grandmother, and I seldom even go home to see her.At this moment, an unforgettable pain suddenly surged in my heart: I will never see this kind, sincere, and kind person again.

I came to Kazan by boat and stayed with Yefreinov.He also has a mother and a younger brother at home.The whole family lives on poor people's relief money.His mother was taciturn and had to figure out how to feed the three boys and her stomach every day.So, every time she gave me a piece of bread weighed heavily on my heart like a stone.I started looking for something to do.I left the house early in the morning in order to save a lunch for the family.When it was windy and rainy, I spent my time on the ruins and in the cellar opposite the house.Listening to the sound of the storm outside, I suddenly realized in the cellar: going to college was just a dream for me.

In order not to starve, I often went to the wharves on the Volga, among the stevedores, vagabonds, and hooligans, where it was easier to earn fifteen or twenty kopeks.My previous experience and experience made me easy to approach them, and I was happy to blend in with them.I also got to know some of them.

Bashkin was a professional thief, a former teacher's college student, suffering and suffering from tuberculosis.He is very clever and has read many good books.He said his favorite book was The Count of Monte Cristo.He's a storyteller genius.When he was telling, he shook his body rhythmically, closed his eyes, and occasionally touched his chest lightly with his hands. His voice was low-pitched, but clear and pleasant, like a nightingale singing.

Trusov was also very nice to me.He was handsome and well dressed.He opened a small "watch repairer" shop in the shipyard residential area, but secretly engaged in the sale of stolen goods.However, he often said to me:
"Pishkov, don't be a thief. I think you should go the other way. You are a man of the spiritual life."

I think he is very similar to the "bad guys" in the novel. These "bad guys" often unexpectedly become heroes with open hearts at the end of the novel.

Sometimes, on sultry nights, everyone would cross the Kazan River to the grassland on the other side, drink in the grove, and talk about their own thoughts.There was a desolate and mournful singing not far away, which made people's hearts feel ashamed.

What makes me sadder, though, is listening to people talking casually and unintentionally.

"I've seen such a thing before," said a prostrate figure in the darkness.After listening to his narration, people all said with deep sympathy:
"Often things, often things..."

When I heard such words, I seemed to feel that people have come to the end of their lives tonight, everything has been experienced, what else can there be in the future?This feeling also slowly alienated me from Bashkin and Trusov, although I still liked them.But the good books I've read in the past have inspired me to pursue a life that I don't quite know, but that is worth more than everything I see.

At this time, I met a new friend, a middle school student named Guri Pletnev, who had dark skin and blue hair.In the open space next to Yefreinov's house, some middle school students often gather to play the game of "siege".Guli is always so cheerful, dexterous and humorous when he plays games.He wears tattered shirts, patched trousers, and broken leather shoes with exposed soles, all of which perfectly match his brave, strong body, quick movements, and bold gestures.He was bouncing around like a firecracker, and everything in life seemed fresh and beautiful to him.

When he heard that my life was difficult and my situation was not good, he suggested that I move in with him and then go to take the examination of rural teachers.In this way, I lived in the "Marusovka" compound.It was a large, half-run down house on Reb Noriad Street.Guli lived under the stairs leading to the attic in the corridor, with a small wooden bed at one end, a table and a chair by the window at the end of the corridor, and this was all his belongings.There are three rooms in the corridor, two of which are occupied by prostitutes, and the other is occupied by a consumptive mathematician, a former seminarian, who has been working hard to prove the existence of God from a mathematical point of view, but died in this before the conclusion.The two prostitutes were afraid of him, but out of pity, they always left some bread, tea and sugar at his door.

Guri worked as a night proofer for newspapers in a printing factory, earning eleven kopecks a night.I don't have time to look for work, because I have to study and take the exam for rural teachers.I find it difficult for me to use vivid, playful, lively language in those rigid grammar and form.Fortunately, I found out early that even if I was admitted as a rural teacher, I would not be hired because I was too young.

Guli and I share a bed, I sleep at night and he sleeps during the day.Guli had no money to pay the rent, so he used to tell pleasant jokes, play the accordion, and sing sweet songs to the landlady, Karkina, in lieu of rent.

Every morning, when Gu Li came back from get off work, his face was blue and his eyes were bloodshot due to lack of sleep.I hurried to the snack bar to turn on the water and come back.Then we sat by the window drinking tea and eating bread.After drinking tea, Gu Li went to bed, and I went out to look for work, and I didn't come back until Gu Li was supposed to go to work.If I could bring back bread, sausage, etc., we would split it equally, and he would take one to work.

When I was alone, I wandered in the corridors and small passages in the yard to see how the people in the yard lived.The whole house was full of chaotic sounds: the chugging of sewing machines, the singing of opera singers, the shouting of drunk entertainers reciting their lines, the hysterical screaming of drunken prostitutes.This leads me to the never-ending question: why on earth is this?
Among the noisy and busy crowd, there is a person who wanders around all day long.He has a ring of chestnut hair and big horse teeth, so everyone calls him "Red Horse".He has been in a lawsuit with one of his relatives for more than two years, but there is no result yet.He just litigated all he could, and spent his days in the magistrates' court, the House of Representatives, and his personal lawyer, and nothing else.In the evening, he often invites the neighbors in the yard to his dirty room for parties, eating and drinking.I asked him curiously:
"Why do you want to stay here instead of going to a big hotel?"

"This is for the joy of my soul! Being with you, my heart can feel the warmth..." He said, looking at Guli again, "Let's play a song, let's sing a song..." Guli supported it with his knees Playing the Gusqin and singing.There was a sudden silence in the room, and everyone was absorbed in listening to the bleak lyrics and the mournful melody of the gus strings.Although Guli has just turned 20 and looks like a child on the outside, everyone in the house sees him as a savior in troubled times.

Guli has close ties with some mysterious people who want to set up an underground printing factory. When I wanted Guli to introduce me into this circle, Guli said that I was too young to study hard first.

I often go to the banks of the Volga.There, the music of working life made me feel refreshed and temporarily forget the dullness of real life.When I first participated in that kind of labor, I deeply experienced a magnificent and poetic life.

It was a September day, and the wind was blowing upriver, making the gray water choppy.A large wooden ship full of Persian cargo ran aground under the city of Kazan, and the dock workers took me to unload it.In the middle of the night, the tugboat arrived at the grounding.People tied the tugboat and the stranded large wooden boat firmly side by side.After leading the workers to pray, the group leader of the dock workers shouted in a shrill voice:
"Hey, boys, show your skills! Children, work hard!" The group of workers who were in a semi-comatose state jumped onto the deck of the sinking wooden ship as if rushing to the battlefield. Shouting, cursing, and making wisecracks, they galloped to unload the cargo from the big wooden boat to the tugboat.I really can't believe that these happy, relaxed, and energetic workers are the same group of people who were complaining about life and cursing the wind and rain in pessimism and despair just now.

A tall man, perhaps the owner or the owner's agent, exclaimed excitedly:
"Well done, I'll reward you with two barrels of wine. Keep going!"

"Three barrels!" Several people in the darkness shouted hoarsely at the same time.

"Three barrels are three barrels! Come on!"

As a result, the pace of work has accelerated.

I also grabbed a bag of rice, carried it on my back, threw it on the tugboat, and ran out to carry another bag.I felt like I was dancing wildly with everyone around me.These are people who work happily, tirelessly, and without pity for themselves.This night I was immersed in the unprecedented great pleasure, and I even hoped to live in this almost irrational excitement for the rest of my life.People braved the storm and worked until two o'clock in the afternoon to unload the goods.Then, the workers boarded the small tugboat, and everyone fell asleep as if they were drunk.When the ship reached Kazan, they disembarked and immediately crowded into the tavern to drink the three barrels of vodka.

2
Someone introduced me to Andre?Delenkov, he is the owner of a small grocery store.The grocery store was at the end of a mean street, next to a swale filled with rubbish.

Derenkov was a slightly handicapped, short man with a kind face and bright eyes.He owns the best library in the city, with a collection of many banned and rare books. Many university students in Kazan and revolutionary youth of all walks of life ask him to borrow books.His library was located in a small storage room in the dark corner of the small grocery store.Part of the collection was copied with pen on thick exercise books, which had been torn and crumpled.

The first time I entered this small shop, Derenkov was greeting customers, and he saw me and nodded to me.I walked in and saw a little old man kneeling in a dark corner, praying very piously.Others told me that Delenkov was a "populist." In my imagination, populists are revolutionaries, and revolutionaries should not believe in God.So I feel like this praying old man is an extra in this room.After praying, he told me: he is Derenkov's father.

However, the real owners of the Delenkovs were students from universities, seminaries, and veterinary schools.These people care about the suffering of the Russian people and worry about the future of Russia.They would come from all over Kazan at night when there was an exciting article in the newspaper, or an exciting conclusion from a book that had just been read, or when something happened in the city or at the school. He came to Delenkov's shop, sometimes arguing impassionedly, and sometimes hiding in a corner and whispering.They carried thick books with them, and shouted and argued with each other to prove the truth of their views.

Naturally, I couldn't understand the arguments.But I do know that these people want to improve people's lives.I'm very aware of the problems they're trying to solve, and I'm interested in solving them, so I'm very passionate about them.In their eyes, I was like a good piece of wood in the hands of a craftsman, capable of making unusual workpieces.They often call me a genius.Sometimes, though, their teachings depress me.Once, I saw a book "The Warning" in the window of a bookstore. I didn't quite understand the meaning of the title, but I really wanted to read this book, so I asked a seminary student to borrow it.

"How dare you borrow it!" he exclaimed mockingly. "My brother, this is nonsense. Read whatever is given to you, and don't scratch around with your paws!"

His tone hurt me, and I bought the book, the first I ever bought myself, with the money I earned from working on the docks and borrowing some money from Derenkov.

About 20 young people often gather in Delenkov's shop.Sometimes a tall, broad-faced, broad-backed, bearded, bald man would come.When all the people were talking and arguing fiercely, he was sitting in a corner, smoking a short pipe, looking at people with his gray, quiet, searching eyes, and thinking about something.

Everyone called him Hohol, and probably no one knew his real name except Derenkov.I soon learned that he had recently returned from exile in Yakusk, where he had been for ten years.This aroused my interest in him even more, but I didn't have the courage to know him.

When they talk about people, I am amazed how differently they see it than I do.In their view, the people are the embodiment of wisdom, kindness, and spiritual beauty, and the fusion of all goodness, justice, and greatness.But I have never seen such a people.I saw carpenters, longshoremen, stonemasons, knew Yakov, Osip, Grigory, and none of these people was what they called a human-divine people.When talking about it, they regard themselves as inferior to the people and are willing to submit to the will of the people.In my opinion, they embody the perfection and power of thought, and embody yearning for life, freedom, kindness and fraternity.And among the group of people I used to live in, there was never any talk of fraternity.From then on, I stopped thinking about myself and started to pay more attention to others.

Delenkov told me that all his meager income from buying and selling is used to help others, because they believe that "the happiness of the people is above all else."He also said that when hundreds of people like them occupy important positions in Russia, life in Russia will be completely changed.

In autumn, without a regular job, you have to find a place to spend the long winter.So I got a job in Vasily Semyonov's bakery.I had to work fourteen hours a day in the basement of my workshop.Usually there is no time to go to the Delenkovs' house.On holidays, I either sleep or fool around with my workmates.Sometimes, I tell them stories, mostly meaningful stories that arouse their yearning for a better life.Sometimes, I speak very successfully.It was a joy to see the sadness on their swollen faces and the spark of anger and humiliation in their eyes.But I also often feel that I am weak and powerless. They drink and find women every month when they are paid, just want to forget the real life, and they also maliciously mock me for not being with them.Gradually, I developed a hatred for them.I hated their tolerance for the abuse and bullying of their drunken bosses, their docile desperation and resignation.

On the days when I feel the hardest, I am exposed to a whole new kind of thinking.It was a snowy night, and the howling wind seemed to tear the gray sky into pieces, and the thick snow buried the ground.I returned from the Delenkovs' house to the bakery.Along the way, with my eyes closed, I moved step by step against the wind and heavy snow.Suddenly, I tripped over a person lying in the middle of the road.We cursed at each other.He was obviously drunk.If I left him alone, he would probably freeze to death on the street.So I found out his address, carried him behind my back, and sent him home.After a lot of trouble, we finally found where he lived.He touched the door and knocked carefully.A woman in a red nightgown opened the door for us with a candlestick in her hand, and then sat expressionlessly at a table in the corner of the room, concentrating on playing cards.I had to lay him down on the couch, undress him, and rub his hands while he moaned.I can't figure out what's going on here at all.When he regained his composure, he picked up the lamp on the table and helped the woman into the small door next to the bookcase.I sat alone for a long time without thinking about anything, but I heard him talking in a low, slightly hoarse voice in the next room.Then he came out staggeringly, lamp in hand, and said softly:

"She fell asleep."

Then he put the lamp on the table, thought for a moment, and said:

"How should I say it? If it wasn't for you, I would probably freeze to death. Thank you! What do you do?"

"Is she your wife?" I asked softly.

"Yes, it's my life." He paused for a moment. "You see, she's sick. Her son, a musician, lived in Moscow, shot himself, and she's still waiting for him to come back. Almost three years..."

"Have some tea, will you?" he said.

We went to his little kitchen together.Leaning his back against the stove, he asked me again:
"What the hell do you do?"

I briefly talked about my experience.

"Is that so?" he sighed softly. "Oh, that's right. Do you know The Ugly Duckling? Have you read it?"

Before I could answer, he suddenly became excited and said:
"This fairy tale is so touching! When I was your age, I wondered - could I be a swan? I should have gone to seminary, but I went to university. I was studying the history of human misfortune in Paris. , wrote a book. Oh, but all this..."

He stood up, paused, and said:

"Life itself is irrational and meaningless. The less one needs, the greater happiness is. The more desires, the less freedom. People seek oblivion and comfort, not knowledge!"

It was the first time I heard such a shocking thought, expressed so bluntly.This thought shocked me very much.

At six o'clock in the morning, I walked out of his kitchen.Along the way, I listened to Fengxue's roar and recalled his angry cry.I don't want to go back to the workshop, I don't want to meet those people.So, I strolled along the street until there were pedestrians in the snow.I have never seen him since, nor do I want to see him again,

(End of this chapter)