childhood, on earth, my university

Chapter 18 My University (2)
Derenkov's small grocer earns negligible income, but the number of people in need of material help and their "causes" is constantly increasing.

"We should think of something else." He stroked his beard, sighed, and smiled embarrassingly.

I think he gave himself a life sentence, he will serve hard labor for life, I asked him many times:
"Why are you doing this?"

He always said that knowledge must be given to the people so that they can be educated.

"Do people want to acquire knowledge, seek knowledge?" I asked again.

"Of course! Don't you want knowledge too?"

I admit that I thought so too, but at the same time I was reminded of what the man said on the night of the blizzard: People seek oblivion and comfort, not knowledge.

I slowly discovered that the reason why people like to listen to interesting stories is that they can temporarily forget the heavy real life and find comfort in the stories.Therefore, whichever book is "fabricated" more perfectly, that book is the most popular.

Derenkov wanted to open another bakery.I acted as the baker's assistant and watched over him to keep him from stealing flour, eggs, butter, and finished products.So, I started from Vasily?

Semyonov's big dirty basement was transferred to Derenkov's smaller, cleaner basement.The invited baker had gray temples, a haggard, scorched face, and a mocking look in the depths of his eyes.On his first night on the job, he set aside ten eggs, three pounds of flour, and a stick of butter.

"Where do these things go?" I asked him.

"To a little girl." He wrinkled his nose and said with a smile.

I want to tell him that stealing is against the law, but maybe I don't have the ability to persuade him, and my words won't work at all.

After a few days, I found that he could sleep anywhere, even standing up or leaning on a shovel.And his favorite talk was about finding fortune and his dreams.In fact, his dream is very simple, as boring and absurd as real life.

Almost every morning at six o'clock, a short-legged little girl with light-colored curly hair and a flowered kerchief would come by the window of the bakery.She walked barefoot to our basement window, yawning and calling:
"Vanya!"

I woke up the baker, and he looked at her and asked:
"Come here?"

"Didn't you see it?"

"go to bed?"

"Well, what?"

"Are you dreaming?"

"I can't remember..."

"Pishkov, get out the sweetbread!" the baker said to me.

I took the iron pan out of the oven, and the baker grabbed dozens of sweet buns and threw them into the girl's lapel.After the girl had gone, the baker told me in a ostentatious tone that this was his No. 13 lover, the goddaughter of Inspector Nicky Forage.

Every day I took the baked bread out of the oven, sent a dozen to Derenkov's shop, and then hurried some donuts and brioche to the seminary.I stood at the entrance of the school cafeteria and sold bread to the students.Sometimes I hide a few books under my bread basket and slip them surreptitiously to some college student, who often slips a book or note under my basket as well.One day a week I have to go to a "mental hospital" far away to deliver bread.

My working time is from [-]:[-] p.m. to noon the next day, and I sleep in the afternoon.Only in the gaps between work, I have time to read.I am getting better at kneading dough and baking bread.The baker said in a kindly surprised tone:
"You're really talented at what you do, and you'll be a baker in a year or two. But you're too young to be listened to..."

However, he does not approve of my reading.When he saw me reading, he always advised me not to read, but he never asked me what book I was reading.I read a lot of books, I especially like reading poetry, and I started to write poetry myself, but I feel that my words are very heavy and pungent, as if only this kind of words can express my extremely confused thoughts.Sometimes I write crudely on purpose in order to exclude that which does not suit my interests.

Once, after reading a poem I wrote, a mathematics student said:
"Only the devil knows what you're talking about."

In fact, like all teenagers of this age, I look down on myself, thinking that I am ridiculous, rude, and my voice is not in control.I often think: what will happen to me in the future?
Derenkov's bakery was doing so well that he was already looking for another, more spacious bakery and decided to hire another assistant.

"In the new workshop, you are a great apprentice," the baker promised me, "and I will ask them to pay you ten rubles a month. "

I know that his promise to me is very beneficial to himself.He doesn't like to work, but I like to work. Fatigue can relieve my restlessness, but I can't read.Grandmother died.Seven weeks after her burial I received a letter from my cousin announcing her death.My grandmother fell while begging outside the church and broke her leg.It dragged on for eight days, and finally got gangrene and died.Later, when I learned that my two cousins ​​and a cousin with a child were all fed by my grandmother's begging, and that after she broke her leg, it never occurred to them to call a doctor.

That night, I sat on the woodpile in the yard, and I had a strong desire: to tell outsiders about my grandmother, how kind and smart she was.But no one listened to what I said, and this wish was never realized, buried in my heart, and slowly cooled down.

Soon, Officer Niki Forage began circling me like a hawk.Once, he stared at me and asked:

"I heard that you like reading very much? What kind of books do you read? For example: the book of hagiography, or the Bible?"

"Read all."

"Is that so? Reading is legal and beneficial! Count Tolstoy's anthology?"

Before I answered, he continued:
"I hear he has several books against priests. They should be read!"

I actually read it, found it boring, and knew I didn't need to discuss it with the police.His words have ulterior motives, I know that.

Later, he invited me to drink tea at his small outpost.I knew what he was up to, but I went anyway.Because I think if he doesn't go, it will increase his suspicion of the bakery.

Sure enough, in his small office, he first casually talked about men and women, and then unknowingly changed the topic to Guli?On Pretlyov.At this time, I was already alert. I knew that Guli had printed some leaflets in the printing factory.

The officer frowned, squinted his eyes, and went on:

"His Majesty the Tsar is like a giant spider. An invisible thread, like a spider's web, emanates from the hearts of the Holy Emperor Alexander III and others, passes through the ministers, passes through the governors and various officials, and directly reaches me. , and then to the lowest soldiers. This thread is all-encompassing. The Tsar’s rule depends on this invisible network for generations to perpetuate. And those Poles, Jews and Russians who were bribed by the British King tried to destroy this network, And under the guise of serving the people!"

He approached me across the table and asked sternly but in a low voice:

"Understood? Why am I telling you this because your baker praises you for being smart and honest, and the college kids are hanging out at your bakery. I'm not saying the students are bad, it's just that they're too eager to show You, yourself, are easily exploited by the enemies of the Tsar! Do you understand? I will also say..."

He wanted to say something more, when the door opened, a little old man with a red nose, holding a wine bottle, asked drunkenly:
"Shall we play chess?"

"My father-in-law." The police officer introduced me angrily.

I took the opportunity to say goodbye.I think this police officer explained the structure of the state apparatus to me more incisively, thoroughly, and intuitively than the college students.And soon I felt the snares of this ubiquitous thread.

After the bakery closed at night, the lady boss called me in and asked me about the conversation between the police officer and me in a serious manner.Later, they decided to keep college students from coming to the bakery as little as possible.If I can't see them, there will be no one to ask the questions I don't understand when I am studying.So, I wrote down the questions in the exercise book.Once, I was so tired that I fell asleep lying on the exercise book while writing.The baker looked at my exercise book, shook me awake, and asked:
"What did you write? 'Why didn't Garibati drive the king away?' What is Garibati?"

Angrily, he threw the exercise book on the cabinet, and went down to the basement, still yelling:
"You want to drive the king away! It's ridiculous! Get rid of the idea! Five years ago in Saratov the gendarmes snatched away scholars like you like rats. Niki Forecchi is enough for you." Interested."

I knew he was out of kindness, but I couldn't answer him directly.

An inspiring pamphlet was being passed around the town, and people were reading and arguing about it.I asked the veterinarian Lavrola to get me a copy, but he said:
"Oh, I can't get it, brother, don't count on it!"

However, on the night of the Feast of the Assumption, he took me to a secret room in the seminary to hear the pamphlet read.

The room was pitch black, and I felt that there were a lot of people in the room. I heard the rubbing of clothes and the rustling of feet, as well as low coughing and whispering.Later, a small lamp was lit in the corner of the room.I saw that there was no furniture in the room, but a wooden board on top of two boxes, and five people sat on it.Three people sat on the floor against the wall.The curtains were drawn tightly.Sitting on the windowsill was a young man with long hair and a pale face.A bearded man said in a deep voice that he was going to read us Geoghi?The pamphlet "Our Difference of Opinion" by Plekhanov.

This mysterious occasion made me very excited and excited.But the reading time is too long, and I am tired of listening.As much as I love the sharp, uplifting words.

When the sound of reading stopped abruptly, the room was immediately filled with voices of accusations.I don't like arguments, and I don't understand what they're yelling about.The young man sitting on the windowsill bent down and asked me:
"Are you Peshkov from the bakery? I'm Fedoseyev. This quarrel will go on forever. Shall we go?"

I have long heard the name of Fedoseyev, the organizer of a very important youth group.So we went out of the house and walked along the field.Along the way, he asked me if there were any acquaintances among the workers, what books they often read, whether I had free time, etc.Then he told me that the day after tomorrow he will go out for about three weeks and he will contact me when he comes back.However, we never got in touch again.

The business of the bakery went from bad to worse, but things went from bad to worse for me personally.After moving to a new bakery, I have more to do.In addition to doing chores, they have to deliver bread from door to door, and sell bread to students in seminaries and noble girls' schools.After delivering the bread, I could go to bed and continue to work in the bakery at night, so that the brioche could be baked and sent to the bakery in the middle of the night.Because the bakery is next to the theater in the city, after the show, the audience will come to the shop to eat hot bread after the show.Then, I had to rush back to the bakery to knead the dough.After finishing these tasks and sleeping for two or three hours, it's time for me to deliver bread again.Life goes on like this day after day.

In this boring life, I have a strong desire to spread those "sensible, kind, and eternal things".I know a lot of workers, and the old weaver Nikita?Rubtsov was very nice.At first he always joked with me playfully and slyly, but when I told him about the role of the "invisible thread" in our lives, he sighed thoughtfully and said:

"You're not stupid, not at all! Your thinking is correct, but no one believes you, it's useless..."

"Do you believe it?"

"I am a homeless dog with a bald tail, but the people are made of dogs on chains, and they have too many concerns and interests to believe you."

I also often went to Vasily Semyonov's bakery to meet some interesting acquaintances I had made.They received me warmly and were happy to listen to me.

The new baker in Derenkov's bakery was an ex-soldier who had acquaintance with the gendarmes.Some people advised me not to be too active, so as not to arouse people's suspicion of the bakery.

Gradually, I felt that my work in the bakery lost its meaning.Delenkov's purpose is to use the money he earns to allow people to receive more education and learn more knowledge.But people take money over the counter so often that we sometimes have no money to buy flour.Delenkov said sadly:
"We're going bankrupt."

I feel sorry for him.He worked so hard, and tried his best to engage in a useful cause, but the people around him were indifferent to this cause, and even tried to destroy it.

At this time, I fell in love.I think I'm in love with Derenkov's sister Maria?Delenkova, also in love with the bakery girl Nadezhda?Shcherbatova.I have never had a real friend. I need someone to listen to me sincerely and to help me sort out my disorganized thoughts and feelings.

One morning I met police officer Niki Forage in the street, and he told me that Gury Pletriov had been arrested, taken to Petersburg, and put in the "Krest" prison.

I knew that Guri had anticipated his arrest and had warned Rubtsov and me not to have too much contact with him.

In the evening, I went to Niki Forage's little outpost.He just woke up and was sitting on the bed drinking.

"The thing happened," he said, looking at me thoughtfully, "that he was arrested because a pot was made in his place. He boiled paint in it and printed leaflets against the Tsar."

Then, while he was getting dressed, he said to his wife who was sitting next to him, "I'll go out for a while, and you burn the samovar."

When his back disappeared outside the gate of the outpost, his wife said to me angrily: "You must not trust him, he will not tell the truth! He will arrest you, he will only lie. He knows everything about you like the back of his hand, that's what he does, catching people is his hobby..."

"Who has he been eyeing lately?" I asked her.

"Some of the people staying at the hotel on Reb Noria Street."

"Do you know their names?"

She smiled lightly and said:
"I'm going to tell him what you inquired about! Oh, he's back, and Gu Li was scouted out by him."

Niki Forage bought a bottle of jam, bread and a bottle of vodka.We sit down and drink tea.He began to preach to me again:
"This invisible thread is tied to people's hearts and penetrates into people's bones. Huh! Want to pull it out and break free? The Tsar is the God of the people!"

He stared at me with searching eyes, and after a while, he said:
"You have read the four Gospels of the New Testament. There are many teachings about mercy in this Gospel, and mercy is a harmful thing. We should help strong and healthy people so that their efforts are not in vain. But we often Going to help the beggars, and the student is in trouble. Look, why is Guri Pletriov gone? It's out of pity." "It's time for you to go to work," his wife reminded him.But he ignored her at all, and talked on and on.Then, he changed the subject:
"You are not stupid, and you are educated. Do you want to be a baker for the rest of your life? If you worked for the Tsar, you would definitely earn no less than this..."

As I listened to him, I wondered how I might inform the people at the hotel on Reb Noria Street that he was following him.I know that Sergey, who just returned from exile, lives in the hotel?Somov.

"Look, it's nine o'clock," his wife reminded him again.

"Oops!" Niki Forage stood up, "Goodbye, little brother! Come and play with me when you have time, you're welcome."

When I left his post, I decided that I would never come here again.As funny as the old man was, I already hated him so much.I can understand some truths from his words, but it makes me unhappy that such words should come from the mouth of a policeman serving the Tsar.

People around me also debate these kinds of topics about compassion and love from time to time.Many of the books I have read are also full of Christian and humanitarian thought, full of cries for human compassion.Yet everything I've seen with my own eyes is almost entirely out of sympathy for humanity.People often fight over trivial matters in daily life.Just go outside, sit down at the door and take a look, and you will find that all the coachmen, cleaners, workers, officials, and businessmen are doing dirty and cunning work, carefully building their own circle of life.I find this kind of life stupid and boring.They tend to be very kind and loving in words, but they are actually submitting to the laws of life for their own sake.

The nasty autumn of the year came very early, with rain all day long, disease and suicide everywhere.Veterinarian Lavrola suffered from edema, his body was swollen and his face turned yellow.Like many people, he did not want to wait until the day he was tortured to death by the disease, so he committed suicide by taking poison.His landlord Mednikov said at his funeral:

"Healing animals for a lifetime, but I died like the animals!"

Mednikov is a tailor who believes in God, but often beats his wife and children with a whip.A workman in his shop called "Mr. Dunkin" once said of him to me:
"I'm afraid of those gentle religious people. Rough people can be seen at a glance and have time to be on guard, while gentle people are like poisonous snakes in the grass, creeping up on you quietly, and biting you deadly The place."

I think there is some truth to what he said.I have observed many mild-tempered people, and more often they can cater to those mean and nasty things.They are unpredictable and unpredictable.

(End of this chapter)