in the world

Chapter 12

The boat arrived at Sarapur, and Maxim went ashore.He didn't say hello to anyone, and walked away quietly, solemnly and calmly.The smiling woman followed behind him; after that, the girl.She was listless and her eyelids were inflamed.Sergey knelt at the door of the captain's cabin for a long time, kissed the panel on the door, touched the panel with his forehead, and cried out, "Forgive me, it's not my fault! It's Maxim..." The sailor, the waiter and some passengers all knew that he was lying, but they encouraged him: "Go, go, I will forgive you!"

The captain pushed him away and kicked him, and Sergei fell into a somersault.Nevertheless, the captain spared him.Sergey immediately ran up on the deck, looked at others with a flattering look like a dog, and went to deliver tea with a tray.

An ex-soldier from the province of Vyat was hired from the shore to fill Maxim's vacancy.It was a scrawny man with a small head and red eyes.The chef's assistant immediately told him to kill the chicken.The soldier killed two of them, and released the rest on the deck.Passengers began to hunt, and three of them flew out of the rail.The soldier sat on the woodpile by the kitchen and wept bitterly.

"What's the matter with you, fool?" Smoore asked him in surprise. "Do soldiers cry too?"

"I'm a guard in the rear," the soldier said softly.

This crying was unlucky for him, and after 10 minutes, all the people on board laughed, and people ran to him, stared at him, and asked, "Is it this one?"

So, he laughed insultingly and absurdly until he trembled.

At first the soldiers saw no one and heard no laughter.He wiped the tears from his face with the cuff of his old calico shirt, as if hiding them in his sleeves.But after a while, his red eyes were filled with anger again, and he spoke in the quick-spoken Viat words of a magpie: "Why are you looking at me with eyes as big as a bull? Well, I'm going to tear you to pieces... ..." This tone made everyone even more cheerful.Some poked him with their fingers, some pulled at his shirt, some at his apron, and they took him for a goat.Played tricks until lunch time.After lunch, someone put soaked lemon peel on the handle of a wooden spoon and hung it on the apron belt behind his back.As soon as the soldier moved, the wooden spoon swung from side to side behind him, causing everyone to roar with laughter.But he, running around like a mouse in a cage, didn't know what made everyone laugh.

Smalley was silent, watching him sternly.The cook's face is a bit like a woman's.

I felt sorry for the soldier, and asked the cook:

"May I tell him about the wooden spoon?"

He nodded silently.

I told him why everyone laughed at him. He immediately touched the wooden spoon, grabbed it and threw it on the ground, crushing it with his foot.Suddenly both hands seized my hair, and we wrestled; to the great satisfaction of the onlookers, they immediately pushed us back around Smoore and everyone pulled us away.First twisted my ears, and then twisted the soldiers' ears.When everyone saw the little man shaking his head and jumping around under the chef's hand, everyone was overjoyed. Some cheered, some whistled, and some stomped their feet, all fell down with laughter.

"Long live the garrison! Headbutt the cook in the stomach!"

Seeing the savage joy of those fellows, I wished I could run up to them and beat them head-to-head with a piece of wood.

Smoore let the soldier go, folded his hands behind his back, put on a posture like a fat pig, raised his beard, and walked towards the spectators, baring his scary teeth angrily: "Everyone take your place - let's go! Asiatics ..." The soldier rushed towards me again.But Smoore took him in one arm, dragged him to the pump, and began pumping, spinning his thin body like a doll, and splashing water over his head.

The sailor, bosun, and first mate all ran up, and immediately, there was a crowd of people.The canteen steward, who was a head taller than anyone else, stood there silently as usual.

The soldier sat on the woodpile by the kitchen, his hands trembling, took off his boots, and began to wring his leggings.The leggings were not actually wet, but his thinning hair was dripping with water.This made the spectators happy again.

"Anyway," said the soldier in a high-pitched voice. "I'm going to kill this brat!"

Smoore put his hand on my shoulder and said something to the mate.The sailors rushed to the spectators, and when everyone dispersed, the cook asked the soldier, "What will I do with you?"

The soldier looked at me with vicious eyes, trembling strangely, and did not answer the question.

"At-attention, noisy fellow!" said Smalley.

The soldier replied:

"No, it's not in the company."

I saw that the chef was a little embarrassed.The chubby cheeks were sunken; he spit out a mouthful of saliva, and then led me away.Although I followed him in a daze, I kept looking back at the soldier.Smoore muttered in bewilderment: "It really looks like a living baby, huh? Look..." Sergey caught up with us, and for some reason, whispered: "That guy wants to commit suicide!"

"Where is it?" cried Smoore, running across.

The soldier was standing at the door of the waiter's cabin, holding a large knife in both hands.

This knife was used for beheading chickens and splitting firewood. It was blunt as hell, and the edge of the knife was as missing as a sawtooth.Many people gathered in front of the waiter's cabin, watching this ridiculous little man with wet hair.His face with the upturned nose was trembling like jelly, his mouth was struggling to open, his lips were trembling, and he growled: "You bully people...you bully people..." I jumped on the top of something and jumped over everyone I saw many faces above my head.Everyone was grinning and talking to each other: "Look, look..." He tucked the hem of his shirt into the waistband of his trousers with withered, childlike hands.A respectable man standing beside me sighed and said, "I'm going to commit suicide, but I still feel bad about my pants..." Everyone laughed even louder.Obviously, no one thought he was really going to kill himself.I also don't think he would really kill himself.But Smoore threw him a look, and pushed the others away with his belly out, yelling, "Go away, you bastard!"

He called a lot of people jerks at once, rushed up to the huddled crowd, and yelled at them, "Stay out, bastards!"

This is also ridiculous, but it seems to be right: from this morning, everyone seems to have become a big bastard.

He dispersed the crowd, ran to the soldier, and stretched out his hand: "Give me the knife..." "Give it to me," the soldier said as he handed out the blade.The cook handed me the knife, and pushed the soldier into the cabin: "Lie down and sleep! What's wrong with you, ah?"

The soldier sat down on the bed in silence.

"Ask him to bring you food and vodka. Do you drink vodka?"

"Can I have a drink..."

"Just don't touch him. It's not him who's joking with you. Did you hear that? Let me tell you, it's not him..." "But why do you torture me?" the soldier asked in a low voice.

Smoore paused for a moment, and said wearily:

"How do I know?"

He led me into the kitchen, still muttering:
"Look, it's really bullying an honest man! You see it this time! Boy, a bully can be a bully, yes... just like a bedbug, it bites you, and it's over! No, bedbugs are no better. Worse than bugs..." I took bread and meat and vodka and went to the soldier, who was sitting on the bed, rocking back and forth, whimpering like a woman.I put the plate on the table and said, "Eat..." "Close the door."

"It will be dark when the door belt is on."

"Bring it on! Otherwise they will find it again..."

I'm leaving.I hate the soldier, he cannot arouse my sympathy and pity for him.I was very disturbed, - my grandmother repeatedly taught me: "You have to care about others. Everyone is unfortunate, everyone is very difficult..." "Have you taken it?" the cook asked me, "What is he doing there?"

"is crying."

"Oh... useless! What kind of soldier is he?"

"I don't feel sorry for him at all."

"What? What did you say?"

"Should care about people..."

Smoore took my arm, pulled him to his side, and said earnestly: "You can't force people to feel sorry for others, but it's not good to lie; understand? You have to be successful, you have to know yourself..." As he spoke, he put Pushing away, I added grimly: "This is not your place! Here, have a cigarette..." The passengers teased the soldier, and laughed when they saw Smoore pinch his ear.This kind of behavior made me feel indescribably insulting and bullying, and their behavior made me very uneasy and deeply depressed.Why should such a nuisance, such a pain, please them?What made them so happy?
Look, they were sitting under the low tent again, lying down, drinking, eating, playing cards, talking earnestly and cordially, watching the flowing water on the river.It was as if they were not the ones who whistled and Zhang Wei helped them an hour ago.They were quiet and lazy again, as usual.All day long they swing about the ship like gnats and dust in the wandering sun.Every time they reached a pier, a group of ten or so people hugged onto the diving board, made the sign of the cross, and walked up to the pier.From the pier, a similar number of people ran towards them.Everyone is carrying heavy packages and suitcases, bending their backs, and even wearing the same clothes as them... This frequent replacement of passengers has not changed the life on board the ship.The newcomers said the same things as the departed passengers: land, work, God, women, and they used the same phrases.

"Be patient, everything is arranged by God. Ah, the most important thing to be a human being is patience! There is no way, we are destined to be like this..." This kind of words sound very boring and make people angry.I can't stand insults, I can't stand malicious, unfair and humiliating treatment.I firmly believe, and I also feel, that I do not deserve this treatment.Even the soldier, too, perhaps he himself would like to be funny...Maxim was dismissed from the ship, he was a serious and kind boy, but dirty Sergey was left behind.Everything is going against the grain.But this group of people who are good at teasing people to the point of madness, why are they so obedient when scolded by the sailors?Why do people scold so fiercely, but they don't care?
"Why are you all crowded around the side of the boat?" The bosun squinted a pair of beautiful but fierce eyes, and shouted loudly. "The boat is leaning, spread out, the ghosts in thick wool..." The ghosts squeezed to the other side of the deck obediently.They are like sheep, and they have been driven out from there.

"Alas, the damn thing..."

On a hot night, under the tin canopy that has been exposed to the sun all day, it is very stuffy.

Passengers were crawling around on the deck like cockroaches, lying here and there.Before the ship docked, the sailors kicked them up: "Hey, why are you lying on the road! Go to your own bunk..." They got up and walked sleepily in the direction where they pushed him.

The sailors were just like them, only in different costumes.However, he commanded them like a patrolman.

It is their meekness, cowardice, and pathetic resignation that first strikes your attention in these people.But the merciless, absurd, and almost always unpleasant mischief that erupts from this submissive skin is truly unexpected and frightening.It seemed to me that people didn't know where the ship was taking them, and that it didn't matter where they landed.No matter where they landed, they rested for a while, jumped on this or that boat again, and started drifting somewhere again.They all seem to be homeless wanderers, who have no fate with the land.Therefore, they are all cowardly as hell.

After midnight one day, some part of the machine exploded, making a sound like a cannon.The deck was immediately covered in white mist.Steam came out thickly from the machine room and filled all the gaps.I could only hear someone shouting harshly, but no one could be seen: "Gavrilo, bring the pewter, and the fireproof cloth..." I slept on the sink on the left side of the machine room.When the explosion and vibration woke me up, there was a deathly silence on the deck, only the hot steam from the machine room and the occasional sound of hammers.But after 1 minute, the passengers on the deck made all kinds of voices, calling and shouting, and they were suddenly full of terror.

In the white mist—it was thinning out quickly—women without turbans and men with tousled hair and round fish eyes trampled each other and ran here and there.Everyone was carrying parcels, bags, and boxes, stumbling around, shouting the name of God, Saint Nicholas, rushing somewhere, and hitting each other.It was a scary, but funny situation, and I just followed them to see what they were up to.

For the first time in my life I saw this nocturnal panic, but I knew at once that it was a misunderstanding.The ship continued at its original speed.To the right of the ship, not far away, was the lawnmower's bonfire.The night was so clear, the full moon hung high in the sky.

But those people on the deck were running faster and faster, and even the guests in the second-class and third-class cabins jumped out.One man jumped over the rail with a single leap, and another, and another.Two men and a monk took firewood and knocked down the long benches that were nailed to the nails; a large coop of chickens was thrown overboard from the stern of the boat.Next to the escalator of the bridge in the middle of the deck, a man was kneeling, saluting the people who ran past him, and howled like a wolf: "Orthodox Christians, I have committed a lot of sins..." "Launch the lifeboat, you bastard!" The old man, wearing only a pair of trousers and no shirt, was yelling and beating his chest with clenched fists.

The sailors came running, grabbed men by the collars, beat them over the heads, and pushed them onto the deck.Meanwhile, Smoore was pacing up and down lumberingly.He put on an overcoat over his pajamas and exhorted the crowd loudly: "Don't be ashamed! What are you doing, crazy? The boat is docked! This side is the shore! Those fools who jumped into the water have been mowed." Weeds are saved. There they are. See, those two boats over there?"

He clenched his fists tightly and watched the heads of the third-class cabin passengers be beaten down from the top door, and they fell silently on the deck like bags.

Before the confusion had quite died down, a cloaked woman rushed at Smoore with a spoon in her hand; shaking the spoon on the tip of his nose, cried: "How dare you ?”

A drenched lord stopped the woman while licking his mustache, and said sadly, "Leave him alone, you idiot..." Smoore spread the two of them apart and blinked in embarrassment. He looked at me and asked me: "Well, what's going on? Why did he scold me? It's really unreasonable!
This is the first time I've seen that woman!

A man blew his nose and yelled, "Oh, these people! They're just bandits!

In one summer I had two panics on board.Both times, they were not really in danger, but they were just scared, lest there be any danger, so they made a fuss.The third time the passengers caught two pickpockets—one of them dressed as a pilgrimage—and they lynched and tortured the two for almost an hour, behind the sailors' backs.Later the sailor took the pickpocket away, and everyone scolded the sailor: "The thief protects the pickpocket, who doesn't know!"

"You guys like to sneak around, so naturally show mercy to the pickpockets..." The two pickpockets were beaten unconscious.When they were handed over to the police at a pier, they couldn't even stand up straight... There were so many things like this, these things made me very uneasy, and made people wonder what kind of people they were , is it a bad guy or a good guy?An honest man or a troublemaker?Why is it so cruel, with a vicious heart, and never satisfied?And why is it so shameful to be meek?

I asked the chef, but he just puffed out thick smoke, and the smoke surrounded his face, and said angrily, "Hey, what are you worrying about! People, that's how it is... There are smart people and there are fools. Ah, you It's better to study, don't be wordy. All serious books should have explanations..." He hates church books and hagiography.

"Well, this kind of book is read by priests and their sons..." I wanted to do something to please him and give him a book.On the Kazan pier, I bought a copy of "The Legend of a Soldier Who Saved Peter the Great" for five kopecks.But then he happened to be drunk and angry.I hesitated and didn't send him off, and read it myself first.This "Legend" satisfied me greatly, everything is written so simply, understandably, interestingly and concisely.I am sure this book will satisfy my teacher.

But when I gave the book to him, he kept silent, squeezed it in his hand, crumpled it up, and threw it over the rail.

"Here's your book, fool!" he scowled. "I teach you like I teach a dog, but you still want wild things, huh?"

He stamped his foot and cried:

"Do you know what book this is? I've read all the nonsense in the book! Do you think what's written in the book is the truth? Hey, tell me!"

"I do not know."

"I know! Cut off a man's head and fall off a ladder, and no one else will climb into the hayloft again. Soldiers ain't fools! They set a fire, Just burn the grass! Do you understand?"

"understood."

"It's good to understand! I know about Peter the Great, but what is written in this book is not true! Go away..." I understood that what the chef said was right.But I still like that book.Later, I bought another copy and read it again.How strange, sure enough, I saw something bad about that book.This made me feel embarrassed, and since then I have paid more attention to and trusted the chef, but for some reason, he said more often and with emotion: "Oh, how can I educate you! This place, it is not You stay..." I also felt that this was not the place.Sergey treated me badly.Several times I saw him take the tea set from my table and sneak it to the guests without telling the canteen manager.I know this is theft.Smoore reminded me repeatedly: "Be careful, don't give the tea set on your table to the court official!"

There are many other things that are not good for me.I used to think of running away as soon as the boat touched the shore, into the forest.But with Smoore in mind, he became more and more kind to me.There is also the continuous sailing of the ship, which also deeply attracts me.The most unpleasant thing is when it is parked.I always look forward to what is about to happen.I will sail from the Kama to the Belaya, Vyatka, and if I sail along the Volga, I will see new banks, new cities, and new people.

But nothing like this happened.My life on board came to an abrupt and ignominious end.One evening, as we were going from Kazan to Nizhny, the canteen steward called me to his own room.As soon as I was in, he closed the door and said to Smoore, who sat sullenly in the rug-covered chair, "Here he is."

Smoore asked me gruffly:

"Did you give Sergey the cutlery?"

"He took it himself when I didn't see it."

The canteen steward said softly:

"He didn't see it, but he knew it."

Smoore hit his knee with his fist, then scratched his knee and said, "Wait a minute, don't worry..." He began to think.I looked at the canteen manager, and he looked at me; but behind his spectacles, it seemed to me that he had no eyes.

He always lives in peace, walks silently, and speaks in a low voice.The faded beard, the glassy eyes, sometimes appeared by chance from that corner, but disappeared at once.Before going to bed every night, he knelt for a long time in front of the always-lit icon in the cafeteria.I've seen him through the keyhole shaped like a chicken heart.But just couldn't see how he prayed, he just stood, looked at the holy image and the long burning lamp, sighed and stroked his beard.

Smoore was silent for a while and asked me:
"Has Sergey ever given you money?"

"No."

"Not once?"

"Not once."

"The lad won't lie," said Smalley to the steward.But the steward replied in a low voice: "It's the same anyway. Okay, please go ahead."

"Let's go!" the cook called to me, came to my table, tapped his finger on the top of my head, and said to me: "Fool! I am a fool! I should have taken care of you... "When I arrived in Nijni, the canteen steward paid me about eight rubles; it was the first big money I made.

When Smoore said good-bye to me, he said sadly:

"Well... you have to pay attention in the future, do you understand? You can't be careless..." He stuffed a cigarette purse inlaid with colorful beads into my hand.

"Well, here's this for you! It's very well done. It was embroidered for me by one of my goddaughters. . . . Well, good-bye! Go to school, it's the best thing!"

He held me under his arm, lifted me up a bit and kissed me, and set me firmly on the pier's plinth.I was sad, both for him and for myself.I watched him go back to the boat, and almost burst into tears. His huge, strong body, squeezed alone among the porters on the dock, walked slowly... Later, how many times did I meet such a kind man like him? O lonely and cynical man!

(End of this chapter)