Short Fiction by Leonid Andreyev (fastest ebook reader TXT) 📕

was quite hurt and rebuked her for it. I didn’t mind in the least; I knew she was only joking. I had a great desire, nevertheless, to see myself in the glass. Supposing it were true! I don’t look so old, really; no one would take me for more than forty-six, but there’s a something about the eyes and in my smile, and in my ever-ready tears.⁠ ⁠… But I have a good many years to live yet, and am as strong as most men. Fimotchka says my extensive exercise through the town must have hardened me a lot. I don’t mind her chaff.

We are all, except mother, delighted with our new home. It is hard to understand why the old lady was so grieved by the removal. She collapsed completely, and though this is the second day we have been here, she is lying on her bed with her face to the wall, dozing silently. When we burst the news on her suddenly about my having lost my work, little foreseeing how it would affect her, we grew quite alarmed at her condition. She turned pale, and trembled all over like a leaf. When all the furniture had been removed from the house, she still refused to leave her room, and wept when we led her away. Yesterday she summoned Sashenka, and speaking in a whisper, asked her to fetch Pavel. Sashenka said she would, of course, and fortunately, the poor old lady did not repeat her request. I have just looked in to see them. They are all asleep⁠—mother, Sashenka, and the children. Nurse sleeps in Fimotchka’s drawing-room while Sashenka is here.

I managed to sell our spare furniture to advantage, and got that burden off my mind. Sashenka is to remain with us for another day, and then she goes back to the hospital. She offered to look out for some useful occupation for me. Can I ever express the respect I feel for her! She dragged me out from the bottomless pit into which I had fallen.⁠ ⁠…

Fimotchka came back from some friends, and finding me still up, sat with me for an hour talking about the horrors of the German invasion. From her pallor and disjointed womanly words I realised more than from the papers, with what horror and anxiety the German invasion is awaited by our capital and by the whole country. Oh, Lord, spare Russia! Spare her cities, her people, her houses and cottages! Spare us, not for what we deserve, oh, Lord, nor for our riches; have mercy on us for our ignorance and poverty, as you used to be merciful to the ignorant and poor when you walked on earth!

I can’t go to sleep. I want to be up and doing. My hands, hanging idly, irritate me. I should like to scrub the floor, if it had not been scrubbed already. I must send Sashenka back to the hospital tomorrow. I am quite well enough now, and we mustn’t put it off any longer than can be helped.

Oh, that my chest were thirty versts broad so that I could place it in front of a German gun as a shield for others!

28th September.

I have had two promises of work, as a clerk on a refugee committee with a small salary, the other at the front in the ambulance service. I should prefer the second, but will take the first, if necessary.

Mother is much worse, and calls continually for Pavel.

1st October.

I go about with a collecting box for the wounded.

3rd October.

I could never have believed what inexpressible happiness can be found in tears. Crying used to make my head ache, bring a bitter taste to my mouth, and a leaden feeling to my heart, but now I find it as pleasant and easy to cry as to love. I realised this particularly during the two days of my wandering through the streets of Petrograd with a collecting box in my hand. Each contribution, every mark of sympathy for the wounded, filled me with deep emotion. How kind people were! How many hearts of gold passed before my happy eyes!

As an assistant I had a lively little schoolboy, of untiring energy, who made my long legs serve me in good stead. Together we went to the Ochta district, and there, amongst poor workers and labourers, we spent many hours of exultation.

“Don’t they give!” Fedia the schoolboy said to me. “Don’t they give! All you’ve got to do is to take it!”

“Yes, Fedia, all you’ve got to do is to take it!” I laughed at his naive words with humid eyes. And when I saw an old, long-bearded carter who turned with difficulty to give me his copper, I loved the sight of his hand and his beard, I loved everything about him as the most precious of human realities that no war can eclipse. I like, too, the way they are not the least ashamed that their contributions are smaller than those on the Nevsky or Morskaya. Some asked me if Fedia was my son.

“No, we are friends,” Fedia hastened to assure them. He always seemed hurt on these occasions; he probably felt too big to be anybody’s son. He would insist on carrying the heavy box until he was fagged out, making me pin on the badges, and altogether ordering me about in the most dignified way.

Twice the boxful of coins changed hands between us. Carried away by our enthusiasm, we walked until we could scarcely drag ourselves along; Fedia was particularly tired. It was getting dark when we emerged from a little street facing a cotton-mill with smoking chimneys, and sat down on a beam to rest. For a long time we sat there enjoying the glorious, tranquil evening, the barges and ships on the broad Neva, the sunset’s glow on the misty clouds. I shall never forget that evening. Disturbed by a passing tug, the water rippled against the flat bank, the Ochta children