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Updated: May 25, 2025
And the wrinkles on his forehead formed an odd pattern, rising up to his bald crown. His face was stern and merciless, and breathed melancholy and coldness upon Foma's soul. "So there's no way out for me?" asked Foma, gloomily. "You are blocking all my ways?" "There is a way. Go there! I shall guide you. Don't worry, it will be right! You will come just to your proper place."
Yakov Tarasovich looked at her, moved his lips, and suddenly striking Foma's knee with his hand, he said to him: "That's the way, my godson! Think." Foma responded with a smile and thought: "But he's clever cleverer than my father." But another voice within him immediately replied: "Cleverer, but worse."
But Yozhov's mood still infected Foma, his speeches enriched Foma's vocabulary, and sometimes he noticed with joyous delight how cleverly and forcibly he had himself expressed this or that idea. He often met in Yozhov's house certain peculiar people, who, it seemed to him, knew everything, understood everything, contradicted everything, and saw deceit and falsehood in everything.
Around they were talking in whispers, passing this way and that cautiously. And everyone looked now at him, now at Mayakin, who had seated himself opposite him. The old man did not give Foma the vodka at once. First he surveyed him fixedly, then he slowly poured out a wine glassful, and finally, without saying a word, raised it to Foma's lips. Foma drank the vodka, and asked: "Some more!"
Mayakin, who had Foma's full power of attorney to manage his affairs, acted now in such a way that Foma was bound to feel almost every day the burden of the obligations which rested upon him. People were constantly applying to him for payments, proposing to him terms for the transportation of freight.
"Well, don't bawl! On account of such a trifle as a woman." Red spots came out on Foma's pale face, he shifted from one foot to the other, thrust his hands into the pockets of his jacket with a convulsive motion and said in a firm and even voice: "You! Captain! See here, say another word against me and you go to the devil! I'll put you ashore! I'll get along as well with the pilot! Understand?
At church Foma's head began to ache, and it seemed to him that everything around and underneath him was shaking. In the stifling air, filled with dust, with the breathing of the people and the smoke of the incense, the flames of the candles were timidly trembling.
Foma's duty was to deliver the corn as soon as possible, and receiving the payments, start off for Perm, where a cargo of iron was awaiting him, which Ignat had undertaken to deliver at the market. The barges stood opposite a large village, near a pine forest, about two versts distant from the shore.
"I have drank only two glasses. I was perfectly sober." "Consequently," said Bobrov, "you are right, Yakov Tarasovich, he is insane." "I?" exclaimed Foma. But they paid no attention to him. Reznikov, Zubov and Bobrov leaned over to Mayakin and began to talk in low tones. "Guardianship!" Foma's ears caught this one word.
The giggling girl glanced at the brunette and asked her respectfully: "Shall I sing, Sasha?" "I shall sing myself," announced Foma's companion, and turning toward the lady with the birdlike face, she ordered: "Vassa, sing with me!" Vassa immediately broke off her conversation with Zvantzev, stroked her throat a little with her hand and fixed her round eyes on the face of her sister.
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