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Updated: June 25, 2025
A curtain of long strings of parti-coloured glass beads hung over the door. The beads had been strung so as to form a fantastic figure of some kind of plants; the strings were quietly shaking and it seemed that pale shadows of flowers were soaring in the air. This transparent curtain did not hide the inside of the drawing-room from Foma's eyes.
And Ookhtishchev spoke loudly in Foma's ear: "Come, my dear boy, for God's sake!" "Wait, I'll give him a kick in the face," begged Foma. But he was dragged off. There was a buzzing in his ears, his heart beat fast, but he felt relieved and well. At the entrance of the club he heaved a deep sigh of relief and said to Ookhtishchev, with a good-natured smile: "I gave him a sound drubbing, didn't I?"
The pilgrim replied, without looking at him: "Perhaps." "I would like to speak to you," announced Foma, timidly, in a low voice. "Well, then, speak." "Come with me." "Whither?" "To my cabin." The pilgrim looked into Foma's face, and, after a moment's silence, assented: "Come."
Roar on, Gordyeeff! Roar at everything!" And again he clutched at Foma's shoulders, flung himself on his breast, raising to Foma's face his round, black, closely-cropped head, which was ceaselessly turning about on his shoulders on all sides, so that Foma was unable to see his face, and he was angry at him for this, and kept on pushing him aside, crying excitedly: "Get away! Where is your face?
Guard those that will sail upon it." The merchants in unison made the sign of the cross, with wide swings of their arms, and all their faces bore the expression of one sentiment faith in the power of prayer. All these pictures took root in Foma's memory and awakened in him perplexity as to these people, who, being able to believe firmly in the mercy of God, were, nevertheless, so cruel unto man.
Foma's awakened soul was greedily feeding itself on the solemn, gloomy poetry of the liturgy, and when the touching citation was heard, "Come, let us give him the last kiss," a loud, wailing sob escaped from Foma's chest, and the crowd in church was stirred to agitation by this outburst of grief. Having uttered the sob, Foma staggered.
Foma's irritation against her was growing stronger and stronger, and as he went on speaking to her, his words became absurd. While he spoke, he kept on moving his shoulders as though tearing something that entangled him. "Sorry? What for? I do not need it. Eh, I cannot speak well! It is bad to be dumb. But I would have told you! You did not treat me properly indeed, why have you so enticed a man?
The voice of the gray and stern pilot replied: "It's all his exorbitant greediness. Fuel is cheaper here, so he is taking all he can. He is greedy, the devil!" "Oh, how greedy!" This word, repeated many times in succession, fixed itself in Foma's memory, and in the evening, at supper, he suddenly asked his father: "Papa!" "What?" "Are you greedy?"
Like the cry of Isaiah, "Go to, now, ye rich men, weep and howl for your misfortunes that shall come upon you," is Foma's: "You blood-suckers! You live on other people's strength; you work with other people's hands! For all this you shall be made to pay! You shall perish you shall be called to account for all! For all to the last little tear-drop!"
Perhaps it is the devil?" A painful feeling of fear fell on the youth; he shuddered and hastily looked around. The street was deserted and quiet; the dark windows of the houses stared dimly into the dark of night, and along the walls and fences Foma's shadow followed him. "Driver!" he cried out aloud, quickening his steps. The shadow started and crawled after him, frightened, black, silent.
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