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Updated: May 14, 2025
Finally Sizov, Rybin, and Pavel were chosen for the interview with the manager. When just about to send for the manager, suddenly low exclamations were heard in the crowd: "Here he comes himself!" "The manager?" "Ah!" The crowd opened to make way for a tall, spare man with a pointed beard, an elongated face and blinking eyes.
"It's for you all that he's gone!" "Who ought to stand up for him?" asked Rybin. "All of you!" "You want too much! We'll do nothing of the kind! Our masters have been gathering strength for thousands of years; they have driven our hearts full of nails. We cannot unite at once.
The mother brought in the samovar, looking askance at Rybin. His strong, heavy words oppressed her. Something in him reminded her of her husband. He, too, showed his teeth, waved his hands, and rolled up his sleeves; in him, too, there was that impatient wrath, impatient but dumb. Rybin was not dumb; he was not silent; he spoke, and therefore was less terrible.
Pyotr threw his head back and laughed noiselessly, very well satisfied with something. To the mother, however, it seemed the very next instant that, in reference to Rybin, the word "stranger" was not in place; it jarred upon her. "I'm not a relative of his; but I've known him for a long time, and I look up to him as to an elder brother."
"It's Yefim," said Rybin, looking into the kitchen. "Come here, Yefim. As for you, Pavel, think! Think a whole lot. There is a great deal to think about. This is Yefim. And this man's name is Pavel. I told you about him."
"Things are going forward," said Pavel. "Yes," said Rybin. "We plow and we sow, All high and low, Boasting is cheap, But the harvest we reap, A feast we'll make, And a rest we'll take." "Will you have some tea?" asked the mother. "Yes, I'll have some tea, and I'll take a sip of vodka, too; and if you'll give me something to eat, I won't decline it, either. I am glad to see you that's what!"
"Yes, it's time," said Sofya wearily. Some one breathed a noisy sigh. "I am sorry you're going," said Rybin in an unusually mild tone. "You speak well. This great cause will unite people. When you know that millions want the same as you do, your heart becomes better, and in goodness there is great power."
Rybin spoke curtly and decisively, his voice grew gruffer and gruffer, and his bearded face reddened as with the strain of exertion. "Now, then, the masters write the books and distribute them. But the writings in the books are against these very masters. Now, tell me, why do they spend their money and their time to stir up the people against themselves? Eh?"
A squat peasant in a short fur overcoat emerged from the crowd. He looked on the ground, with his large disheveled head drooping. "Nikita," the police commissioner said deliberately, twirling his mustache, "give him a box on the ear a good one!" The peasant stepped forward, stopped in front of Rybin and raised his hand.
The wood pile burned evenly and glaringly, and the faceless shadows quivered around it. Savely sat down on a stump, and stretched his dry, transparent hands toward the fire, coughing. Rybin nodded his head to one side, and said to Sofya in an undertone: "That's sharper than books. That ought to be known.
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