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Updated: May 31, 2025
"Devil!" whispered Yozhov, staring dully at the door. "Yes! what a woman! How strict!" said Foma, looking at him in amazement, as he seated himself on the lounge. Yozhov, raising his shoulders, walked up to the table, poured out a half a tea-glass full of vodka, emptied it and sat down by the table, bowing his head low. There was silence for about a minute.
"We'll be friends," he announced to Foma. "Why did you complain to the teacher about me?" Gordyeeff reminded Yozhov, looking at him suspiciously. "There! What's the difference to you? You are a new scholar and rich. The teacher is not exacting with the rich. And I am a poor hanger-on; he doesn't like me, because I am impudent and because I never bring him any presents.
We'll come up to see you on Sunday after mass." "Come," Smolin nodded his head. "We'll come up. They'll ring the bell soon. I must run to sell the siskin," declared Yozhov, pulling out of his pocket a paper package, wherein some live thing was struggling. And he disappeared from the school-yard as mercury from the palm of a hand.
Do you like cake with green onions? Oh, how I like it! So that in six hours forty-eight bucketfuls leaked out of the first gauge-cock. And altogether the tub contained ninety. Do you understand the rest?" Foma liked Yozhov better than Smolin, but he was more friendly with Smolin. He wondered at the ability and the sprightliness of the little fellow.
A girl jostled Foma in the side with her bundle and said: "Excuse me." He glanced at her and said nothing. Then a drizzling rain began to fall from the sky tiny, scarcely visible drops of moisture overcast the lights of the lanterns and the shop windows with grayish dust. This dust made him breathe with difficulty. "Shall I go to Yozhov and pass the night there?
Push forward with all your might. There is nothing more valuable than man, know this! Cry at the top of your voice: 'Freedom! Freedom!" But when Foma, warmed up by the glowing sparks of these words, began to dream of how he should start to refute and overthrow people who, for the sake of personal profit, do not want to broaden life, Yozhov would often cut him short: "Drop it!
"Well, why do you blame it all on the new boy?" asked Smolin, in a low voice, without even turning his head to them. "All right, all right," hissed Yozhov. Foma was silent, looking askance at his brisk neighbour, who at once pleased him and roused in him a desire to get as far as possible away from him.
All this had for Foma a particularly pleasant flavour; he grew bolder, seized by the general good feeling, and he longed to say something good to these people, to please them all in some way or other. Yozhov, sitting by his side, moved about on the ground, jostled him with his shoulder and, shaking his head, muttered something indistinctly. "Brethren!" shouted the stout fellow.
Foma admired her words and listened to her just as eagerly as to her father; but whenever she started to speak of Taras with love and anguish, it seemed to him that she was hiding another man under that name, perhaps that same Yozhov, who according to her words, had to leave the university for some reason or other, and go to Moscow.
The small group of scarcely visible dots, now mere specks in the azure of the sky, leads on the imagination of the children, and Yozhov expresses their common feeling when, in a low voice, he says thoughtfully: "That's the way we ought to fly, friends."
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