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Updated: May 31, 2025
Like Foma, he regarded Yozhov with the same condescending pity, but more as a friend and equal. Whenever Gordyeeff quarrelled with Yozhov, Smolin hastened to reconcile them, and he said to Foma one day, on their way home: "Why do you always quarrel with Yozhov?" "Well, why is he so self-conceited?" said Foma, angrily. "He is proud because you never know your lessons, and he always helps you out.
I'm not a big bird, either. I am only the son of the courthouse guard, and noncommissioned officer, Matvey Yozhov!" "Why does he say that?" thought Foma. "What difference does it make whose son a man is? A man is not respected on account of his father, but for his brains." The sun was setting like a huge bonfire in the sky, tinting the clouds with hues of gold and of blood.
Then Foma said, timidly and softly: "How it all happened! We had no time even to wink an eye, and, suddenly, such an outcome. Ah!" "You!" said Yozhov in an undertone, tossing up his head, and staring at Foma angrily and wildly. "Keep quiet! You, the devil take you. Lie down and sleep! You monster. Nightmare. Oh!" And he threatened Foma with his fist.
It's my body that is intoxicated, but my soul is sober, it is always sober; it feels everything. Oh, how much meanness there is in the world, how much stupidity and wretchedness! And men these stupid, miserable men." Yozhov paused, and, clasping his head with his hands, stood for awhile, staggering. "Yes!" drawled out Foma. "They are very much unlike one another.
Comrades! And that big, stupid man " "Nikolay Matveyich, you had better not insult our guest!" said someone in a deep, displeased voice. "Yes, that's unnecessary," affirmed the stout fellow, who had invited Foma to the fireside. "Why use offensive language?" A third voice rang out loudly and distinctly: "We have come together to enjoy ourselves to take a rest." "Fools!" laughed Yozhov, faintly.
Half-clad and dishevelled, Yozhov looked like a plucked bird, which had just had a fight and had not yet recovered from the excitement of the conflict. "I drink because, from time to time, I must quench the fire of my wounded heart. And you, you damp stump, you are smouldering little by little?" "I have to go to the old man," said Foma, wrinkling his face. "Chance it!" "I don't feel like going.
Yozhov jumped to his feet and said boldly: "It's not I, Ivan Andreyich it's Gordyeeff." "Both of them were whispering," announced Smolin, serenely. Wrinkling his face mournfully and moving his big lip comically, the teacher reprimanded them all, but his words did not prevent Yozhov from whispering immediately: "Very well, Smolin! I'll remember you for telling."
And doesn't it interest you to read it yourself?" inquired Yozhov, scrutinizing Gordyeeff closely. "I'll read it!" Foma assured him, feeling embarrassed before Yozhov, and that Yozhov was offended by such regard for his writings. "Indeed, it is interesting since it is about myself," he added, smiling kindheartedly at his comrade.
Foma shuddered at the sounds of their gloomy wailing, and he hurried after Yozhov; but before he overtook him the little feuilleton-writer uttered a hysterical shriek, threw himself chest down upon the ground and burst out sobbing plaintively and softly, even as sickly children cry. "Nikolay!" said Foma, lifting him by the shoulders. "Cease crying; what's the matter? Oh Lord. Nikolay!
He looked at him, winked his eyes mournfully and saw that Yozhov's face was for ever twitching, and his small eyes were burning with irritation. Yozhov was trying to uncork the bottle of water, and thus occupied, was silent; he pressed the bottle between his knees and made vain efforts to take out the cork. And his impotence moved Foma. "Yes; life has sucked you dry. And you have studied.
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