I saw in one basement room two women, a young one and another who was her senior, seated at a table; opposite them sat a school-boy reading to them.
The younger woman listened with puckered brows, leaning back in her chair; but the elder, who was thin, with luxuriant hair, suddenly covered her face with her hands, and her shoulders heaved. The school-boy threw down the book, and when the younger woman had sprung to her feet and gone away, he fell on his knees before the woman with the lovely hair and began to kiss her hands.
Through another window I saw a large, bearded man with a woman in a red blouse sitting on his knee. He was rocking her as if she had been a baby, and was evidently singing something, opening his mouth wide and rolling his eyes.
The woman was shaking with laughter, throwing herself backward and swinging her feet. He made her sit up straight again, and again began to sing, and again she burst out laughing.
I gazed at them for a long time, and went away only when I realized that they meant to keep up their merriment all night.
There were many pictures of this kind which will always remain in my memory, and often I was so attracted by them that I was late in returning home.
This aroused the suspicions of my employers, who asked me:
“What church did you go to?
Who was the officiating priest?”
They knew all the priests of the town; they knew what gospel would be read, in fact, they knew everything. It was easy for them to catch me in a lie.
Both women worshiped the wrathful God of my grandfather — the God Who demanded that we should approach Him in fear. His name was ever on their lips; even in their quarrels they threatened one another:
“Wait!
God will punish you! He will plague you for this! Just wait!”
On the Sunday in the first week of Lent the old woman cooked some butters and burned them all. Flushed with the heat of the stove, she cried angrily:
“The devil take you!”
And suddenly, sniffing at the frying-pan, her face grew dark, and she threw the utensil on the floor and moaned:
“Bless me, the pan has been used for flesh food! It is unclean! It did not catch when I used it clean on Monday.”
Falling on her knees, she entreated with tears:
“Lord God, Father, forgive me, accursed that I am! For the sake of Thy sufferings and passion forgive me!
Do not punish an old fool, Lord!”
The burned fritters were given to the dog, the pan was destroyed, but the young wife began to reproach her mother-in-law in their quarrels.
“You actually cooked fritters in Lent in a pan which had been used for flesh-meat.”
They dragged their God into all the household affairs, into every corner of their petty, insipid lives, and thus their wretched life acquired outward significance and importance, as if every hour was devoted to the service of a Higher Power.
The dragging of God into all this dull emptiness oppressed me, and I used to look involuntarily into the corners, aware of being observed by invisible beings, and at night I was wrapped in a cloud of fear. It came from the corner where the ever-burning lamp flickered before the icon.
On a level with this shelf was a large window with two sashes joined by a stanchion. Fathomless, deep-blue space looked into the window, and if one made a quick movement, everything became merged in this deep-blue gulf, and floated out to the stars, into the deathly stillness, without a sound, just as a stone sinks when it is thrown into the water.
I do not remember how I cured myself of this terror, but I did cure myself, and that soon. Grandmother’s good God helped me, and I think it was then that I realized the simple truth, namely, that no harm could come to me; that I should not be punished without fault of my own; that it was not the law of life that the innocent should suffer; and that I was not responsible for the faults of others.
I played truant from mass too, especially in the spring, the irresistible force of which would not let me go to church.
If I had a seven-copeck piece given me for the collection, it was my destruction. I bought hucklebones, played all the time mass was going on, and was inevitably late home.
And one day I was clever enough to lose all the coins which had been given me for prayers for the dead and the blessed bread, so that I had to take some one else’s portion when the priest came from the altar and handed it round.
I was terribly fond of gambling, and it became a craze with me.
I was skilful enough, and strong, and I swiftly gained renown in games of hucklebones, billiards, and skittles in the neighboring streets.
During Lent I was ordered to prepare for communion, and I went to confession to our neighbor Father Dorimedont Pokrovski.
I regarded him as a hard man, and had committed many sins against him personally. I had thrown stones at the summer-house in his garden, and had quarreled with his children. In fact he might call to mind, if he chose, many similar acts annoying to him.
This made me feel very uneasy, and when I stood in the poor little church awaiting my turn to go to confession my heart throbbed tremulously.
But Father Dorimedont greeted me with a good-natured, grumbling exclamation.
“Ah, it is my neighbor!
Well, kneel down!
What sins have you committed?”
He covered my head with a heavy velvet cloth. I inhaled the odor of wax and incense. It was difficult to speak, and I felt reluctant to do so.
“Have you been obedient to your elders?”
“No.”
“Say, 1 have sinned.’ ”
To my own surprise I let fall:
“I have stolen.”
“How was that?
Where?” asked the priest, thoughtfully and without haste.
“At the church of the three bishops, at Pokrov, and at Nikoli.”
“Well, that is in all the churches.
That was wrong, my child; it was a sin. Do you understand?”
“I understand.”