Mother. Максим Горький
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the other holds the gun."
"You ought to stand up for Pavel!" cried the mother, rising to her feet. "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. We must first extract from ourselves, each from the other, the iron spikes that prevent us from standing close to one another."
And thus he departed, with his heavy gait, leaving the mother to her grief, aggravated by the stern hopelessness of his words.
The day passed in a thick mist of empty, senseless longing. She made no fire, cooked no dinner, drank no tea, and only late in the evening ate a piece of bread. When she went to bed it occurred to her that her life had never yet been so humiliating, so lonely and void. During the last years she had become accustomed to live constantly in the expectation of something momentous, something good. Young people were circling around her, noisy, vigorous, full of life. Her son's thoughtful and earnest face was always before her, and he seemed to be the master and creator of this thrilling and noble life. Now he was gone, everything was gone. In the whole day, no one except the disagreeable Rybin had called.
Beyond the window, the dense, cold rain was sighing and knocking at the panes. The rain and the drippings from the roof filled the air with a doleful, wailing melody. The whole house appeared to be rocking gently to and fro, and everything around her seemed aimless and unnecessary.
A gentle rap was heard at the door. It came once, and then a second time. She had grown accustomed to these noises; they no longer frightened her. A soft, joyous sensation thrilled her heart, and a vague hope quickly brought her to her feet. Throwing a shawl over her shoulders, she hurried to the door and opened it.
Samoylov walked in, followed by another man with his face hidden behind the collar of his overcoat and under a hat thrust over his eyebrows.
"Did we wake you?" asked Samoylov, without greeting the mother, his face gloomy and thoughtful, contrary to his wont.
"I was not asleep," she said, looking at them with expectant eyes.
Samoylov's companion took off his hat, and breathing heavily and hoarsely said in a friendly basso, like an old acquaintance, giving her his broad, short-fingered hand:
"Good evening, granny! You don't recognize me?"
"Is it you?" exclaimed Nilovna, with a sudden access of delight. "Yegor Ivanovich?"
"The very same identical one!" replied he, bowing his large head with its long hair. There was a good-natured smile on his face, and a clear, caressing look in his small gray eyes. He was like a samovar – rotund, short, with thick neck and short arms. His face was shiny and glossy, with high cheek bones. He breathed noisily, and his chest kept up a continuous low wheeze.
"Step into the room. I'll be dressed in a minute," the mother said.
"We have come to you on business," said Samoylov thoughtfully, looking at her out of the corner of his eyes.
Yegor Ivanovich passed into the room, and from there said:
"Nikolay got out of jail this morning, granny. You know him?"
"How long was he there?" she asked.
"Five months and eleven days. He saw the Little Russian there, who sends you his regards, and Pavel, who also sends you his regards and begs you not to be alarmed. As a man travels on his way, he says, the jails constitute his resting places, established and maintained by the solicitous authorities! Now, granny, let us get to the point. Do you know how many people were arrested yesterday?"
"I do not. Why, were there any others arrested besides Pavel?" she exclaimed.
"He was the forty-ninth!" calmly interjected Yegor Ivanovich. "And we may expect about ten more to be taken! This gentleman here, for example."
"Yes; me, too!" said Samoylov with a frown.
Nilovna somehow felt relieved.
"He isn't there alone," she thought.
When she had dressed herself, she entered the room and, smiling bravely, said:
"I guess they won't detain them long, if they arrested so many."
"You are right," assented Yegor Ivanovich; "and if we can manage to spoil this mess for them, we can make them look altogether like fools. This is the way it is, granny. If we were now to cease smuggling our literature into the factory, the gendarmes would take advantage of such a regrettable circumstance, and would use it against Pavel and his comrades in jail."
"How is that? Why should they?" the mother cried in alarm.
"It's very plain, granny," said Yegor Ivanovich softly. "Sometimes even gendarmes reason correctly. Just think! Pavel was, and there were books and there were papers; Pavel is not, and no books and no papers! Ergo, it was Pavel who distributed these books! Aha! Then they'll begin to eat them all alive. Those gendarmes dearly love so to unman a man that what remains of him is only a shred of himself, and a touching memory."
"I see, I see," said the mother dejectedly. "O God! What's to be done, then?"
"They have trapped them all, the devil take them!" came Samoylov's voice from the kitchen. "Now we must continue our work the same as before, and not only for the cause itself, but also to save our comrades!"
"And there is no one to do the work," added Yegor, smiling. "We have first-rate literature. I saw to that myself. But how to get it into the factory, that's the question!"
"They search everybody at the gates now," said Samoylov.
The mother divined that something was expected of her. She understood that she could be useful to her son, and she hastened to ask:
"Well, now? What are we to do?"
Samoylov stood in the doorway to answer.
"Pelagueya Nilovna, you know Marya Korsunova, the peddler."
"I do. Well?"
"Speak to her; see if you can't get her to smuggle in our wares."
"We could pay her, you know," interjected Yegor.
The mother waved her hands in negation.
"Oh, no! The woman is a chatterbox. No! If they find out it comes from me, from this house – oh, no!"
Then, inspired by a sudden idea, she began gladly and in a low voice:
"Give it to me, give it to me. I'll manage it myself. I'll find a way. I will ask Marya to make me her assistant. I have to earn my living, I have to work. Don't I? Well, then, I'll carry dinners to the factory. Yes, I'll manage it!"
Pressing her hands to her bosom, she gave hurried assurances that she would carry out her mission well and escape detection. Finally she exclaimed in triumph: "They'll find out – Pavel Vlasov is away, but his arm reaches out even from jail. They'll find out!"
All three became animated. Briskly rubbing his hands, Yegor smiled and said:
"It's wonderful, stupendous! I say, granny, it's superb – simply magnificent!"
"I'll sit in jail as in an armchair, if this succeeds," said Samoylov, laughing and rubbing his hands.
"You are fine, granny!" Yegor hoarsely cried.
The mother smiled. It was evident to her that if the leaflets should continue to appear in the factory, the authorities would be forced to recognize that it was not her son who distributed them. And feeling assured of success, she began to quiver all over with joy.
"When you go to see Pavel," said Yegor, "tell him he has a good mother."
"I'll see him very soon, I assure you," said Samoylov, smiling.
The mother grasped his hand and said earnestly:
"Tell him that I'll do everything, everything necessary. I want him to know it."
"And suppose they don't put him in prison?" asked Yegor, pointing at Samoylov.
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