Brothers -- Fiction; Didactic fiction; Fathers and sons -- Fiction; Russia -- Social life and customs -- 1533-1917 -- Fiction
“That was the day before yesterday, in the evening, but last night
everything was changed. He had gone to school in the morning, he came
back depressed, terribly depressed. In the evening I took him by the
hand and we went for a walk; he would not talk. There was a wind
blowing and no sun, and a feeling of autumn; twilight was coming on. We
walked along, both of us depressed. ‘Well, my boy,’ said I, ‘how about
our setting off on our travels?’ I thought I might bring him back to
our talk of the day before. He didn’t answer, but I felt his fingers
trembling in my hand. Ah, I thought, it’s a bad job; there’s something
fresh. We had reached the stone where we are now. I sat down on the
stone. And in the air there were lots of kites flapping and whirling.
There were as many as thirty in sight. Of course, it’s just the season
for the kites. ‘Look, Ilusha,’ said I, ‘it’s time we got out our last
year’s kite again. I’ll mend it, where have you put it away?’ My boy
made no answer. He looked away and turned sideways to me. And then a
gust of wind blew up the sand. He suddenly fell on me, threw both his
little arms round my neck and held me tight. You know, when children
are silent and proud, and try to keep back their tears when they are in
great trouble and suddenly break down, their tears fall in streams.
With those warm streams of tears, he suddenly wetted my face. He sobbed
and shook as though he were in convulsions, and squeezed up against me
as I sat on the stone. ‘Father,’ he kept crying, ‘dear father, how he
insulted you!’ And I sobbed too. We sat shaking in each other’s arms.
‘Ilusha,’ I said to him, ‘Ilusha darling.’ No one saw us then. God
alone saw us, I hope He will record it to my credit. You must thank
your brother, Alexey Fyodorovitch. No, sir, I won’t thrash my boy for
your satisfaction.”
He had gone back to his original tone of resentful buffoonery. Alyosha
felt though that he trusted him, and that if there had been some one
else in his, Alyosha’s place, the man would not have spoken so openly
and would not have told what he had just told. This encouraged Alyosha,
whose heart was trembling on the verge of tears.
“Ah, how I would like to make friends with your boy!” he cried. “If you
could arrange it—”
“Certainly, sir,” muttered the captain.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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