“Why wait? He’ll go about the Volga for two or three years and then
we’ll have him married. There’s my Lubov.”
Lubov Mayakina was now studying in the fifth class of some boarding
school. Foma often met her on the street at which meeting she always
bowed condescendingly, her fair head in a fashionable cap. Foma liked
her, but her rosy cheeks, her cheerful brown eyes and crimson lips could
not smooth the impression of offence given to him by her condescending
bows. She was acquainted with some Gymnasium students, and although
Yozhov, his old friend, was among them, Foma felt no inclination to be
with them, and their company embarrassed him. It seemed to him that
they were all boasting of their learning before him and that they were
mocking his ignorance. Gathered together in Lubov’s house they would
read some books, and whenever he found them reading or loudly arguing,
they became silent at his sight. All this removed them further from him.
One day when he was at Mayakin’s, Luba called him to go for a walk in
the garden, and there, walking by his side, asked him with a grimace on
her face:
“Why are you so unsociable? You never talk about anything.”
“What shall I talk about, since I know nothing!” said Foma, plainly.
“Study--read books.”
“I don’t feel like doing it.”
“You see, the Gymnasium students know everything, and know how to talk
about everything. Take Yozhov, for instance.”
“I know Yozhov--a chatterbox.”
“You simply envy him. He is very clever--yes. He will soon graduate from
the Gymnasium--and then he’ll go to Moscow to study in the University.”
“Well, what of it?” said Foma, indifferently.
“And you’ll remain just an ignorant man.”
“Well, be it so.”
“That will be nice!” exclaimed Luba, ironically.
“I shall hold my ground without science,” said Foma, sarcastically. “And
I’ll have a laugh at all the learned people. Let the hungry study. I
don’t need it.”
“Pshaw, how stupid you are, bad, disgusting!” said the girl with
contempt and went away, leaving him alone in the garden. Offended and
gloomy, he looked after her, moved his eyebrows and lowering his head,
slowly walked off into the depth of the garden.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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