Gorky's Collected Works - Bedtime Stories for Middle School Students [VI]

Author: Maxim Gorky (Russia)
Publisher:
Publish Date: 2006-06-01
Features: In a small and dimly lit room, my father, dressed in white, lay stiffly on the floor beneath the window with a slender body. His bare feet were spread open, and his fingers were weakly bent, resting gently on his chest. His joyful eyes were tightly shut like two black holes; his peaceful face was dark, with his teeth bared in a grimace, as if trying to scare me. My mother, with her upper body bare and wearing a red apron, knelt beside him, combing his hair with the comb I often used to shave watermelons. Muttering in a low, hoarse voice, tears streamed endlessly from her swollen eyes, like melting ice water dripping down. My grandmother tightly held my hand; her stout figure, with a large head and big eyes, and her muscles on her nose were comically loose. She was also crying, trembling all over, making my hand shake too. I had never seen such a scene, and a strange fear gripped my heart. My grandmother tried hard to push me to my father's side. I felt both scared and awkward. I didn't understand what my grandmother meant when she repeatedly said to me, "Quick, child, say goodbye to your father. He's not even old, but he's going to die. You can never see him again, dear." I had always believed every word my grandmother said. Though she was now dressed in black, her head and eyes seemed especially large, looking quite strange and amusing. When I was young, I had fallen seriously ill, and my father took care of me, but later, my grandmother came and took over. "Where are you from?" I asked. She replied, "Nizhniy, I came by boat, I can't walk, it's impossible to walk on the water, you little devil!" By boat! It's impossible to walk on water! Ah, how ridiculous, how amusing! Several Persian men with dyed hair and beards lived on the upper floor of our house. The old Kalmuk man who traded sheepskins lived in the basement. You could slide down the stairs, and if you fell, you could roll right down. All of this was very familiar to me, yet I had never heard of anyone coming from the water. "Why do you call me a little devil?" "Because you're so talkative!" she said with a smile. She spoke in a warm and pleasant manner, and from that moment on, I grew to like this kind old woman. I hoped she would take me away from this room immediately, as I felt too uncomfortable here. My mother's wails unsettled me; she had never been so weak before. She was always stern. My mother was very strong, tall, and strong-willed, and she always kept herself neat and tidy. But now her clothes were askew and disheveled. Her hair, which had been combed smooth and stuck to her head like a shiny hat, now fell over her bare shoulders, covering her face. She knelt there, some strands of hair brushing against her father's sleeping face. I had stood in the room for a long time, but she didn't even glance at me. She just kept combing her father's hair, tears making her unable to speak. Outside the door stood some people, some dressed in black from the countryside, and some police. The police impatiently roared, "Alright, hurry up and get everything together!" A gust of wind blew, lifting the black shawl used to cover the window and rustling it. The sound reminded me of the time my father took me out boating. Suddenly, thunder cracked in the sky, scaring me into screaming. My father laughed loudly, shielding me with his knee, and said loudly, "Don't be afraid, 'Turnip,' it's nothing!" Thinking of this, I suddenly saw my mother struggling to get up from the floor but losing her balance and falling face down, her hair scattered across the floor. Her eyes were tightly shut, her face pale and greenish, and like my father, she bared her teeth and said sharply, "Get out, Alexey! Close the door." My grandmother immediately ran to the back of a large box in the corner, while my mother rolled on the floor, crying in pain, her teeth grinding. My grandmother watched her crawl on the floor, listening to her joyfully say, "Oh, God, have mercy!" "In the name of the Father and the Son, Valya, hold on!" I was terrified. They crawled around my father, bumping into him, but he remained motionless, as if still smiling! On the floor, they struggled for a long time. My mother got up several times but fell down again; my grandmother, like a black ball, pushed her around, rolling her back and forth. In the darkness, I suddenly heard a child crying! "Oh, it's a boy, thank God!"