In the world

Author: Maxim Gorky
Translator: Anton
Country: Bahrain
Publisher:
Publish Date: 2001-09-01
Features: Whenever a woman customer entered the shop, the owner would take his hand out of his pocket, stroke his mustache, and wear a sweet smile on his face, but his face was full of wrinkles, and there was no change in his blind appearance. The head shopkeeper stood straight, his two arms tightly pressed against his sides, while his wrists were respectfully suspended in the air. Sasha blinked nervously, trying hard to hide his goldfish-like eyes. I stood at the door, secretly scratching my hands, observing their set of business rules. The head shopkeeper knelt on the ground, spreading his five fingers to try on the woman's shoes. His hands trembled as he carefully touched the woman's feet, as if afraid of breaking them. In fact, that foot was unusually fat, like an upside-down long-neck bottle. Once, a lady curled her body and stood on one leg, saying, "Oh, you tickle me so much!" "This is out of courtesy," the head shopkeeper quickly explained with enthusiasm. Watching him act so sweetly towards the woman customer, I found it quite amusing. To prevent myself from laughing out loud, I turned my back and stood facing the glass door. But I couldn’t help but watch how they did business, because the head shopkeeper’s methods really amused me. At the same time, I thought to myself, I would never be able to learn how to open my five fingers, measure the foot size, and skillfully put a pair of leather shoes on someone else’s feet in such a polite manner.
The owner often left the shop and went into a small room behind the counter, and he would also call Sasha in, leaving the head shopkeeper to deal with the woman customers one-on-one. Once, after touching the foot of a red-haired woman customer, he brought his three fingers together and kissed them with his mouth. "Wow," the woman gasped, "Look at you, you rascal!" But he puffed out his cheeks and made a loud smacking sound: "Pfft!" I couldn’t help but laugh out loud, afraid of falling to the ground, so I quickly grabbed the door handle. The door suddenly opened, and I crashed into the door glass, shattering it. The head shopkeeper stomped on me, the owner tapped my head with a thick, large gold ring he wore on his finger, and Sasha twisted my ear.
On the way home in the evening, he scolded me loudly: "You’ve done such a foolish thing, you’ll get fired by the owner! Well, what’s so funny about it?" I explained that if the lady customers liked the head shopkeeper, the business would be even more prosperous. "Even if that lady has shoes at home, she would still come to buy another pair just to see this charming shopkeeper. But you, you don’t even understand that! It really worries me." This made me very angry, as no one had ever cared about me, especially him.
Every morning, the cook, a woman with a pale face and a bad temper, always woke me up an hour early and then woke Sasha up. After getting up, I first washed the shoes and clothes of the owner’s family, the head shopkeeper, and Sasha, then boiled the samovar, delivered firewood to all the stoves, and finally washed the lunch boxes. When I arrived at the shop, I swept the floor, wiped the dust, boiled water, delivered goods to the customers, and then went home for lunch. At this time, Sasha took over my job of greeting customers at the door. When he realized that this duty was beneath his dignity, he started cursing me: "This guy! Let me do your job for you." I felt very hurt and lonely, because I was used to a carefree life, wandering all day long in the sandy streets and alleys of Kunavino, along the muddy banks of the Okka River, in the fields, and in the forests. But here, without my grandmother, without friends, without anyone to talk to, life made me angry, revealing the ugly and hypocritical facade of the world.
Often, it happened that a woman customer didn’t buy anything and left after just looking around. At this point, all three of them felt wronged. The owner immediately suppressed his sweet smile and ordered, "Kashirin, quickly put the goods back!" Then he started cursing: "Hey, this sow came here! This foolish woman is bored at home, so she comes to shop. If you were my wife, I’d teach you a lesson!" His wife, thin and with dark eyes and a big nose, often stamped her feet and yelled at him, just like she did to her servants. I often saw them bowing their heads and talking endlessly in flattery in front of familiar female customers, but as soon as they sent her away, they cursed her with the most vulgar words. I really wanted to run outside and chase after that woman to tell her how they talked behind her back. Of course, I knew people always talk behind each other’s backs. But these people’s backbiting was especially repulsive, as if they believed themselves to be the elite of society, appointed as judges of the world. They envied everyone they saw, never praised anyone, and always found fault with the people they encountered.
One day, a young woman entered the shop. She was beautiful, with sparkling eyes and a velvet cloak with a black leather collar. The fur collar made her face look like a blooming flower. When she took off the cloak and handed it to Sasha, she looked even more beautiful: a slender figure wrapped in a gray silk dress, with diamond earrings shining on her ears. She reminded me of the beautiful Vasilisa. I was sure she was the governor’s wife. They treated her as if they had suddenly seen a bright red fire, being extra attentive, bowing their heads, and showering her with compliments. The three of them dashed around the shop like devils, their shadows flickering across the shelves, as if everything around was burning and melting, about to change into something else. But she quickly chose a pair of expensive leather shoes and, as soon as she left the shop, the owner pouted and muttered, "That bitch." "Anyway, she’s a stage actress," the head shopkeeper said disdainfully. Then they started discussing how many lovers she had and how she lived a life of revelry.
Once, after lunch, the owner went to sleep in a small room behind the shop. I took the opportunity to open his gold pocket watch, dripped a little vinegar into the mechanism, and soon after, I saw him wake up, holding the watch, and nervously muttering, "I can’t believe it! The watch is sweating! It’s never happened before—watches don’t sweat! Is this a bad omen?" That meant, you’re nothing but a pig, a pig too foolish to be any smarter. To put it bluntly, you’re a barrel of pig feed." "Why are you insulting me?" Yakov asked in surprise. "Men are all fruits from the same oak tree. Don’t insult me, or I won’t change my ways." This person immediately captivated me. I looked at him with undisguised amazement, wide-eyed as he spoke. I thought he had his own unique and rich life experience. He called everyone "you." No matter who he met—captains, restaurant stewards, or first-class passengers—the two rows of eyes under his thick brows were always the same—honest and straightforward—as if he treated them all equally, like himself, like sailors, like restaurant servants, and like passengers resting on the deck. Sometimes he stood before the captain or the engineer, his two long, monkey-like arms crossed behind his back, silently listening to their scoldings. They cursed him for slacking off or for winning money at cards without effort. He stood there, making it clear that their scoldings had no effect on him. They threatened to throw him off the ship as soon as they docked. But this didn’t scare him either. He was like "Good Fortune," with a unique personality. It was clear that he himself knew his personality was a bit different, something others couldn’t understand. I had never seen him angry or deep in thought, nor could I remember a time when he didn’t speak for a long time. His mouth, hidden behind his thick beard, would always spill out a stream of words without hesitation, as if it were a flowing river. When others cursed him or told him interesting stories, his lips would tremble slightly, as if silently repeating what others said or gently continuing his own words.
After finishing his shift each day, he would come out of the boiler room door, barefoot, sweating profusely, covered in diesel, wearing a wet shirt unbuttoned at the waist, his chest exposed, and a thick patch of hair visible. Then, his calm, slightly hoarse voice would immediately echo on the deck, each word falling like raindrops.
A blacksmith named Klyuchev, who was very thin and short, had a wonderful voice. His songs were especially moving. This man was listless, with his fiery red hair tied in clumps; his nose was as pale and lifeless as a corpse; his drowsy eyes were motionless. Sometimes he closed his eyes, his back leaning against a barrel, his chest puffed out, and sang in a calm yet overwhelming tenor:
Ah, the wilderness is filled with mist,
It hides the distant road.
Then he stood up, leaning on the counter, looking up at the ceiling, and sang with passion:
Ah, where am I going? Where am I going?
What is the straight path I seek?
His voice wasn’t loud, but it was strong and powerful. It was as if he had stitched a silver string into the low, noisy clamor of the tavern. His sorrowful lyrics, laments, and cries moved everyone, even the drunkards, who suddenly became unusually serious and silent, staring at the table in front of them. At that moment, my heart broke, filled with the intense emotions stirred by the beautiful music, touching the depths of my soul. The tavern became very quiet, like a church, and the singer was like a benevolent priest. Though he wasn’t preaching or delivering a sermon, he was sincerely praying for all of humanity, loudly expressing his thoughts on the poverty and suffering of life. The bearded men looked at him from all sides, their fierce faces flickering with childlike eyes full of thought. The tavern occasionally heard someone sigh, clearly showing the song’s power to move people’s hearts. At that moment, I always felt as if everyone was living an unreal, fictional life, while it—the song—was the real life of a person!