The Maxim Gorky

by Maxim Gorky

  “True enough,” Mokei re-echoed.

  Then the sun went in, and the river grew darker, while the town stood out more clearly. Ceaselessly, the younger men gazed towards the town with wistful, gloomy eyes, though silently they remained where they were.

  Similarly, I myself was beginning to find things irksome and uncomfortable, as always happens when a number of companions are thinking different thoughts, and contain in themselves none of that unity of will which alone can join men into a direct, uniform force. Rather, I felt as though I could gladly leave my companions and start out upon the ice alone.

  Suddenly Ossip recovered his faculties. Rising, then doffing his cap and making the sign of the cross in the direction of the town, he said with a quiet, simple, yet somehow authoritative, air:

  “Very well, my mates. Go in peace, and may the Lord go with you!”

  “But whither?” asked Sashok, leaping to his feet. “To the town?”

  “Whither else?”

  The old soldier was the only one not to rise, and with conviction he remarked:

  “It will result but in our getting drowned.”

  “Then stay where you are.”

  Ossip glanced around the party. Then he continued:

  “Bestir yourselves! Look alive!”

  Upon which all crowded together, and Boev, thrusting the tools into a hole in the bank, groaned:

  “The order ‘go’ has been given, so go we must, well though a man in receipt of such an order might ask himself, ‘How is it going to be done?’”

  Ossip seemed, in some way, to have grown younger and more active, while the habitually shy, though good-humoured, expression of his countenance was gone from his ruddy features, and his darkened eyes had assumed an air of stern activity. Nay, even his indolent, rolling gait had disappeared, and in his step there was more firmness, more assurance, than had ever before been the case.

  “Let every man take a plank,” he said, “and hold it in front of him. Then, should anyone fall in (which God forbid!), the plank-ends will catch upon the ice to either side of him, and hold him up. Also, every man must avoid cracks in the ice. Yes, and is there a rope handy? Here, Narodetz! Reach me that spirit-level. Is everyone ready? I will walk first, and next there must come—well, which is the heaviest?—you, soldier, and then Mokei, and then the Morduine, and then Boev, and then Mishuk, and then Sashok, and then Makarei, the lightest of all. And do you all take off your caps before starting, and say a prayer to the Mother of God. Ha! Here is Old Father Sun coming out to greet us.”

  Readily did the men bare their tousled grey or flaxen heads as momentarily the sun glanced through a bank of thin white vapour before again concealing himself, as though averse to arousing any false hopes.

  “Now!” sharply commanded Ossip in his new-found voice. “And may God go with us! Watch my feet, and don’t crowd too much upon one another, but keep each at a sazhen’s distance or more—in fact, the more the better. Yes, come, mates!”

  With which, stuffing his cap into his bosom, and grasping the spirit-level in his hands, Ossip set foot upon the ice with a sliding, cautious, shuffling gait. At the same moment, there came from the bank behind us a startled cry of:

  “Where are you off to, you fools?”

  “Never mind,” said Ossip to ourselves. “Come along with you, and don’t stand staring.”

  “You blockheads!” the voice repeated. “You had far better return.”

  “No, no! come on!” was Ossip’s counter-command. “And as you move think of God, or you’ll never find yourselves among the invited guests at His holy festival of Eastertide.”

  Next Ossip sounded a police whistle, which act led the old soldier to exclaim:

  “Oh, that’s the way, mate! Good! Yes, you know what to do. Now notice will have been given to the police on the further bank, and, if we’re not drowned, we shall find ourselves clapped in gaol when we get there. However, I’m not responsible.”

  In spite of this remonstrance, Ossip’s sturdy voice drew his companions after him as though they had been tied to a rope.

  “Watch your feet carefully,” once more he cried.

  Our line of march was directed obliquely, and in the opposite direction to the current. Also, I, as the rearmost of the party, found it pleasant to note how the wary little Ossip of the silvery head went looping over the ice with the deftness of a hare, and practically no raising of the feet, while behind him there trailed, in wild-goose fashion, and as though tied to a single invisible string, six dark and undulating figures the shadows of which kept making themselves visible on the ice, from those figures’ feet to points indefinitely remote. And as we proceeded, all of us kept our heads lowered as though we had been descending from a mountain in momentary fear of a false step.

  Also, though the shouting in our rear kept growing in volume, and we could tell that by this time a crowd had gathered, not a word could we distinguish, but only a sort of ugly din.

  In time our cautious march became for me a mere, mechanical, wearisome task, for on ordinary occasions it was my custom to maintain a pace of greater rapidity. Thus, eventually I sank into the semiconscious condition amid which the soul turns to vacuity, and one no longer thinks of oneself, but, on the contrary issues from one’s personality, and begins to see objects with unwonted clarity, and to hear sounds with unwonted precision. Under my feet the seams in the blue-grey, leaden ice lay full of water, while as for the ice itself, it was blinding in its expansive glitter, even though in places it had come to be either cracked or bulbous, or had ground itself into powder with its own movement, or had become heaped into slushy hummocks of pumice-like sponginess and the consistency of broken glass. And everywhere around me I could discern the chilly, gaping smile of blue crevices which caught at my feet, and rendered the tread of my boot-soles unstable. And ever, as we marched, could the voices of Boev and the old soldier be heard speaking in antiphony, like two pipes being fluted by one and the same pair of lips.

  “I won’t be responsible,” said the one voice.

  “Nor I,” responded the other.

  “The only reason why I have come is that I was told to do so. That’s all about it.”

  “Yes, and the same with me.”

  “One man gives an order, and another man, perhaps a man a thousand times more sensible than he, is forced to obey it.”

  “Is any man, in these days, sensible, seeing what a racket we have to live among?”

  By this time Ossip had tucked the skirts of his greatcoat into his belt, while beneath those skirts his legs (clad in grey cloth gaiters of a military pattern) were shuffling along as lightly and easily as springs, and in a manner that suggested that there was turning and twisting in front of him some person whom, though desirous of barring to him the direct course, the shortest route, Ossip successfully opposed and evaded by dint of dodges and deviations to right and left, and occasional turns about, and the execution of dance steps and loops and semicircles. Meanwhile in the tones of Ossip’s voice there was a soft, musical ring that struck agreeably upon the ear, and harmonised to admiration with the song of the bells just when we were approaching the middle of the river’s breadth of four hundred sazheni. There resounded over the surface of the ice a vicious rustle while a piece of ice slid from under my feet. Stumbling, and powerless to retain my footing, I blundered down upon my knees in helpless astonishment; and then, as I glanced upstream, fear gripped at my throat, deprived me of speech, and darkened all my vision. For the whole substance of the grey ice-core had come to life and begun to heave itself upwards! Yes, the hitherto level surface was thrusting forth sharp angular ridges, and the air seemed full of a strange sound like the trampling of some heavy being over broken glass.

  With a quiet trickle there came a swirl of water around me, while an adjacent pine bough cracked and squeaked as though it too had come to life. My companions shouted, and collect
ed into a knot; whereupon, at once dominating and quelling the tense, painful hubbub of sounds, there rang forth the voice of Ossip.

  “Mother of God!” he shouted. “Scatter, lads! Get away from one another, and keep each to himself! Now! Courage!”

  With that, springing towards us as though wasps had been after him, and grasping the spirit-level as though it had been a weapon, he jabbed it to every side, as though fighting invisible foes, while, just as the quivering town began, seemingly, to glide past us, and the ice at my feet gave a screech and crumbled to fragments beneath me, so that water bubbled to my knees. I leapt up from where I was, and rushed blindly in Ossip’s direction.

  “Where are you coming to, fool?” was his shout as he brandished the spirit-level. “Stand still where you are!”

  Indeed, Ossip seemed no longer to be Ossip at all, but a person curiously younger, a person in whom all that had been familiar in Ossip had become effaced. Yes, the once blue eyes had turned to grey, and the figure added half an arshin to its stature as, standing as erect as a newly made nail, and pressing both feet together, the foreman stretched himself to his full height, and shouted with his mouth open to its widest extent:

  “Don’t shuffle about, nor crowd upon one another, or I’ll break your heads!”

  Whereafter, of myself in particular, he inquired as he raised the spirit-level:

  “What is the matter with you, pray?”

  “I am feeling frightened,” I muttered in response.

  “Feeling frightened of what, indeed?”

  “Of being drowned.”

  “Pooh! Just you hold your tongue.”

  Yet the next moment he glanced at me, and added in a gentler, quieter tone:

  “None but a fool gets drowned. Pick yourself up and come along.”

  Then once more he shouted full-throated words of encouragement to his men; and as he did so, his chest swelled and his head rocked with the effort.

  Yet, crackling and cracking, the ice was breaking up; and soon it began slowly to bear us past the town. ‘Twas as though some unknown force ashore had awakened, and was striving to tear the banks of the river in two, so much did the portion of the landscape downstream seem to be standing still while the portion level with us seemed to be receding in the opposite direction, and thus causing a break to take place in the middle of the picture.

  And soon this movement, a movement agonisingly slow, deprived me of my sense of being connected with the rest of the world, until, as the whole receded, despair again gripped my heart and unnerved my limbs. Roseate clouds were gliding across the sky and causing stray fragments of the ice, which, seemingly, yearned to engulf me, to assume reflected tints of a similar hue. Yes, it was as though the birth of spring had reawakened the universe, and was causing it to stretch itself, and to emit deep, hurried, broken pants that cracked its bones as the river, embedded in the earth’s stout framework, revivified the whole with thick, turbulent, ebullient blood.

  And this sense of littleness, of impotence amid the calm, assured movement of the earth’s vast bulk, weighed upon my soul, and evoked, and momentarily fanned to flame in me, the shameless human question: “What if I should stretch forth my hand and lay it upon the hill and the banks of the river, and say, ‘Halt until I come to you!’?”

  Meanwhile the bells continued the mournful moaning of their resonant, coppery notes; and that moaning led me to reflect that within two days (on the night of the morrow) they would be pealing a joyous welcome to the Resurrection Feast.

  “Oh that all of us may live to hear that sound!” was my unspoken thought.

  Before my vision there kept quavering seven dark figures—figures shuffling over the ice, and brandishing planks like oars. And, wriggling like a lamprey in front of them was a little old fellow, an old fellow resembling Saint Nicholas the Wonder-Worker, an old fellow who kept crying softly, but authoritatively:

  “Do not stare about you!”

  And ever the river was growing rougher and ruder; ever its backbone was beginning to puiver and flounder like a whale underfoot, with its liquescent body of cold, grey, murky water bursting with increasing frequency from its shell of ice, and lapping hungrily at our feet.

  Yes, we were human beings traversing, as it were, a slender pole over a bottomless abyss; and as we walked, the water’s soft, cantabile splash set me in mind of the depths below, of the infinite time during which a body would continue sinking through dense, chilly bulk until sight faded and the heart stopped beating. Yes, before my mind’s eye there arose men drowned and devoured by crayfish, men with crumbling skulls and swollen features, and glassy, bulging eyes and puffy hands and outstretched fingers and palms of which the skin had rotted off with the damp.

  The first to fall in was Mokei Budirin. He had been walking next ahead of the Morduine, and, as a man habitually silent and absorbed, proceeding on his way more quietly than the rest. Suddenly something had seemed to catch at his legs, and he had disappeared until only his head and his hands, as the latter clutched at his plank, had been left above-level.

  “Run and help him, somebody!” was Ossip’s instant cry. “Yes, but not all of you—just one or two. Help him I say!”

  The spluttering Mokei, however, said to the Morduine and myself:

  “No; do you move away, mates, for I shall best help myself. Never you mind.”

  And, sure enough, he did succeed in drawing himself out on to the ice without assistance. Whereafter he remarked as he shook himself:

  “A nice pickle, this, to be in! I might as well have been drowned!”

  And, in fact, at the moment he looked, with his chattering teeth and great tongue licking a dripping moustache, precisely like a large, good-natured dog.

  Then I remembered how, a month earlier, he had accidentally driven the blade of his axe through the joint of his left thumb, and, merely picking up the white fragment of flesh with the nail turning blue, and scanning it with his unfathomable eyes, had remarked, as though it was he himself that had been at fault:

  “How often before I have injured that thumb, I could not say. And when once I dislocated it, I went on working with it longer than was right.… Now I will go and bury it.”

  With which, carefully wrapping up the fragment in some shavings, he had thrust the whole into his pocket, and bandaged the wounded hand.

  Similarly, after that, did Boev, the man next in order behind Mokei, contrive to wrest himself from the grasp of the ice, though, on immersion, he started bawling, “Mates, I shall drown! I am dead already! Help me, help me!” and became so cramped with terror as to be extricated only with great difficulty, while amid the general confusion the Morduine too nearly slipped into the water.

  “A narrow shave of saying Vespers tonight with the devils in Hell!” he remarked as he clambered back, and stood grinning with an even more angular and attenuated appearance than usual.

  The next moment Boev achieved a second plunge, and screamed, as before, for help.

  “Don’t shout, you goat of a Yashka!” Ossip exclaimed as he threatened him with the spirit-level. “Why scare people? I’ll give it you! Look here, lads. Let every man take off his belt and turn out his pockets. Then he’ll walk lighter.”

  Toothed jaws gaped and crunched at us at every step, and vomited thick spittle; at every tenth step their keen blue fangs reached for our lives. Meanwhile, the soaked condition of our boots and clothes had rendered us as slimy as though smeared with paste. Also, it so weighed us down as to hinder any active movement, and to cause each step to be taken cautiously, slowly, silently, and with ponderous diffidence.

  Yet, soaked though we were, Ossip might verily have known the number of cracks in advance, so smooth and harelike was his progress from floe to floe as at intervals he faced about, watched us, and cried sonorously:

  “That’s the way to do it, eh?”

  Yes, he absolutely played with
the river, and though it kept catching at his diminutive form, he always evaded it, circumvented its movements, and avoided its snares. Nay, capable even of directing its trend did he seem, and of thrusting under our feet only the largest and firmest floes.

  “Lads, there is no need to be downhearted,” he would cry at intervals.

  “Ah, that brave Ossip!” the Morduine once ejaculated. “In very truth is he a man, and no mistake! Just look at him!”

  The closer we approached the further shore, the thinner and the more brittle did the ice become, and the more liable we to break through it. By this time the town had nearly passed us, and we were bidding fair to be carried out into the Volga, where the ice would still be sound, and, as likely as not, draw us under itself.

  “By your leave, we are going to be drowned,” the Morduine murmured as he glanced at the blue shadow of eventide on our left.

  And simultaneously, as though compassionating our lot, a large floe grounded upon the bank, glided upwards with a cracking and a crashing, and there held fast!

  “Run, all of you!” came a furious shout from Ossip. “Hurry up, now! Put your very best legs foremost!”

  For myself, as I sprang upon the floe I lost my footing, and, falling headlong and remaining seated on the hither end of the floe amid a shower of spray, saw five of my seven comrades rush past, pushing and jostling, as they made for the shore. But presently the Morduine turned and halted beside me, with the intention of rendering Ossip assistance.

  “Run, you young fools!” the latter exclaimed. “Come! Be off with you!”

  Somehow in his face there was now a livid, uncertain air, while his eyes had lost their fire, and his mouth was curiously agape.

  “No, mate. Do you get up,” was my counter-adjuration.

  “Unfortunately, I have hurt my leg,” he replied with his head bent down. “In fact, I am not sure that I can get up.”

  However, we contrived to raise him and carry him ashore with an arm of his resting on each of our necks. Meanwhile he growled with chattering teeth: