The Mother

by Maxim Gorky

  “Everyone!”

  “You what? No, that’s not going to happen.”

  He went out with his heavy gait, grinning, having added to the mother’s woe with the stern hopelessness of his words.

  “What if they beat him, torture him?…”

  She imagined her son’s body, beaten up, torn apart, covered in blood, and fear lay in a cold lump upon her breast, crushing her. Her eyes ached.

  She did not heat the stove, did not cook her dinner and did not drink any tea – only late in the evening did she eat a piece of bread. And when she went to bed, she fancied that never before had her life been so lonely and bare. In recent years she had grown used to living in constant expectation of something important and good. Youngsters had spun around her, noisy and cheerful, and always before her had been the serious face of her son, the creator of this anxious, yet good life. But now it was gone, and there was nothing.

  XIV

  A day and a sleepless night passed slowly, and the next day even more slowly. She expected someone, but no one came. Evening set in. And the night. Cold rain sighed and beat upon the wall, there was howling in the chimney and something bustling about under the floor. Water dripped from the roof, and the doleful sound of its falling merged strangely with the ticking of the clock. It seemed as if the whole house were quietly rocking, and everything around it were superfluous, numbed in anguish…

  There was a quiet knocking at the window – once, twice… She was used to these knocks, and they did not frighten her, but now a joyous pricking in her heart made her give a start. A dim hope brought her quickly to her feet. Throwing a shawl over her shoulders, she opened the door…

  In came Samoilov, and after him some other man with his face hidden by the collar of his coat, in a hat pulled down to his eyebrows.

  “Did we wake you?” asked Samoilov, without any greeting, uncharacteristically preoccupied and glum.

  “I wasn’t asleep!” she replied, and stared at them in silence with expectant eyes.

  Samoilov’s companion took off his hat, sighing heavily and hoarsely, and, extending a broad, short-fingered hand to the mother, he said amicably, as if to an old acquaintance:

  “Hello, Mamasha! Don’t you recognize me?”

  “Is it you?” Vlasova exclaimed, suddenly joyful about something. “Yegor Ivanovich?”

  “’Tis I!” he replied, bowing his large head with long hair like a psalm-reader’s. His plump face was smiling genially, and his little grey eyes looked into the mother’s face affectionately and clearly. He resembled a samovar – just as round, short in stature, with a thick neck and short arms. His face was shiny and gleaming, his breathing noisy, and all the time there was something gurgling and wheezing in his chest…

  “Go through to the other room – I’ll just get dressed!” suggested the mother.

  “We’ve got business with you!” said Samoilov in a preoccupied voice, glancing at her from under his brows.

  Yegor Ivanovich went through into the other room, and from there said:

  “This morning, dear Mamasha, a man you know, Nikolai Ivanovich, came out of prison…”

  “Was he inside, then?” asked the mother.

  “For two months and eleven days. He saw the Ukrainian there – he sends you his greetings – and Pavel, who also sends greetings and asks you not to worry; I’m to tell you that prison always serves a man as a resting place on his journey: that’s how it’s been arranged by our caring authorities. Next, Mamasha, I’ll get down to business. Do you know how many people they seized here yesterday?”

  “No! So besides Pasha, did they—” exclaimed the mother.

  “He was the forty-ninth!” Yegor Ivanovich calmly interrupted her. “And we have to expect the authorities to take another dozen or so! This gentleman here too…”

  “Yes, me too!” said Samoilov glumly.

  Vlasova sensed her breathing had become easier.

  “He’s not the only one there!” flashed through her mind.

  When dressed, she went into the other room and smiled cheerfully at her guest.

  “They probably won’t hold them long, if they’ve taken so many…”

  “Correct!” said Yegor Ivanovich. “And if we can contrive to upset their applecart, they’ll end up looking complete fools. This is how things stand: if we now stop delivering our booklets to the factory, the gendarmes’ll latch on to this sad phenomenon and turn it against Pavel and the comrades of his ilk who’ve been cast into jail…”

  “How’s that?” cried the mother in alarm.

  “Very simple!” said Yegor Ivanovich gently. “Sometimes even the gendarmes’ reasoning is correct. Just think: Pavel was there, and there were booklets and leaflets; no Pavel, and there are neither booklets nor leaflets! So it was him disseminating the booklets, aha-a? Well, and they’ll start devouring everyone – the gendarmes enjoy cropping a man in such a way that there’s nothing worthwhile left of him!”

  “I see, I see!” said the mother miserably. “Oh Lord! What’s to be done now?”

  From the kitchen came Samoilov’s voice:

  “They’ve fished almost everyone out, damn them! Now we need to carry on with business as before, not just for the cause, but to save our comrades too.”

  “But there’s no one to do the work!” added Yegor with a smile. “We’ve got literature of excellent quality – I did it myself!… But how to get it into the factory – that we don’t know!”

  “They’ve started searching everyone at the gates!” said Samoilov.

  The mother sensed they wanted something from her and were waiting, and she hurriedly asked:

  “Well, what then? How then?”

  Samoilov stood in the doorway and said:

  “Pelageya Nilovna, you know the street trader Korsunova…”

  “Yes, so?”

  “Have a talk with her – maybe she’ll take it through?”

  The mother started waving her hands negatively:

  “Oh no! She’s a chatterbox – no! And when they find out it was through me, from this house – no, no!”

  And suddenly, struck by an unexpected thought, she began quietly:

  “You give it to me, give it to me! I’ll arrange it, I’ll find a way in myself! I’ll ask Maria – she can take me on to help her! I need a crust to eat, I need to work! So I’ll deliver meals! I’ll get myself a job!”

  Pressing her hands to her breast, she hurriedly tried to assure them that she would do everything well, unnoticed, and in conclusion exclaimed exultantly:

  “They’ll see Pavel’s not there, but his hand can reach out even from jail – they’ll see!”

  All three became animated. Rubbing his hands vigorously, Yegor smiled and said:

  “Wonderful, Mamasha! If you only knew how excellent this is! Simply enchanting.”

  “If this works, I’ll go to prison as if I were going to bed!” remarked Samoilov, rubbing his hands.

  “You’re a beauty!” Yegor cried hoarsely.

  The mother smiled. It was clear to her: if the leaflets appeared at the factory now, the authorities would have to realize that it was not her son distributing them. And feeling herself capable of fulfilling the task, she was all atremble with joy.

  “When you go to see Pavel,” said Yegor, “tell him he has a good mother.”

  “I’ll be seeing him first!” Samoilov promised with a grin.

  “You can tell him this: I’ll do everything that’s needed! So that he knows it!…”

  “And if they don’t imprison him?” asked Yegor, indicating Samoilov.

  “Well, it can’t be helped!”

  The men both chuckled. And she, realizing her blunder, began laughing quietly, and a little slyly, in embarrassment.

  “It’s hard to see another man’s woe through your own,” she said, lowering her eyes.r />
  “That’s natural!” exclaimed Yegor. “And don’t worry about Pavel – don’t be sad. He’ll come back from prison even better. You can rest there and study, and the likes of us have no time for that when we’re at large. I’ve been inside thrice, and each time, if with little pleasure, it’s been with undoubted benefit for heart and mind.”

  “Your breathing’s heavy!” she said, gazing gently into his plain and simple face.

  “There are particular reasons for that!” he replied, raising a finger. “So then, is it decided, Mamasha? Tomorrow we’ll deliver the material to you, and the saw of destruction of age-old darkness will begin to turn again. Long live the free word, and long live the mother’s heart! And for now – goodbye!”

  “Goodbye!” said Samoilov, shaking her hand firmly. “Me, I can’t breathe a word to my mother about anything like this – no!”

  “Everyone will understand!” said Vlasova, wanting to be nice to him.

  When they had gone, she locked the door and, kneeling down in the middle of the room, to the noise of the rain, she began praying. She prayed without words, but with one big thought about the people that Pavel had brought into her life. It was as if they were passing between her and the icons, passing by, all so plain and simple, strangely close to one another and yet lonely.

  Early in the morning she set off to see Maria Korsunova.

  Greasy and noisy as always, the street trader greeted her sympathetically.

  “Feeling miserable?” she asked, slapping a fatty hand on the mother’s shoulder. “Don’t! They arrested him and took him away, but it doesn’t matter! There’s nothing wrong with that. It used to be that people were put in prison for stealing, but now they’ve started putting them away for the truth. Maybe Pavel did say something wrong, but he stood up on everyone’s behalf, and everyone understands him – don’t you worry! Not everyone says it, but everyone knows who’s good. I’ve been meaning to drop in on you, but I’ve had no time. I cook things and sell them, but I’m evidently going to die a beggar. My lovers get the better of me, the devils! They keep gnawing and gnawing away at me, like cockroaches at a cottage loaf. You get ten roubles or so together, then some beast appears and licks the money up! It’s a troublesome business being a woman! A filthy job in the world! Living alone’s tough; living together’s rough!”

  “I’ve come to ask you if I can be your assistant!” said Vlasova, interrupting her chatter.

  “How’s that?” Maria asked, and, after hearing her friend out, she gave an affirmative nod of the head.

  “Yes! Remember, you used to keep me hidden from my husband? Well, now I’ll keep you hidden from need… Everyone ought to help you, because your son’s in trouble for a public cause. That’s a good lad you’ve got – everyone says so, unanimously – and everyone feels sorry for him. I tell you: these arrests’ll do the authorities no good – just look at what’s happening at the factory. Bad things are being said, dear! The bosses, they think a man won’t get far if they’ve nipped at his heel! But the way it turns out is they’ve hit a dozen, and now hundreds are angry!”

  The conversation ended such that, at dinner time the next day, Vlasova was at the factory with two pots of Maria’s cooking, while Maria herself went to trade at the market.

  XV

  The workers noticed the new trader at once. Some went up to her and said approvingly:

  “Getting down to business are you, Nilovna?”

  And some tried to comfort her, explaining that Pavel would soon be released, while others troubled her sad heart with words of condolence, and still others were bitterly critical of the director and the gendarmes, which found a responsive echo in her breast. There were those who looked at her and gloated, and the timekeeper Isai Gorbov said through his teeth:

  “If I was the Governor, I’d hang your son! Don’t get people all muddled!”

  This vicious threat sent a wave of deathly cold washing over her. She said nothing to Isai in response, but only glanced at his small, freckled face and lowered her eyes to the ground with a sigh.

  The factory was restless: workers gathered in little knots, discussing things under their breath between themselves; preoccupied foremen darted about everywhere; and at times oaths and irritated laughter rang out.

  Two policemen led Samoilov past her; he walked with one hand thrust into his pocket, while the other smoothed his reddish hair.

  He was accompanied by a crowd of workers about a hundred strong, who drove the policemen on with abuse and gibes…

  “Going for a walk, Grisha?” someone shouted to him.

  “It’s an honour for the likes of us!” another supported him. “Walking with a guard…”

  And he swore violently.

  “There’s evidently no profit in catching thieves now!” said a tall, one-eyed worker in a loud, angry voice. “They’ve started dragging honest men away…”

  “They might at least do it at night!” echoed someone from the crowd. “But here they are in the daytime, shameless – the swine!”

  The policemen walked sullenly, quickly, trying not to see anything and pretending not to hear the exclamations that accompanied them. Three workers were carrying a large strip of iron towards them and, pointing it at them, cried:

  “Watch out, fishermen!”

  Walking past Vlasova, Samoilov nodded his head to her and said with a grin:

  “They’re lugging me off!”

  She bowed down low to him in silence, for she was moved by these young, honest, sober people going off to prison with smiles on their faces; rising within her was a mother’s compassionate love for them.

  Returning from the factory, she spent the whole day at Maria’s, helping her with her work and listening to her chatter, and went back late in the evening to her own house, which was empty, cold and comfortless. She spent a long time pacing from corner to corner, beside herself and not knowing what to do. And she was worried that it would soon be night, but Yegor Ivanovich had not yet brought the literature as he had promised.

  There were glimpses outside the window of heavy, grey flakes of autumn snow. Softly sticking to the window panes, they slipped noiselessly down and melted, leaving a wet trail in their wake. She thought about her son…

  There was a cautious knock at the door, the mother ran over to it quickly and released the hook, and in came Sashenka. The mother had not seen her for a long time, and the first thing that struck her now was the girl’s unnatural plumpness.

  “Hello!” she said, rejoicing that someone had come and that for a part of the night she would not be lonely. “I’ve not seen you for a long time. Have you been away?”

  “No, I’ve been in prison!” the girl replied, smiling. “Along with Nikolai Ivanovich – do you remember him?”

  “How could I forget him!” exclaimed the mother. “Yegor Ivanovich told me yesterday that he’d been released, but I didn’t know about you… No one even said you were there…”

  “What is there to say about it? I need to change my clothes before Yegor Ivanovich arrives!” said the girl, looking around.

  “You’re all wet…”

  “I’ve brought the leaflets and booklets…”

  “Come on then, come on!” the mother was suddenly in a hurry.

  The girl quickly undid her coat and shook herself – and, like leaves from a tree, rustling sheaves of paper were scattered over the floor. Laughing, the mother picked them up from the floor and said:

  “And I’m looking at you, and you’re all plump – I thought you’d got married and were expecting a little one. Oh dear, what a lot you’ve brought! Surely not on foot?”

  “Yes!” said Sashenka. She had now become shapely and slim again, like before. The mother saw that her cheeks had sunk, her eyes had become huge and dark shadows had appeared beneath them.

  “They’ve only just released you, and you could do with
a rest, but not you!” said the mother, sighing and shaking her head.

  “It’s got to be done!” the girl answered with a shudder. “Tell me, how’s Pavel Mikhailovich? Is he all right?… He isn’t too anxious?”

  Sashenka did not look at the mother as she asked; with her head bowed, she was putting her hair straight, and her fingers were trembling.

  “He’s all right!” the mother replied. “He won’t give himself away, you know.”

  “His health is good, isn’t it?” the girl asked quietly.

  “He’s not been ill, not ever!” the mother replied. “You’re trembling all over. I’ll give you some tea with raspberry jam in it.”

  “That would be good! But why should you be troubling yourself? It’s late. Let me do it myself…”

  “When you’re tired?” the mother responded reproachfully, starting to busy herself by the samovar. Sasha, too, went through into the kitchen, sat down there on a bench and, putting her hands up behind her head, began:

  “Prison does weaken you, though. The damned idleness! There’s nothing more agonizing. You know how much you need to work, yet you’re sitting in a cage like an animal…”

  “Who is it that rewards you for everything?” the mother asked. And with a sigh she answered herself: “No one but the Lord! I dare say you don’t believe in Him either?”

  “No!” the girl replied tersely with a shake of the head.

  “Well, I don’t believe you!” declared the mother, suddenly becoming excited. And quickly wiping her charcoal-stained hands on her apron, she continued with deep conviction: “You just don’t understand your faith! How is it possible to lead such a life without faith in God?”

  Someone began stamping loudly and grumbling in the lobby, the mother gave a start, and the girl leapt up quickly with a hurried whisper:

  “Don’t open up! If it’s them, the gendarmes, you don’t know me!… I got the wrong house, came in here to you by accident, fainted, and you took my things off and found the booklets – understand?”

  “My dear girl, why?” the mother asked, touched.