7;lLG:0;JoJoJoJoJoJ}tJJJK K (K3K3<KoxJK LL*LGJo Mamochka I know: our Mamochka is ailing! Papa often said this behind her back. I know that she fell ill crying, when she sat down in the sleeping car from Pieter, in order to cry about the Petersburg life; she fell faint in the professorial circle; her face appeared with ailing eyes at dusk: all the time, remaining dumb, her head hung on her breast, her braids thrown on her breast, andailing from reflection; suddenly she raises herself up: she sets out: to wipe off the knick-knacks with a linen rag; here, with aimless wiping she covers space with a murmur, an exclamation, a squeal, an angry nose standing before Papas door: in a night shirtbefore sleep; and she looks naggingly not at the door, but into... the diluvian past, into childhood! From where she had settled down as mistress of the house amid the walls of the Kosyakov house: I remember: the Fourth Zachatyevsky Lane; from where Papa had brought her in a gala carriage, in tails, with a bouquet of flowers and Maksim Kovalevsky, in a tail coat, with a similar bouquet of flowers sat opposite Mamochka; when Mamochka recalls all of this, her eyes always begin to ail: she raises her ailing eyes: she keeps silent with a diamond glance (from tears): Iyou: all of you!.. Get out! Go, go, all of you Away from me Ah, leave me be! Leave Me! I do not believe: (ah, little star, white from the sparkle in the indigo sky on whitish middays she is all sparkled out!) Mid-days are filled with the horror of the old, professorial life and with beardbushes of the old scholarly high priests; from which: her little eyes widened into awheel: they began to run, they ran, they run yes and out of her little eyes rolled; little adamants rolled into the handkerchief: the damp handkerchief is left on an armchair; well so what: she cried a bit? Everyone cries at our place! . . . . . . . . . . The ring with the turquoise settled down on a little finger; she returned from Pieter; andgreen spots appeared on the stone of the ring very bad! everyone knows, as soon as the turquoise blue is spoiled by turquoise green, family happiness in the home is lost. And so: already an archgreen: the happinesses had been grabbed away; pockets were searched, the shelves in the cabinets were rummaged through, but no happiness: where is it? I know: it never was! The best man, Maksim Kovalevsky, lost it in the carriage!.. So the little babblers began: Mama is ailing from an illness of sensitive nerves; having sat down, she is silent; she let down her little head onto her breast, tossed her braids onto her breast; Papa walks about and ohs about! . . . . . . . . . . . . Yes, between Papa and Mamochkathere is: there is something; there can be no argument here, that there are arguments, there are: very prominent ones; only theres noone to ask: but, is there anyone to ask? Only with a howling whistle on the glasspanes do gusts answer beyond the glasspanesthere, having drawn the views shut with muslin: beyond the glasspanes; yes only brutal time answers with a frost; and the crackerjack sun of cruel color hangs; and all the whiteplumed glasspanes have frozen; from all the window sills soon will begin to drip . . . . . . . Ah! I amalone: I alone; I heed the arrival of tiny sounds; from two to five someone booms at Pompuls; they are chopping cutlets in the kitchen; Dunyasha is cursing; earlier: Mama sounds words like a bunch of keys, all about ruches, boas, jabots; up until two she takes cover; three: the loud sound of the bell; Papa booms his galoshes in the anteroomto wave his signature across leaves of paper; I know,under each will appear the signature: Dean M. Letaev; he yawns and screws up his eyes; the light eats the eyes; the iceplumed window diamondizes in winter: it rattles in a lightplumed spring! and with a whistle, with flying snow run-ons of a blizzard whistle against the glasspanes; beyond the glasspanes a white gurgling; the white runslike thunder, runs with a shudder along the roofsfrom our place to Retter, over Greenblatts, over Blanks somewhere from where! Papa, bent, cracks his starch, sneezing, andplaces his signature: Dean M. Letaev. Already the winking of lighted lamps; something is happening: trashy, foolish; the corners sat down quietly: in the nontransparent, in the black; in piles, in rustles Mama is cry-ing soundlessly! about what? Papa stands up, rocks from the strain, looks; and wants to say something: he is unablehe bellows, a sad bull; he winks at Mamochka with the red-lead of overfilled little eyes (from blood); he waves his hand, withdraws to the study: to sit in the study. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Dinner time isheavy: Mama satins her sides up to the table; dissatisfiedly grabbing a napkin, she throws the napkin; with her eyes at the ring with the turquoise it is turning green: it is greener than yesterday! there was nothing left of the turquoise: just an unpleasant green throws itself into Mamas eyes; and dinner crystallizes like the pitcher, like glasses, with the resounding sadness and frosted glass blown of Mama, who, no matter what she sees and no matter what she hears,at everything she pulls back her little lip, swelled in a quarrel AndPapa is lost: how should he sit and what should he look at He begins simply to mouth words: this way, and that: Leave it be: your keeping silent What has gotten into you? Well what did you say? Againthis rubbish The same old nonsense!.. You think so?.. Ah! Rather silly! and displaying her childhood birthmark, Mamochka regales everyone; no, not with a glance, but with poison: everything she is told, she knows better; and everyone is guilty: all around guilty; and the eyebrows flew up on her tiny little brow; and they construct without a word such hooks of opinions that the soup sticks in the windpipe: I cough; Papa has completely lost his head; from terror he leaped up in a loud question. It is all the more terrifying for me that they turn to me with their questions: they begin to develop in me at the table a curiosity for exact knowledge; I know that Mama will frown at this; andshe will look from under her brow; and Ihang my head; and Ichoked on the answer; to Papas questionnot a goo-goo: I fall silent: because for sure, Papa will withdraw, and when I am left alone with Mama one on one, then very painfully she will grab my arm, jerk me to her; and grabbing for a thick comb, she will jab it. Ouch, ouch, ouch! Whats this? Ouch, ouch? You present yourself with ouch-ouch-ouch: be silent! And she combs out my hair with the comb: it would be better to flog them, than to torture a little child so with the comb: I cry; and here I receive: a turquoise on the little nose. Well? Get out of here!.. The blankcolored heavens caress pale-eyed, without warming me; the sunset rosens from a crystalline icicle; and rosy smoke runs like muslin along a rosy roof. . . . . . Or else she would quietly threaten me with a little finger, showing the ring with the turquoise: Listen, Kot Remember this is right under your nose: you will be an alien to me! And she presses a chin suddenly grown stout to her neck; she sitsshe looks unkindly. Time darkens; and then: a triplet flows from a violet flute; and a tuft of withdrawn light becomes cherry: it blackens in the sky; a serpent, striped time,crawls; and old age grins toothlessly in the blackish blanknesses of a ruined world; already blackhanded darkness had extended its enormous digit through the glass; headless, legless like a pillar Blackhand rose to the ceiling, dropping his fivefingered hands on my little neck; andhe compressed my little throat; with dark terrors. I compress myself: to conceal my development (I amdeveloping, alas!); unsuspecting Papa, turning to me over dinner with a wise guy question, wishes to expose development all the more quickly, in order to bestow a gift of a little bowler hat, to bestow a little frock coat and a case for spectacles, and a chain for a watch; I answer with intentional silliness; Papas dark brown little eyes begin to run about, rather sorrowfully they begin to spin, andthey let down straight into the bowl of hot soup (he blows on the spoon); and I look from under my brow at Mamochka: Mamochkas glance changed when she was ailing: it became somehow animal-like and Mama throws her own animal glance, falling upon us: andit is impossible to understand: you glance at Mama into her little eyes, beyond the little eyes; Mamas little eyes are left; they do not answer my little eyes; not accepted by Mamas glance, my glance begins to run like a baby mouse, away from Mamas little eyes; and I see, that my Papochka is winking from his bowl, attentively glancing at me beginning to wink; his little eyes, baby mice, are swept about toward Mamochka; Mamas little eyes, like a birthmark: they lookbut do not see! . . . . . . . . . . Papa and I are rarely alonejust the two of us; we were dissolved by silence; I recall unreturnable time, a time not long ago, when Mama was still well; Papa would joke so freely, carefully penetrating into everything that happened with me; and he would cure my upset tummy: I remember;once I grabbed onto my tummy in pain; I cried; and Papastern, bigheaded, stocky, suddenly ran out from behind the door with a bottle of castor oil, shaking his beard with put-on savagery; the buffet plopped; he struck the parquet with a very heavy footstep, dancing around my screams like some jumping jack; and waving a table spoon under the little nose, he stamped out the words of his loud verse, composed for the occasion to entertain me: Kotik is a little dummy! Does not listen to his nanny: Day and night his little tummy He fills up with slop and candy. And the castor oil Im bringing Sure is better than a whipping The punishment sure aint yummy: But itll clean your little tummy And everyone broke out laughing; and here having already poured some castor oil on the table spoon, he poured the castor oil down my spreadopened little mouth; jokingly he clicked his heels and loudly jumped up at the occasion; soon they dragged me into a separate room: to clean my little tummy. . . . . . . . I remember, yes, unreturnable time, when I did not fear sharing caresses with Papa; now I do not share caresses with him; I am more suspecting; I understood, that scandals are dangerous for Papa: I secreted myself from Papa, loving him strongly; and it was bitter for me, and I cried on the insides of my eyes; but I kept my tears a secret: we lost one another (I had lost another friend!); and this loss was lost in the years, when I lost the capacity: to be sincere with Papochka; nevertheless I always thought: this was my virtue; I bore this cross for years, as an unseen help for Papa and Mama; when they collected at the table then they could burst out at one another: with words and glances. Strange! I used to walk amid shadows; and a shagginess of shadows hangs airily; beardbushes appear everywhere; I force my way between them, but through them I stumble against horror, and the horrorpeals with laughter: it wants to embrace me I could break through the floor where the dentist lives, brewing up a foul smell from below by the artificial making of teeth; he would tear my tooth out and triumphantly put in an alien and foul smelling one I long thought about the brewing of teeth and I long heard the heavy moans (thereteeth were jerked out); and thoughts of the grave, the abyss and the brewing of teeth arose at dinner time, when the soul took to trembling heel from the terror, that Papa, grabbing his bowl, would crash off to his study, locking himself in with the key, and would not exit: there he disappears forever; having collected her suitcases, our Mamochka meanwhile runs away to Petersburg; and Zett kidnaps Henrietta Martynovna; Iam left alone; in a lonely apartment; and here they sound the bell: and there arrives, opening the door from out of the duska gentleman in a frock coat, in a very black one: with an intention very ignominious; I am left with him one on one; he bellows at me with his bullish puss: he is Blackpuss! . . . . . . Once I saw in a tormenting dream, thatit came to pass: that Papa and Mama were lost, that I was borne away to an apartment, just like ours; but I knowit is not ours; some woman (not Mama) comforts me (she does not comfort me in the right way!), she assures me, that she is Mama; suddenly Papa walks about the room; I toss myself at him, catch at his frock coat; he turned: I seethat face is not Papas! Something strange is being created at our place; Papa shuts himself off from Mama; and there he produces horrible things, of which no one knows; there he becomesa fustigator: bright-red; he trembles his fivefingered hand above a fly, whole from flight; and tsap: he catches it; and the fly sits in his fist; its head is torn offby jerkers, trembling fingers; Papa sits on top of the flybright-red, horrible, I know, that this is not a fly, butMama And it is strange, and terrible now in the rooms blown out by the storm; all the same it seems to me: something is howling; suddenly: everything is illumined by a candle: Mama can be seen behind the candle; she slams, smacks her slippers, mumbles with her slippers straight into the anteroom: surely, to listen in, on what Afrosinya is saying about her (in the kitchen); suddenly a sound: first began to beat, then began to run a little stick of a tail from the little corner: that is Almochka slamming her little tail on the floor; no she did not listen in: in the kitchensilence; Almochka gave away Mama And Mama stamped on Alma: the little stick began to bang anew; everything is illumined anewonly in reverse order; they pass through with a candle: Mama behind the candle She smacks, clicks, stamps, mumbles Something howls: last midnight there was, I know for sure, a procession of malicious blackies from corner to corner: along the carpet, past the chairs; Isaw; I cant really say what it was; they, the blackies, passed everywhere: the years passed (from corner to corner) along the carpet, past the chairs; the moon fell upon them with luminous swords; and crowds of dumb blackies fell, as if dead, on the floor; the moon sailed behind a cloud they the blackies having ari-sen, lumped together in a band from the black corner lair: along the carpet past the chairs; andthere was no end to them, no name for them!  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