She began to enjoy the fun of the game.
Vyesovshchikov was not taken back to the factory, and went to work
for a lumberman. The whole day long he drove about the village
with a pair of black horses pulling planks and beams after them.
The mother saw him almost daily with the horses as they plodded
along the road, their feet trembling under the strain and dropping
heavily upon the ground. They were both old and bare-boned, their
heads shook wearily and sadly, and their dull, jaded eyes blinked
heavily. Behind them jerkingly trailed a long beam, or a pile of
boards clattering loudly. And by their side Nikolay trudged along,
holding the slackened reins in his hand, ragged, dirty, with heavy
boots, his hat thrust back, uncouth as a stump just turned up from
the ground. He, too, shook his head and looked down at his feet,
refusing to see anything. His horses blindly ran into the people
and wagons going the opposite direction. Angry oaths buzzed about
him like hornets, and sinister shouts rent the air. He did not
raise his head, did not answer them, but went on, whistling a sharp,
shrill whistle, mumbling dully to the horses.
Every time that Andrey's comrades gathered at the mother's house to
read pamphlets or the new issue of the foreign papers, Nikolay came
also, sat down in a corner, and listened in silence for an hour or
two.
Pages:
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210