That's
it! It's easy to die--but let the people rise to life again!
That's a different thing! Let them rise up in rebellion!"
The mother brought in the samovar, looking askance at Rybin. His
strong, heavy words oppressed her. Something in him reminded her
of her husband. He, too, showed his teeth, waved his hands, and
rolled up his sleeves; in him, too, there was that impatient wrath,
impatient but dumb. Rybin was not dumb; he was not silent; he
spoke, and therefore was less terrible.
"That's necessary," said Pavel, nodding his head. "We need a
newspaper for the villages, too. Give us material, and we'll
print you a newspaper."
The mother looked at her son with a smile, and shook her head.
She had quietly put on her wraps and now went out of the house.
"Yes, do it. We'll give you everything. Write as simply as
possible, so that even calves could understand," Rybin cried. Then,
suddenly stepping back from Pavel, he said, as he shook his head:
"Ah, me, if I were a Jew! The Jew, my dear boy, is the most
believing man in the world! Isaiah, the prophet, or Job, the
patient, believed more strongly than Christ's apostles. They could
say words to make a man's hair stand on end.
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