I. A. R. Wylie

“ Grigory said, kissing him.
And his comrades looked up, licking their lips.
That night when he came back the little red lamp had burnt itself out. The face of the ikon was veiled in darkness. And still Old Anna had not moved.
The first volley was like a first gulp of vodka. Then life came back to him. His blood awoke and flowed warmly and evenly. The pain let go its hold. The world took on gorgeous colours. His head seemed to break through black clouds into a fiery morning. He became like a God. ”

“ Have I not a right to speak?"
"Speak, comrade, go on!"
"Down with the tyrants!"
"Long live the people!"
"Hurrah! Hurrah!"
But it was to Michel they turned. They swarmed round him, they kissed him on the cheeks. They lifted him shoulder high. Someone thrust a rifle into his hands. And suddenly all the pictures rushed through his brain at once—the Volkonskys—the room—the wine—Katya—himself in the long glass. He clasped the rifle to his breast. He hugged it. For at last a thought had come to him—a wonderful thought. He began to laugh from sheer happiness. ”

“ But when Michel entered he forgot why he had come. Instead he knew that something he had been waiting for was about to happen. The room was full of armed men, and Grigory Goubine, his brother, stood on a chair and waved his arms and shouted. He looked like a wraith in the thick evil-smelling atmosphere. His sly quietness was gone. His eyes rolled in his head and there was yellow foam on his beard. He beat his breast with his clenched fists.
"... They eat and drink," he shouted, "they swill themselves with wine, they stuff themselves with food, they dance to music, they sleep in warm beds. ”

“ My own brother—as honest a fellow as ever trod—my own flesh and blood. And our blind old mother dying of hunger. What wrong have they done? Our mother grew blind in their service. My brother has toiled faithfully. What has life given him? Nothing—nothing—no wife—no home—no children—blows and kicks—and a kennel to die in. Yet he is a man like other men—he has rights like other men—passions—thirsts!"
"Yes—yes—that is so!" Michel shouted.
The crowd swayed backwards and forwards like trees in a storm.
"It is true, comrades!"
Grigory tore open his blouse. ”

“ Have you brought food home? There is no food here. To get food one must have money, and there is no money, not a kopeck. Have you brought money home, Michel? All day I have been waiting. Oh, my little son, where have you been?"
But Michel's red inflamed eyes were fixed on the ikon. His fur cap was clenched between his hands as though it had been the throat of an enemy, and for the first time he prayed with rapid lips:—
"Give me Katya, give me Katya." ”

“ One night, many months later, Michel's sleigh carried a military doctor to the house where Grigory was door-keeper. The officer had arrived at Moscow by one of the Red Cross trains and his uniform was caked with dry mud as though he had come from a long, terrible, journey. He gave his orders curtly, but it was his face, as it flashed for a moment in the lamplight, which made Michel crack his whip over Fydora's ears and send her galloping along the white street. Not even among the wounded had Michel seen a face so grim with pain, and this doctor was not wounded, but vigorous and young. ”

“ So soon. No wonder he is in a hurry, and so anxious. A short leave. It will make Tatiana Sergeyevna cry when she hears. But then when one is a soldier—well, well, it is a cold night."
"Yes, very cold," said Michel, drowsing again.
"God keep you, brother!"
"God keep you, brother!"
Grigory shuffled back to his den in the courtyard, and again it was quite still except for the mysterious tinkle of Fydora's bells as she stirred uneasily. In front of him Michel could see nothing but her thin flanks heaving in the light of the two lamps. The snow had begun to fall faster. ”

“ He ran on, twisting, turning, firing at whatever showed itself—at shadows which no longer fell but followed, joining in with his pursuers. Katya was among them—Katya and his mother—and the bald-headed jeweller, and the little shop-keeper with his surprised, reproachful eyes—and the girl with her mad laugh—even old Fydora. Strive as he might they gained on him. ”

“ But, however tired or cold or drunk Michel Goubine might be on his return, he would invariably take off his fur cap and stand for a moment with bowed head as though in prayer. He did not really pray. He had nothing to pray for. It did not occur to him that things could be different. God had arranged life as it was, and Michel had perfect confidence in God and in God's servants—the Tsar, and even the police who carried out God's commandments. So that everything was quite simple.
Old Anna, Michel's mother lived with him. She seemed as unchanging as the ikon and the shadows. ”

“ Well, comrades, make them more Afraid. You are men. You have as good a right as they to live and eat and drink and be happy."
"Yes, that is true," Michel thought, nodding to himself. "Grigory understands everything."
Grigory caught sight of Michel standing by the door and he stopped for a minute and pointed, inarticulate with passion. And the crowd turned and stared at Michel, and black rage came into their faces, and he knew that it was because of the growing rage in his own breast.
"Look!" Grigory spluttered. "Look—my own brother—the dogs on the street are not more famished. ”

“ And Grigory knew—
Life was a very simple business in Michel's eyes. Even the war did not trouble him. He had been discharged in his first year of service on account of a faulty heart which had never troubled him before, so all that the war meant for Michel was an increased bustle in the streets, more resplendent officers to be driven about, and a daily visit to the big station to see the wounded brought in. At the sight of the poor suffering faces Michel's heart overflowed with pity, and he would get down from his box, fur cap in hand, and make a collection for them among the onlookers. ”

“ It is as I told you—she is a good girl, and sensible. She cares for you—I do not deny it—but she sees how impossible it all is. She talked it over with me. 'After all, what has Michel to offer?' she said. 'A miserable hovel with an old hag to keep us company and take the food out of our mouths. And I am accustomed to warm clothes and a comfortable bed and enough to eat. In a month's time we should hate one another and Michel would beat me.'" Grigory waited a moment and peered up into his brother's face. ”

“ Someone who had caught the flash of a rifle from an upper window screamed a warning. Doors were splintered off their hinges. There ensued a brief hunt through dark rooms and passages before the snipers were flung out like food to a ravening monster. That was the beginning. Men had begun to kill. They fell upon one another, howling with rage and misery and terror——
Michel and his comrades had broken their way into the house from which the firing had been most deadly. The ground floor belonged to a fashionable jeweller. ”

“ Grigory Goubine shouted. "Load up and death to the enemies of the Revolution!" He limped excitedly up and down the line. "Bring them up closer. Some of these fine fellows can't shoot very well. They haven't had much practice yet Here, give me a rifle. I'll show you. In my day I never missed my mark. Set them further apart. So take aim. Every man his target. Pick out a good spot, comrades—the heart—the breast—the head. Not that it matters. We have ammunition to spare. Let them suffer a little, the dogs. Now then, are you ready?"
He stood at Michel's side. ”

“ The men have no rifles, no food, no boots. They are being betrayed. Soon there will be a revolution."
Grigory rubbed his hands together.
"He said that, eh? Well, he may help you. Let us hope so, little brother. You will need help. Perhaps I could do something. I have influence. Find out everything you can from Katya. It may be useful. We must do what we can—for without money how should you and Katya live?"
It was late when Michel stumbled over the threshold of his hut. Old Anna who had been crouching by the dead fire rose up, facing the blast of bitter air and wailing shrilly. ”

“ Michel's face was like the face of a dead man carved out of wood.
"I advised her not to come," Grigory went on with an air of resolute honesty. "I did not want her to encourage you. It is better for you to realise the truth in time. To marry a girl like Katya one must have money, little brother. It is as I said. If you had money it would be different Then she would come out and dance with you and be your wife." ”

“ People didn't care to drive behind a dreary, decrepit-looking horse. So when the snow lay thick on the uneven Moscow streets and some fine fur-coated gentleman would answer Michel's insinuating "Where to—where to?" with a curt order, Fydora would prick up her ears and dash off, clashing her bells, as swift and sprightly as any three-year-older. ”

“ For to-morrow night she would dance again with Michel at the inn by the river.
"You will see, madam, it is nothing—just some silly mistake. After all, who should wish your honours trouble, or what harm can you have done the Tsar—you who are so good to everyone?"
Tatiana Sergeyevna sat up at last. She spoke as though she were thinking aloud.
"It is no mistake," she said quietly. "Someone has betrayed us. Not one of our friends. They all love Russia. Besides, they are too deeply involved. ”

“ He shouted Grigory's name, but there was no answer. He beat against the closed doors of the barracks with his hands, but only muffled, sinister echoes came back to him. No one—nothing. And yet Michel knew that he was being watched. The square was full of people—shadows that stared and stared with blank, glazing eyes. ”

“ And he drove Fydora mercilessly. For a rouble he waited through a bitter night outside the Assembly House, and when Fydora, half dead with cold, stumbled in her tracks, he beat her till the blood spurted from her terrible ribs. The next morning Michel saw the wound and kissed it, and kissed Fydora on her quivering velvet nose.
"You see, we must make money, little sister!" he explained humbly. "Make money for Katya!" ”

“ He only thought how pretty it was.
"Katya!" he said aloud. "Katya!"
His comrades came pouring back down the staircase. He rejoined them stumbling over the jewellers limp, warm body as he went.
Grigory Goubine waited for them outside Vassily Volkonsky's house.
"It's all right," he shouted. "They've barricaded themselves in. They think if they keep quiet we shall believe there's no one there. But I know them. All the doors are bolted from the inside. There's a window at the back though they've forgotten. ”

“ Katya is a good girl. But you must be careful—I tell you, she is a good girl. I am older than you, little brother, and I am drornik to this house I have my duty—I have a right to ask—what will come of it?" Michel stirred drowsily but did not answer, and Grigory sidled closer to him. "After all, you can't marry, little brother. Marriage means money. And how could you take a wife to your home? There is no room for her whilst our mother lives. And often there is not enough food for two. No, you must get money first."
"Perhaps Vassily Volkonsky would help us," Michel muttered. ”

“ Michel and his ten comrades slouched into the Kremlin through the Spassky Gate. They did not lift their caps to the Holy Image as they passed beneath. They laughed and threw lumps of snow at it. The masonry round the ikon was snicked with bullets, but the ikon itself had remained unharmed.
"Christ was a bourgeois," one of Michel's companions said angrily. "All the bourgeois should be crucified." ”

“ And you perish here with hunger and thirst and cold. Yes, and as if that were not enough they send you to the war—you don't know against whom or what for—and when you've gone they stab you in the back. Our soldiers fight with their naked hands. They are slaughtered in thousands. And your tyrants laugh. It's what they want. There are too many of you. They want to wipe you out—because you are waking up and because they are afraid. ”

“ I can't sleep any more."
"You're not the only one," the man repeated in a high hysterical voice.
"They take everything—everything," Michel stammered. "One doesn't know why one is alive." He pressed his hand to his side in anguish. "Where is my brother, Grigory Goubine? If Grigory were here he would send you to the right-about. ”

“ If I had my way—but they say there's a General marching on Moscow with an army. There may be a counter-revolution. Some of the leaders have cleared out."
"They are traitors—every one is a traitor," said Michel wildly. "They ought to be shot too. If the prisons are empty I can fill them. ”

“ They stood so close to one another that he could see the face of the man he was about to kill. They looked straight into each other's eyes. They might have been friends who had met unexpectedly. He was a little fellow in a shabby coat and baggy, ill-fitting trousers. ”