Have you ever thought about what fiction is? Probably, such a question may seem surprising: and so everything is clear. Every person throughout his life has to repeatedly create the works he needs for specific purposes - statements, autobiographies, dictations - using not gypsum or clay, not musical notes, not paints, but just a word. At the same time, almost every person will be very surprised if he is told that he thereby created a work of fiction, which is very different from visual art, music and sculpture making. However, everyone understands that a student's essay or dictation is fundamentally different from novels, short stories, news that are created by professional writers. In the works of professionals there is the most important difference - excogitation. But, oddly enough, in a school literature course, you don’t realize the full power of fiction. So using our website in your free time discover fiction for yourself. The Power of Darkness by graf Tolstoy Leo (inspiring books for teens .txt) 📖
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AKĂŤM. Yes, but that's what peasants do when they what d'ye call it, when they forget God. It's not honest, I mean, it's no good, I mean.
MĂŤTRITCH. You wait. You'll see it comes just to the same thing. Now don't forget how you've skinned me. And AnĂsya, say, has got some money lying idle. She does not know what to do with it, besides, she's a woman, and does not know how to use it. She comes to you. “Couldn't you make some profit with my money too?” she says. “Why not?” say you, and you wait. Before the summer I come again and say, “Give me another tenner, and I'll be obliged.” Then you find out if my hide isn't all gone, and if I can be skinned again you give me AnĂsya's money. But supposing I'm clean shorn,—have nothing to eat,—then you see I can't be fleeced any more, and you say, “Go your way, friend,” and you look out for another, and lend him your own and AnĂsya's money and skin him. That's what the bank is. So it goes round and round. It's a cute thing, old fellow!
AKÍM [excitedly] Gracious me, whatever is that like? It's what d'ye call it, it's filthy! The peasants—what d'ye call it, the peasants do so I mean, and know it's, what d'ye call it, a sin! It's what d'you call, not right, not right, I mean. It's filthy! How can people as have learnt … what d'ye call it …
MĂŤTRITCH. That, old fellow, is just what they're fond of! And remember, them that are stupid, or the women folk, as can't put their money into use themselves, they take it to the bank, and they there, deuce take 'em, clutch hold of it, and with this money they fleece the people. It's a cute thing!
AKÍM [sighing] Oh dear, I see, what d'ye call it, without money it's bad, and with money it's worse! How's that? God told us to work, but you, what d'ye call … I mean you put money into the bank and go to sleep, and the money will what d'ye call it, will feed you while you sleep. It's filthy, that's what I call it; it's not right.
MĂŤTRITCH. Not right? Eh, old fellow, who cares about that nowadays? And how clean they pluck you, too! That's the fact of the matter.
AKĂŤM [sighs] Ah yes, seems the time's what d'ye call it, the time's growing ripe. There, I've had a look at the closets in town. What they've come to! It's all polished and polished I mean, it's fine, it's what d'ye call it, it's like inside an inn. And what's it all for? What's the good of it? Oh, they've forgotten God. Forgotten, I mean. We've forgotten, forgotten God, God I mean! Thank you, my dear, I've had enough. I'm quite satisfied. [Rises. MĂtritch climbs on to the oven].
ANĂŤSYA [eats, and collects the dishes] If his father would only take him to task! But I'm ashamed to tell him.
AKĂŤM. What d'you say?
ANĂŤSYA. Oh! it's nothing.
Enter Nan.
AKĂŤM. Here's a good girl, always busy! You're cold, I should think?
NAN. Yes, I am, terribly. How d'you do, grandfather?
ANĂŤSYA. Well? Is he there?
NAN. No. But Andriyán is there. He's been to town, and he says he saw them at an inn in town. He says Dad's as drunk as drunk can be!
ANĂŤSYA. Do you want anything to eat? Here you are.
NAN [goes to the oven] Well, it is cold. My hands are quite numb. [AkĂm takes off his leg-bands and bast-shoes. AnĂsya washes up].
ANĂŤSYA. Father!
AKĂŤM. Well, what is it?
ANĂŤSYA. And is MarĂna living well?
AKĂŤM. Yes, she's living all right. The little woman is what d'ye call it, clever and steady; she's living, and what d'ye call it, doing her best. She's all right; the little woman's of the right sort I mean; painstaking and what d'ye call it, submissive; the little woman's all right I mean, all right, you know.
ANĂŤSYA. And is there no talk in your village that a relative of MarĂna's husband thinks of marrying our AkoulĂna? Have you heard nothing of it?
AKĂŤM. Ah; that's MirĂłnof. Yes, the women did chatter something. But I didn't pay heed, you know. It don't interest me I mean, I don't know anything. Yes, the old women did say something, but I've a bad memory, bad memory, I mean. But the MirĂłnofs are what d'ye call it, they're all right, I mean they're all right.
ANĂŤSYA. I'm that impatient to get her settled.
AKĂŤM. And why?
NAN [listens] They've come!
ANĂŤSYA. Well, don't you go bothering them. [Goes on washing the spoons without turning her head].
NIKĂŤTA [enters] AnĂsya! Wife! who has come? [AnĂsya looks up and turns away in silence].
NIKĂŤTA [severely] Who has come? Have you forgotten?
ANĂŤSYA. Now don't humbug. Come in!
NIKĂŤTA [still more severely] Who's come?
ANĂŤSYA [goes up and takes him by the arm] Well then, husband has come. Now then, come in!
NIKĂŤTA [holds back] Ah, that's it! Husband! And what's husband called? Speak properly.
ANĂŤSYA. Oh bother you! NikĂta!
NIKĂŤTA. Where have you learnt manners? The full name.
ANĂŤSYA. NikĂta AkĂmitch! Now then!
NIKÍTA [still in the doorway] Ah, that's it! But now—the surname?
ANĂŤSYA [laughs and pulls him by the arm] TchilĂkin. Dear me, what airs!
NIKĂŤTA. Ah, that's it. [Holds on to the door-post] No, now say with which foot TchilĂkin steps into this house!
ANĂŤSYA. That's enough! You're letting the cold in!
NIKÍTA. Say with which foot he steps? You've got to say it,—that's flat.
ANĂŤSYA [aside] He'll go on worrying. [To NikĂta] Well then, with the left. Come in!
NIKĂŤTA. Ah, that's it.
ANĂŤSYA. You look who's in the hut!
NIKĂŤTA. Ah, my parent! Well, what of that? I'm not ashamed of my parent. I can pay my respects to my parent. How d'you do, father? [Bows and puts out his hand] My respects to you.
NikĂta. Ah, that's it.
AnĂsya. You look who's in the hut!
NikĂta. Ah, my parent! Well, what of that? I'm not ashamed of my parent.
AKĂŤM [does not answer] Drink, I mean drink, what it does! It's filthy!
NIKĂŤTA. Drink, what's that? I've been drinking? I'm to blame, that's flat! I've had a glass with a friend, drank his health.
ANĂŤSYA. Go and lie down, I say.
NIKĂŤTA. Wife, say where am I standing?
ANĂŤSYA. Now then, it's all right, lie down!
NIKĂŤTA. No, I'll first drink a samovár with my parent. Go and light the samovár. AkoulĂna, I say, come here!
Enter AkoulĂna, smartly dressed and carrying their purchases.
AKOULĂŤNA. Why have you thrown everything about? Where's the yarn?
NIKĂŤTA. The yarn? The yarn's there. Hullo, MĂtritch, where are you? Asleep? Asleep? Go and put the horse up.
AKĂŤM [not seeing AkoulĂna but looking at his son] Dear me, what is he doing? The old man's what d'ye call it, quite done up, I mean,—been thrashing,—and look at him, what d'ye call it, putting on airs! Put up the horse! Faugh, what filth!
MĂŤTRITCH [climbs down from the oven, and puts on felt boots] Oh, merciful Lord! Is the horse in the yard? Done it to death, I dare say. Just see how he's been swilling, the deuce take him. Up to his very throat. Oh Lord, holy Nicholas! [Puts on sheepskin, and exit].
NIKĂŤTA [sits down] You must forgive me, father. It's true I've had a drop; well, what of that? Even a hen will drink. Ain't it true? So you must forgive me. Never mind MĂtritch, he doesn't mind, he'll put it up.
ANÍSYA. Shall I really light the samovár?
NIKĂŤTA. Light it! My parent has come. I wish to talk to him, and shall drink tea with him. [To AkoulĂna] Have you brought all the parcels?
AKOULĂŤNA. The parcels? I've brought mine, the rest's in the sledge. Hi, take this, this isn't mine!
Throws a parcel on the table and puts the others into her box. Nan watches her while she puts them away. AkĂm does not look at his son, but puts his leg-bands and bast-shoes on the oven.
ANÍSYA [going out with the samovár] Her box is full as it is, and still he's bought more!
AkoulĂna. The parcels? I've brought mine, the rest's in the sledge.
AnĂsya. Her box is full as it is, and still he's bought more!
NIKÍTA [pretending to be sober] You must not be cross with me, father. You think I'm drunk? I am all there, that's flat! As they say, “Drink, but keep your wits about you.” I can talk with you at once, father. I can attend to any business. You told me about the money; your horse is worn-out,—I remember! That can all be managed. That's all in our hands. If it was an enormous sum that's wanted, then we might wait; but as it is I can do everything. That's the case.
AKÍM [goes on fidgeting with the leg-bands] Eh, lad, “It's ill sledging when the thaw has set in.”
NIKÍTA. What d'you mean by that? “And it's ill talking with one who is drunk”? But don't you worry, let's have some tea. And I can do anything; that's flat! I can put everything to rights.
AKĂŤM [shakes his head] Eh, eh, eh!
NIKĂŤTA. The money, here it is. [Puts his hand in his pocket, pulls out pocket-book, handles the notes in it and takes out a ten-rouble note] Take this to get a horse; I can't forget my parent. I shan't forsake him, that's flat. Because he's my parent! Here you are, take it! Really now, I don't grudge it. [Comes up and pushes the note towards AkĂm who won't take it. NikĂta catches hold of his father's hand] Take it, I tell you. I don't grudge it.
AKĂŤM. I can't, what d'you call it, I mean, can't take it! And can't what d'ye call it, talk to you, because you're not yourself, I mean.
NIKĂŤTA. I'll not let you go! Take it! [Puts the money into AkĂm's hand].
ANĂŤSYA [enters, and stops] You'd better take it, he'll give you no peace!
AKĂŤM [takes it, and shakes his head] Oh! that liquor. Not like a man, I mean!
NIKĂŤTA. That's better! If you repay it you'll repay it, if not I'll make no bother. That's what I am! [Sees AkoulĂna] AkoulĂna, show your presents.
AKOULĂŤNA. What?
NIKĂŤTA. Show your presents.
AKOULĂŤNA. The presents, what's the use of showing 'em? I've put 'em away.
NIKĂŤTA. Get them, I tell you. Nan will like to see 'em. Undo the shawl. Give it here.
AKĂŤM. Oh, oh! It's sickening! [Climbs on the oven].
AKOULÍNA [gets out the parcels and puts them on the table] Well, there you are,—what's the good of looking at 'em?
NAN. Oh how lovely! It's as good as StepanĂda's.
AKOULĂŤNA. StepanĂda's? What's StepanĂda's compared to this? [Brightening up and undoing the parcels] Just look here,—see the quality! It's a French one.
NAN. The print is fine! Mary has a dress like it, only lighter on a blue ground. This is pretty.
NIKĂŤTA. Ah, that's it!
AnĂsya passes angrily into the closet, returns with a tablecloth and the chimney of the
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