Short Fiction Leonid Andreyev (best books to read .txt) 📖

… It was godless and unlawful. The red cross is respected by the whole world, as a thing sacred, and they saw that it was a train full of harmless wounded and not soldiers, and they ought to have warned us of the mine. The poor fellows, they were dreaming of home.⁠ ⁠…

… Around a samovar, around a real samovar, out of which the steam was rising as out of an engine⁠—the glass on the lamp had even grown dim, there was so much steam. And the cups were the same, blue outside and white inside, very pretty little cups, a wedding present. My wife’s sister gave them⁠—she is a very kind and good woman.

“Is it possible they are all whole?” asked I, incredulously, mixing the sugar in my glass with a clean silver spoon.

“One was broken,” said my wife, absently; she was holding the tap open just then and the water was running out easily and prettily.

I laughed.

“What’s it about?” asked my brother.

“Oh, nothing. Wheel me into the study just once more. You may as well trouble yourself for the sake of a hero. You idled away your time while I was away, but now that is over. I’ll bring you to order,” and I began singing, as a joke of course⁠—“My friends, we’re bravely hurrying towards the foe.⁠ ⁠…”

They understood the joke and smiled, only my wife did not lift up her face, she was wiping the cups with a clean embroidered cloth. And in the study I saw once again the light-blue wallpaper, a lamp with a green shade and a table with a water-bottle upon it. And it was a little dusty.

“Pour me some water out of this,” ordered I, merrily.

“But you’ve just had tea.”

“That doesn’t matter, pour me out some. And you,” said I to my wife, “take our son and go into the next room for a minute. Please.”

And I drank the water with delight in small sips, while my wife and son were in the next room, and I could not see them.

“That’s all right. Now come here. But why is he not in bed by this time?”

“He is so glad you have come home. Darling, go to your father.”

But the child began to cry and hid himself at his mother’s feet.

“Why is he crying?” asked I, in perplexity, and looked around, “why are you all so pale and silent, following me like shadows?”

My brother burst into a loud laugh and said, “We are not silent.”

And my sister said, “We are talking the whole time.”

“I will go and see about the supper,” said my mother, and hurriedly left the room.

“Yes, you are silent,” I repeated, with sudden conviction. “Since morning I have not heard a word from you; I am the only one who chats, laughs, and makes merry. Are you not glad to see me then? And why do you all avoid looking at me? Have I changed so? Yes, I am changed. But I do not see any looking-glasses about. Have you put them all away? Give me a looking-glass.”

“I will bring you one directly,” answered my wife, and did not come back for a long time, and the looking-glass was brought by the maid. I looked into it, and⁠—I had seen myself before in the train, at the station⁠—it was the same face, grown older a little, but the most ordinary face. While they, I believe, expected me to cry out and faint⁠—so glad were they when I asked calmly⁠—

“What is there so unusual in me?”

Laughing louder and louder, my sister left the room hurriedly, and my brother said with calm assurance: “Yes, you have not changed much, only grown slightly bald.”

“You can be thankful that my head is not broken,” answered I, unconcernedly. “But where do they all disappear?⁠—first one, then another. Wheel me about the rooms, please. What a comfortable armchair, it does not make the slightest sound. How much did it cost? You bet I won’t spare the money: I will buy myself such a pair of legs, better⁠ ⁠… My bicycle!”

It was hanging on the wall, quite new, only the tyres were limp for want of pumping. A tiny bit of mud had dried to the tyre of the back wheel⁠—the last time I had ridden it. My brother was silent and did not move my chair, and I understood his silence and irresoluteness.

“Only four officers remained alive in our regiment,” said I, surlily. “I am very lucky.⁠ ⁠… You can take it for yourself⁠—take it away tomorrow.”

“All right, I will take it,” agreed my brother submissively. “Yes, you are lucky. Half of the town is in mourning. While legs⁠—that is really.⁠ ⁠…”

“Of course I am not a postman.”

My brother stopped suddenly and asked⁠—

“But why does your head shake?”

“That’s nothing. The doctor said it will pass.”

“And your hands too?”

“Yes, yes. And my hands too. It will all pass. Wheel me on, please, I am tired of remaining still.”

They upset me, those discontented people, but my gladness returned to me when they began making my bed; a real bed, a handsome bed, that I had bought just before our wedding four years ago. They spread a clean sheet, then they shook the pillows and turned down the blanket, while I watched the solemn proceedings, my eyes full of tears with laughing.

“And now undress me and put me to bed,” said I to my wife. “How good it is!”

“This minute, dear.”

“Quicker!”

“This minute, dear.”

“Why; what are you doing?”

“This minute, dear.”

She was standing behind my back, near the toilette table, and I vainly tried to turn my head so as to see her. And suddenly she gave a cry, such a cry as one hears only at the war⁠—

“What does it all mean?”

She rushed towards me, put her arms round me, and fell down, hiding her head near the stumps of my cutoff legs, from which she turned away with horror, and again pressed herself against them, kissing them, and crying⁠—

“What have you become? Why, you are only thirty