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

don’t turn your knife.”

“He has come after you, Noni.”

“I have come to warn you; the tower may fall. Go away from here!” says the abbot.

“Why are you hiding yourself, girl? I remember your name; your name is Mariet,” says Haggart.

“I am not hiding. I also remember your name⁠—it is Haggart,” replies Mariet.

“Was it you who brought him here?”

“I.”

“I have told you that they are all traitors, Noni,” says Khorre.

“Silence!”

“It is very cold here. I will throw some wood into the fireplace. May I do it?” asks Mariet.

“Do it,” answers Haggart.

“The tower will fall down before long,” says the abbot. “Part of the wall has caved in already; it is all hollow underneath. Do you hear?”

He stamps his foot on the stone floor.

“Where will the tower fall?”

“Into the sea, I suppose! The castle is splitting the rocks.”

Haggart laughs:

“Do you hear, Khorre? This place is not as motionless as it seemed to you⁠—while it cannot move, it can fall. How many people have you brought along with you, priest, and where have you hidden them?”

“Only two of us came, my father and I,” says Mariet.

“You are rude to a priest. I don’t like that,” says the abbot.

“You have come here uninvited. I don’t like that either,” says Haggart.

“Why did you lead me here, Mariet? Come,” says the abbot.

Haggart speaks ironically:

“And you leave us here to die? That is unChristian, Christian.”

“Although I am a priest, I am a poor Christian, and the Lord knows it,” says the abbot angrily. “I have no desire to save such a rude scamp. Let us go, Mariet.”

“Captain?” asks Khorre.

“Be silent, Khorre,” says Haggart. “So that’s the way you speak, abbot; so you are not a liar?”

“Come with me and you shall see.”

“Where shall I go with you?”

“To my house.”

“To your house? Do you hear, Khorre? To the priest! But do you know whom you are calling to your house?”

“No, I don’t know. But I see that you are young and strong. I see that although your face is gloomy, it is handsome, and I think that you could be as good a workman as others.”

“A workman? Khorre, do you hear what the priest says?”

Both laugh. The abbot says angrily:

“You are both drunk.”

“Yes, a little! But if I were sober I would have laughed still more,” answers Haggart.

“Don’t laugh, Haggart,” says Mariet.

Haggart replies angrily:

“I don’t like the tongues of false priests, Mariet⁠—they are coated with truth on top, like a lure for flies. Take him away, and you, girl, go away, too! I have forgotten your name!”

He sits down and stares ahead sternly. His eyebrows move close together, and his hand is pressed down heavily by his lowered head, by his strong chin.

“He does not know you, father! Tell him about yourself. You speak so well. If you wish it, he will believe you, father. Haggart!”

Haggart maintains silence.

“Noni! Captain!”

Silence. Khorre whispers mysteriously:

“He feels sad. Girl, tell the priest that he feels sad.”

“Khorre,” begins Mariet. Haggart looks around quickly.

“What about Khorre? Why don’t you like him, Mariet? We are so much like each other.”

“He is like you?” says the woman with contempt. “No, Haggart! But here is what he did: He gave gin to little Noni again today. He moistened his finger and gave it to him. He will kill him, father.”

Haggart laughs:

“Is that so bad? He did the same to me.”

“And he dipped him in cold water. The boy is very weak,” says Mariet morosely.

“I don’t like to hear you speak of weakness. Our boy must be strong. Khorre! Three days without gin.”

He shows him three fingers.

“Who should be without gin? The boy or I?” asks Khorre gloomily.

“You!” replies Haggart furiously. “Begone!”

The sailor sullenly gathers his belongings⁠—the pouch, the pipe, and the flask⁠—and wabbling, goes off. But he does not go far⁠—he sits down upon a neighbouring rock. Haggart and his wife look at him.

III

The work is ended. Having lost its gloss, the last neglected fish lies on the ground; even the children are too lazy to pick it up; and an indifferent, satiated foot treads it into the mud. A quiet, fatigued conversation goes on, mingled with gay and peaceful laughter.

“What kind of a prayer is our abbot going to say today? It is already time for him to come.”

“And do you think it is so easy to compose a good prayer? He is thinking.”

“Selly’s basket broke and the fish were falling out. We laughed so much! It seems so funny to me even now!”

Laughter. Two fishermen look at the sail in the distance.

“All my life I have seen large ships sailing past us. Where are they going? They disappear beyond the horizon, and I go off to sleep; and I sleep, while they are forever going, going. Where are they going? Do you know?”

“To America.”

“I should like to go with them. When they speak of America my heart begins to ring. Did you say America on purpose, or is that the truth?”

Several old women are whispering:

“Wild Gart is angry again at his sailor. Have you noticed it?”

“The sailor is displeased. Look, how wan his face is.”

“Yes, he looks like the evil one when he is compelled to listen to a psalm. But I don’t like Wild Gart, either. No. Where did he come from?”

They resume their whispers. Haggart complains softly:

“Why have you the same name, Mariet, for everybody? It should not be so in a truthful land.”

Mariet speaks with restrained force, pressing both hands to her breast:

“I love you so dearly, Gart; when you go out to sea, I set my teeth together and do not open them until you come back. When you are away, I eat nothing and drink nothing; when you are away, I am silent, and the women laugh: ‘Mute Mariet!’ But I would be insane if I spoke when I am alone.”

Haggart⁠—Here you are again compelling me to smile. You must not, Mariet⁠—I am forever smiling.

Mariet⁠—I love you so dearly, Gart. Every hour of the day and the night I am thinking only of what