Part 24 (1/2)
”No! He-he!”
”Don't you believe in G.o.d?”
”No! He-he!”
They were silent for a long time after that. Then the old man raised himself on his elbows with a sly grin.
”You see,” he said, ”when a man is worn out ... sleep is the best thing for him ... that is so with dying ... one wants to die....
Understand? When a man is worn out....”
He was silent for a moment, then grinned and repeated:
”He-he! He-he! Understand?”
Ilya gave his father a long look, standing there motionless, with wide-open eyes, feeling a thrill of utter horror.
But the old man was already slumbering.
VIII
Day faded. The blue autumnal twilight spread over the earth and peeped in through the windows. A purple mist filled the room with vague, spectral shadows. Outside was a white frost. A silvery moon triumphantly rode the clear cold over-arching sky.
Ippolyte Ippolytovich lay upon his sofa. He felt nothing. The s.p.a.ce occupied by his body resembled only a great, dark, hollow bin in which there was--nothing! Close by, a rat flopped across the floor, but the old man did not hear. A teasing autumnal fly settled on his eyebrow, he did not wink. From the withered toes to the withered legs, to the hips, stomach, chest, and heart, pa.s.sed a faint, agreeable, scarcely noticeable numbness.
It was evening now and the room was dark; the mist gathered thick and threatening through the windows. Outside in the crisp, frosty moonlight, it was bright. The old man's face--all over-grown with white hair--and his bald skull, had a death-like look.
Vasena entered in her calm yet vigorous manner. Her broad hips and deep bosom were only loosely covered by a red jacket.
”Ippolyte Ippolytovich, it is time for your meal,” she called in a matter of fact tone.
But he did not reply, nor utter his usual ”Eh?”
They sent at once for the doctor, who felt his pulse, pressed a gla.s.s to his lips, then said in a low, solemn tone:
”He is dead.”
Vasena, standing by the door, and somewhat resembling a wild animal, answered calmly:
”Well he wasn't so young as to.... Haven't we all got to die! What is it to him now? He and his had everything in their day! Dear Lord, they had everything!”
IX
Low, downy cloudlets drifted over the sky in the early hours of the morning. Dark, lowering ma.s.ses followed in their wake. The snow fell in large, cold, soft, feather-like flakes.
St. Martin's Summer was past, to be succeeded by the advent of another earthly joy--the first white covering of snow, when it is so delicious to follow the fresh footprints of the beasts, a rifle in hand.
THE HEIRS