He immediately answered her angrily—
"Thick-headed creature! What do you understand about things—an old scarecrow like you?"
"Oh, howl and howl away, and then bark if you like!"
"Hold your tongue! Am I an apprentice, that you want to begin to teach me now, eh?... Just mind your own business!"
Matrona saw that his eyes flashed angrily, and that the veins of his neck were swelling. She was silent for some time, refusing to answer the questions of her husband, whose anger had disappeared as quickly as it had arisen. She turned away her face so as not to meet his eyes, which were full of love and of self-reproach for the cruel words he had just spoken. She heeded not his signals of reconciliation, and though awaiting impatiently his smile, trembled with fear lest he should once more lose his temper over this game which she was playing out with him. But it was pleasant to her to sit opposite to him in this defiant mood, and to watch how he longed to make peace with her; it seemed like living, it awoke feeling and gave an object to her thoughts.
They were both young and healthy, they both loved each other and were proud of each other. Grischka was such a handsome, hearty, strong fellow, and Matrona was a plump little woman with a clear, fair complexion, and warm sympathy in her grey eyes; "a fine little woman" as all the neighbours used to call her. They loved each other, but their life was so monotonous and tedious, so entirely bereft of all deep interests and outside influences, which might have given them the possibility of diverting occasionally their thoughts from each other, of getting change, which is the natural desire of every human heart, of, in a word—living. It is in fact a psychological fact that man and wife, though they may have attained a high degree of culture, without such an inner life, such an interest, must inevitably grow tired of, and burdensome to each other. If the Orloffs had had an object in life, if it had only been in the empty toil of hoarding halfpence in order to collect capital—life would certainly have appeared easier to them. But as it was, they were deprived even of this interest, which might have proved a bond between them. As each had the other always before his eyes, they had grown to know each other's every movement, every gesture. One day followed the other, and brought nothing into their lives either of change or of excitement Sometimes on holidays they went to see friends, whose lives were as poor and as empty as their own; occasionally friends came to see them, drank, sang and beat each other. And then would follow an endless succession of monotonous grey days, just like the links of an invisible chain, which made dreary the lives of these people with work, ennui, and groundless irritation against each other.
"A regular devil of a life!" Grischka used to say. "Just as if it were bewitched. Whatever was life given to us for? Work and weariness; weariness and work...." And after he had been silent for some time he continued with a blank look on his face, and with downcast eyes—"Well, it was God's decree that my mother should bear me ... so it's no use complaining about that! Then I learnt my trade.... Why was that?... Are there not enough cobblers in the world without me?... So then I became a cobbler.... And what next?... What good fortune is there for me in that?... I sit here in a hole and stitch boots.... And by and by I shall die. There is what they call cholera in the town.... Perhaps it will find us out.;. Then they will merely say—'There was once a certain Grigori Orloff, who made boots, and who died of cholera.' ... What sense is there in that? Why is it necessary that I should live, make boots and die? Eh?..."
Matrona was silent? she was always upset when her husband spoke in that tone; often she begged him not to talk like that, for it was like speaking against God, who knew best how men's lives should be arranged. Sometimes, when not too depressed, she would interject a remark full of common-sense—"You shouldn't drink vodka, then you would live more happily, and not frighten yourself with such thoughts. Others live and don't complain; they save money, open a shop, and in time become their own masters."
"Stop talking nonsense, you stupid woman!" Grischka would exclaim angrily. "Just consider a moment how can I possibly live without drink, when that is my only pleasure? You talk about others ... how many do you know pray, who have been fortunate enough to make themselves independent? Was I not before my marriage quite a different sort of fellow? I will just tell you the truth; it is you who give me so much trouble, and who embitter my life ... you ugly frog!..."
Matrona felt herself wronged when she heard these words. He was certainly right in saying that he was jollier and more amiable when he was drunk. The "others" however of whom she spoke, were a product of her imagination. And that before his marriage he was more cheerful, more entertaining, more good-natured—that also was true.... Now however he had really grown like a wild beast.... "Am I indeed then such a burden to him?" thought Matrona to herself. Her heart ached at this painful thought—she felt pity for him and for herself. She went up to him looked smilingly into his eyes, and pressed her head tenderly against his breast.