What Men Live By | Page 2

the vodka, he felt warm, even
without a sheep-skin coat. He trudged along, striking his stick on the
frozen earth with one hand, swinging the felt boots with the other, and
talking to himself.
I
"I'm quite warm," said he, "though I have no sheep-skin coat. I've had a
drop, and it runs through all my veins. I need no sheep- skins. I go
along and don't worry about anything. That's the sort of man I am!
What do I care? I can live without sheep-skins. I don't need them. My
wife will fret, to be sure. And, true enough, it is a shame; one works all
day long, and then does not get paid. Stop a bit! If you don't bring that
money along, sure enough I'll skin you, blessed if I don't. How's that?
He pays twenty kopeks at a time! What can I do with twenty kopeks?
Drink it-that's all one can do! Hard up, he says he is! So he may be--but
what about me? You have a house, and cattle, and everything; I've only
what I stand up in! You have corn of your own growing; I have to buy
every grain. Do what I will, I must spend three roubles every week for
bread alone. I come home and find the bread all used up, and I have to
fork out another rouble and a half. So just pay up what you owe, and no
nonsense about it!"
By this time he had nearly reached the shrine at the bend of the road.
Looking up, he saw something whitish behind the shrine. The daylight
was fading, and the shoemaker peered at the thing without being able to
make out what it was. "There was no white stone here before. Can it be
an ox? It's not like an ox. It has a head like a man, but it's too white;

and what could a man be doing there?"
He came closer, so that it was clearly visible. To his surprise it really
was a man, alive or dead, sitting naked, leaning motionless against the
shrine. Terror seized the shoemaker, and he thought, "Some one has
killed him, stripped him, and left him there. If I meddle I shall surely
get into trouble."
So the shoemaker went on. He passed in front of the shrine so that he
could not see the man. When he had gone some way, he looked back,
and saw that the man was no longer leaning against the shrine, but was
moving as if looking towards him. The shoemaker felt more frightened
than before, and thought, "Shall I go back to him, or shall I go on? If I
go near him something dreadful may happen. Who knows who the
fellow is? He has not come here for any good. If I go near him he may
jump up and throttle me, and there will be no getting away. Or if not,
he'd still be a burden on one's hands. What could I do with a naked man?
I couldn't give him my last clothes. Heaven only help me to get away!"
So the shoemaker hurried on, leaving the shrine behind him-when
suddenly his conscience smote him, and he stopped in the road.
"What are you doing, Simon?" said he to himself. "The man may be
dying of want, and you slip past afraid. Have you grown so rich as to
be afraid of robbers? Ah, Simon, shame on you!"
So he turned back and went up to the man.
II
Simon approached the stranger, looked at him, and saw that he was a
young man, fit, with no bruises on his body, only evidently freezing
and frightened, and he sat there leaning back without looking up at
Simon, as if too faint to lift his eyes. Simon went close to him, and then
the man seemed to wake up. Turning his head, he opened his eyes and
looked into Simon's face. That one look was enough to make Simon
fond of the man. He threw the felt boots on the ground, undid his sash,
laid it on the boots, and took off his cloth coat.

"It's not a time for talking," said he. "Come, put this coat on at once!"
And Simon took the man by the elbows and helped him to rise. As he
stood there, Simon saw that his body was clean and in good condition,
his hands and feet shapely, and his face good and kind. He threw his
coat over the man's shoulders, but the latter could not find the sleeves.
Simon guided his arms into them, and drawing the coat well on,
wrapped it closely about him, tying the sash round the man's waist.
Simon even took off his torn cap to put it on the