ov's face
was for ever twitching, and his small eyes were burning with irritation.
Yozhov was trying to uncork the bottle of water, and thus occupied, was
silent; he pressed the bottle between his knees and made vain efforts to
take out the cork. And his impotence moved Foma.

"Yes; life has sucked you dry. And you have studied. Even science seems
to help man but little," said Gordyeeff plaintively.

"Drink!" said Yozhov, turning pale with fatigue, and handing him the
glass. Then he wiped his forehead, seated himself on the lounge beside
Foma, and said:

"Leave science alone! Science is a drink of the gods; but it has not yet
fermented sufficiently, and, therefore is not fit for use, like vodka
which has not yet been purified from empyreumatic oil. Science is not
ready for man's happiness, my friend. And those living people that use
it get nothing but headaches. Like those you and I have at present. Why
do you drink so rashly?"

"I? What else am I to do?" asked Foma, laughing. Yozhov looked at Foma
searchingly with his eyes half closed, and he said:

"Connecting your question with everything you jabbered last night, I
feel within my troubled soul that you, too, my friend, do not amuse
yourself because life is cheerful to you."

"Eh!" sighed Foma, heavily, rising from the lounge. "What is my life?
It is something meaningless. I live alone. I understand nothing. And yet
there is something I long for. I yearn to spit on all and then disappear
somewhere! I would like to run away from everything. I am so weary!"

"That's interesting!" said Yozhov, rubbing his hands and turning about
in all directions. "This is interesting, if it is true and deep, for
it shows that the holy spirit of dissatisfaction with life has already
penetrated into the bed chambers of the merchants, into the death
chambers of souls drowned in fat cabbage soup, in lakes of tea and other
liquids. Give me a circumstantial account of it. Then, my dear, I shall
write a novel."

"I have been told that you have already written something about me?"
inquired Foma, with curiosity, and once more attentively scrutinized his
old friend unable to understand what so wretched a creature could write.

"Of course I have! Did you read it?"

"No, I did not have the chance."

"And what have they told you?"

"That you gave me a clever scolding."

"Hm! And doesn't it interest you to read it yourself?" inquired Yozhov,
scrutinizing Gordyeeff closely.

"I'll re