Loaves & Fishes 27

“From Vladimir. My name
is Makar, and they also call me
Semyonich.”
Aksionov raised his head and
said, “Tell me, Semyonich, do
you know anything about the
Aksionovs of Vladimir? Are they
still alive?”
“Sure I know them. They’re
rich, but their dad’s in Siberia:
a sinner like ourselves, it seems!
How did you get here, Grandpa?”
Aksionov did not like to speak
of his troubles. “I’ve been here
twenty-six years,” he sighed.
“What for?” asked Makar.
“Never mind,” said Aksionov.
“I must have deserved it.”
That was all he would say,
but the others told the new convicts
how someone had killed a
merchant and put the knife in
Aksionov’s luggage, so that he
had been unjustly convicted.
When Makar Semyonich
heard this, he looked at Aksionov,
slapped his knee, and
exclaimed, “That’s amazing,
man! You’ve aged so much I
never would have known you!”
“What do you mean?” asked
Aksionov. “Did you hear something
about the crime, or did you
see me somewhere before?”
“Oh, I’m sure I heard something;
the world’s full of rumors.
But it was a long time ago, and
I’ve forgotten what I heard.”
“Maybe you heard who really
killed the merchant,” said
Aksionov.
Makar Semyonich laughed
and replied “It must have been
the man with the knife in his
luggage! If somebody else hid
the knife there, ‘He’s not a thief
till he’s caught,’ as they say. How
could anyone put a knife into
your bag while it was under your
head without waking you up?”
Aksionov was sure he was
talking to the real murderer. He
got up and walked away.
All that night Aksionov lay
awake. He was miserable. In
his mind rose the image of his
wife as he remembered her the
day he left for the fair. He saw
her face and eyes as if she were
present; he heard her speak and
laugh. Then he saw his children,
quite little, as they were when he
went to prison: one with a little
coat on, another at his mother’s
breast. He remembered himself,
young and cheerful as he used
to be. He saw in his mind the
place where he was flogged—the
executioner, the people standing
around. He remembered the
chains, the other convicts; his
twenty-six years of prison life,
and his premature old age. He
felt like killing himself.
“And it’s all his fault!” thought
Aksionov. He longed for revenge
46 | Loaves & Fishes • Issue 27