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Books at bedtime by calming anxiety, where lovers, God is, by tollslay.

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In a certain town, they lived a cobbler, Martin Aveditch by name.

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He had a tiny room in a basement, the one window of which looked onto the street.

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Through it one could only see the feet of those who passed by, but Martin recognized

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the people by their boots. He had lived long in the place and had many acquaintances.

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There was hardly a pair of boots in the neighborhood that had not once or twice been

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through his hands, so he often saw his own handy-work through the window.

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Some he had resold, some had been patched, some stitched up, and to some he had even put

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fresh appers. He had plenty to do, for he worked well, used good material, did not charge

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too much, and could be relied on. If he could do a job by the day required, he undertook

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it, if not. He told the truth and gave no false promises, so he was well known and never

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short of work.

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Martin had always been a good man, but in his old age he began to think more about his soul

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and to draw nearer to God. When he still worked for a master, before he set up on his own

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account, his wife had died, leaving him with a three-year-old son. None of his elder children

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had lived, they had all died in infancy. At first Martin thought of sending his little son

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to his sisters in the country, but then he felt sorry to part with the boy thinking, "It

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would be hard for my little capitone to have grown up in a strange family. I will keep him

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with me."

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Martin left his master and went into lodgings with his little son, but he had no luck with

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his children. No sooner had the boy reached an age where he could help his father and be

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a support as well as a joy to him than he fell ill. And after being laid up for a week with

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a burning fever, he died.

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Martin buried his son and gave way to despair, so great and overwhelming that he murmured against

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God.

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In his sorrow he prayed again and again that he too may die, reproaching God for having taken

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the son he loved, his only son, while he, old as he was, remained alive. After that, Martin

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left off going to church.

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One day, an old man from Martin's native village who had been a pilgrim for the last eight

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years called in on his way to Trotskoye monastery. Martin opened his heart to him and told him

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of his sorrow. "I no longer even wish to live, holy man," he said. "All I ask God is that I

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soon may die. I am now quite without hope in the world."

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The old man replied, "You have no right to say such things, Martin. We cannot judge God's

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ways. Not our reasoning, but God's will decides."

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"If God willed that your young son should die and that you should live, it must be best

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so."

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"As to your despair, that comes because you wish to live for your own happiness."

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What else should one live for?" asked Martin.

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"For God, Martin," said the old man. "He gives you life and you must live for him."

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"When you have learned to live for him, you will grieve no more and all will seem easy to

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you."

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Martin was silent a while and then asked, "But how is one to live for God?"

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The old man answered, "How one may live for God has been shown us by Christ. Can you read them

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by the gospels and read them?" "There you will see how God would have you live. You have it

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all there."

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These words sang deep into Martin's heart and that same day he went and bought himself

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a testament in large print and began to read.

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At first, he meant only to read on holidays, but having once begun, he found it made his heart

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so light that he read every day. Sometimes he was so absorbed in his reading that the oil

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in his lamp burnt out before he could tear himself away from the book. He continued to read

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every night. And the more he read, the more clearly he understood what God required of

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him and how he might live for God. And his heart grew lighter and lighter. Before when he

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went to bed, he used to lie with a heavy heart, moaning as he thought of his little capitan,

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but now he only repeated again and again. Glory to thee, glory to thee, O Lord thy will be done.

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From that time, Martin's whole life changed. Formerly, on holiday, he used to go and have

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tea at the public house and did not even refuse a glass or two of vodka. Sometimes, after

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having had a drop with a friend, he left the public house, not drunk, but rather merry,

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and would say foolish things, shouted a man or abuse him. Now, all that sort of thing

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passed away from him. His life became peaceful and joyful. He sat down to his work in the

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morning and when he had finished his day's work, he took the lamp down from the wall, stood

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it on the table, fetched his book from the shelf, opened it and sat down to read. The more

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he read, the better he understood and the clearer and happier he felt in his mind.

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It happened once that Martin sat up late, absorbed in his book. He was reading Luke's Gospel

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and in the sixth chapter he came upon the verses, to him that smited thee on one cheek

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off also the other and from him that takeeth away thy cloak, withhold not thy coat also,

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give to every man that askedeth thee and of him that takeeth away thy goods, ask them

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not again. As ye would that man should do to you, do ye also to them likewise. He also

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read the verses, where the Lord says, and why call ye me, Lord, Lord, or do not the things

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which I say, whatsoever comeeth to me and heareth my sayings and doth them, I shall

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shoe you to whom he is a light. He is like a man which built a house and dig deep and laid

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the foundation on a rock and when the flood arose the stream beat vehemently upon the house

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and he could not shake it for it was founded upon a rock. But when he, that heareth and

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doth not, is like a man that without a foundation built a house upon the earth, against which

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the stream did beat vehemently and immediately it fell and the ruin of that house was great.

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When Martin read those words, his soul was glad within him. He took off his spettacles and

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laid them on the book and leaning his elbows on the table pondered over what he had read.

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He tried his own life by the standard of those words asking himself. Is my house built on

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the rock or on the sand? If it stands on the rock it is well. It seems easy enough while

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one sits here alone and one thinks one has done all that God commands, but as soon as

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I cease to be on my own guard I sin again. Still I will persevere. It brings such joy. Help

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me O Lord. He thought all this and was about to go to bed but was loathes to leave his

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book. So he went on reading the seventh chapter about the Centurion, the Widow Son and the

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answer to John's disciples. And he came to the part where a rich Pharisee invited the

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Lord to his house and he read how the woman who was a sinner, anointed his feet and washed

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them with her tears and how he justified her. Coming to the 44th verse he read, and turning

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to the woman, he said unto Simon, ceased thou this woman. I entered into thy house, thou

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gave us me no water for my feet, but she have wetted my feet with her tears and wiped them

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with her hair. Thou gave us me no kiss, but she, since the time I came in, hath not ceased

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to kiss my feet. My head with oil thou did not anoint, but she hath anointed my feet with

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her eyes. He read these verses and thought, he gave no water for his feet, gave no kiss,

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his head with no oil did he anoint. And Martin took off his speck to cause once more, laid

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them on his book and pondered. He must have been like me, that Pharisee. He too thought only

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of himself, how to get a cup of tea, how to keep warm and comfortable, never a thought

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of his guest. He took care of himself, but for his guess he cared nothing at all, yet who

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was the guest? The Lord himself, if he came to me, should I behave like that? Then Martin,

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he'd his head upon both his arms and before he was aware of it, he fell asleep. He started

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from his sleep, who's there, he asked. He turned round and looked at the door, no one was there.

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He called again, then he heard quite distinctly, Martin, Martin, look out into the street tomorrow

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for I shall come. Martin roused himself, rose from his chair and rubbed his eyes, but did not

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know whether he'd heard those words in a dream or awake. He put out the lamp and lay down to sleep.

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Next morning, he rose before daylight, and after saying his prayers, he lit the fire and prepared

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his cabbage soup and buckwheat porridge. Then he lit the s'mavar, put on his apron and sat

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down by the window to his work. As he sat working, Martin thought over what had happened the night

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before, at times it seemed to him like a dream, and at times he thought that he had really heard the voice.

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Such things have happened before now, thought he. So he sat by the window, looking out in the street

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more than he worked, and whenever anyone passed in an unfamiliar boot, he would stay from looking up,

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so as to see not only their feet, but the face of the passerby as well.

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A house-porter passed in new felt boots, then a water carrier.

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Presently, an old soldier of Nicholas regime came near the window spayed in hand.

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Martin knew him by his boots, which was shabby old felt ones, galoshed with leather.

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The old man was called Steffanage, a neighbouring tradesman kept him in his house for charity,

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and his duty was to help the house-porter. He began to clear away the snow before Martin's window.

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Martin glanced at him, then went on with his work.

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"I must be growing crazy with age," said Martin, laughing at his fancy.

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Steffanage comes to clear away the snow, and I must need to imagine it's Christ coming to visit me.

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"Oh, dot-on, that I am."

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Yet, after he had made a dozen stitches, he felt drawn to look out the window again.

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He saw that Steffanage had leaned his spade against the wall,

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and was either resting himself or trying to get warm.

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The man was old and broken down, and had definitely not enough strength even to clear the snow away.

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"What if I called him in and gave him some tea," thought Martin.

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The Samervoir is just on the border.

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He struck his arm in its place and rose, and putting the Samervoir on the table

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made tea. Then, tapped the window with his fingers.

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Steffanage turned and came to the window.

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Martin beckoned him to come on in and went himself to open the door.

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"Come in," he said, and warm yourself a bit. "I'm sure you must be cold."

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"May God bless you," Steffanage chants, "my bones do wait to be sure."

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He came in, first shaking off the snow, unless he should leave marks on the floor.

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He began wiping his feet. But as he did so, he tottered and nearly fell.

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"Don't trouble to wipe your feet," said Martin. "I'll wipe up the floor.

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It's all in a day's work. Come, friend. Sit down and have some tea."

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Filling two tumblers, he passed one to his visitor and pouring his own out into the saucer, began to blow on it.

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Steffanage emptied his glass and turned it upside down, but the remains of his peace of sugar on the top.

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He began to express his thanks, but it was plain that he would be glad of Samervoir.

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"Have another glass," said Martin, refilling the visitors' tumbler and his own.

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But while he drank his tea, Martin kept looking out into the street.

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"Are you expecting anyone?" asked the visitor.

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"Am I expecting anyone?" "Well, now, I am ashamed to tell you. It isn't that I rarely expect

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anyone, but I heard something last night which I can't get out of my mind. Whether it was a vision

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or only a fancy, I can't tell you. You see, friend, last night I was reading the gospel about Christ the

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Lord, how he suffered, and how he walked on earth. You have heard "televit," I dare say.

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"I have heard "televit" answered Steffanage, but I am ignorant man and not able to read."

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"Well, you see, I was reading of how he walked on earth. I came to that part, you know,

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where he went to the Pharisee who did not receive him well."

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"Well, friend, as I read about it, I thought how that man did not receive Christ the Lord with

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proper honor. Supposed such a thing could happen to such a man as myself."

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"What would I do if I did not receive him?" "But that man gave him no reception at all."

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"Well, friend, as I was thinking of this, I began to doze, and as I dozed, I heard someone

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call me by my name. I got up and thought I heard someone whispering, "Expect me. I will come tomorrow."

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This happened twice over, and to tell you the truth, it sank so much into my mind, though I am ashamed

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of it myself. I keep on expecting him, the dear Lord." Steffanage shook his head in silence, finished

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his tumbler and laid it on his side, but Martin stood it up again and refilled it for him.

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"Here, drink another glass, bless you, and I was thinking too how he walked on earth and despised

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no one, but went mostly among common folk. He went with plain people and chose his disciples from

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among the likes of us, from workmen like us, sinners that we are. He who raises himself," he said,

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"shall be humbled and he who humbles himself shall be raised." "You call me Lord," he said, "and I will

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wash your feet." "He who would be first," he said, "let him be the servant of all, because,"

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he said, "blessed of the poor, the humble, the meek, and the merciful."

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Steffanage forgot his tea. He was an old man, easily moved to tears, and as he sat and listened,

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the tears ran down his cheek. "Come, drink some more," said Martin, but Steffanage crossed himself,

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thanked him, moved away his tumbler and rose. "Thank you," Martin averaged, he said, "you have given

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me food and comfort both the soul and body. You are very welcome. Come again another time."

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"I am glad to have a guest," said Martin. Steffanage went away, and Martin poured out the last of the

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tea and drank it up. Then he put away the tea things and sat down to his work, stitching the back

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seam of a boot, and as he stitched, he kept looking out of the window, waiting for Christ,

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and thinking about Him and His doings, and His head was full of Christ's sayings.

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Two soldiers went by, one in government boots, the other in boots of his own,

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then the master of a neighbouring house in shining galoshes, then a baker carrying a basket

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all these passed on. Then a woman came up in worsened stockings and peasant-made souls.

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She passed the window, but stopped by the wall. Martin glanced up at her through the window

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and saw that she was a stranger, poorly dressed, and with a baby in her arms.

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She stopped by the wall with her back to the window, trying to wrap the baby up,

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though she had hardly anything to wrap it in. The woman had only some of clothes on,

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and even they were shabby and warm. Through the window, Martin heard the baby crying,

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and the woman trying to see it, but unable to do so. Martin rose and going out to the door

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and up the steps he called to her, "My dear," I say, "My dear," the woman heard and turned round.

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Why do you stand out here with a baby in the cold? Come inside, you can wrap him up better in a warm

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place. Come this way. The woman was surprised to see an old man in an apron, with spectacles on his

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nose calling to her, but she followed him in. They went down the steps, entered the little room,

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and the old man led her to the bed. There, sit down, my dear, near the stove, warm yourself and feed the

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baby. "Having any milk, I haven't eaten nothing myself since early morning," said the woman,

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but she still took the baby to her breast. Martin shook his head. He brought out a basin and

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some bread, then he opened the oven door and poured some cabbage soup into the basin. He took out

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the porridge pot also, but the porridge was not yet ready, so he spread a cloth on the table and served

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only the soup and bread. Sit down and eat my dear, and I'll mine the baby. Why, bless him,

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I've had children of my own, I know how to manage them."

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The woman crossed herself, and sitting down at the table began to eat, while Martin put the baby

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on the bed and sat down by it. He chucked and chucked, but having no teeth, he could not do it too well

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and the baby continued to cry. Then Martin tried poking at him with his finger. He drove his finger

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straight into the baby's mouth and then quickly drew it back and did this again and again.

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He did not let the baby take his finger in its mouth because it was all black with cobbler's wax,

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but the baby first grew quiet watching the finger and then began to laugh.

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And Martin felt quite pleased. The woman sat eating and talking and told him who she was and where

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she had been. "I'm a soldier's wife," she said. "They sent my husband somewhere far away,

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eight months ago, and I have heard nothing of him since. I had a place as a cook till my baby was

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born, but then they would not keep me with a child. For three months now, I have been struggling,

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unable to find a place and I've had to sell all I had for food. I tried to go as a wet nurse,

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but no one would have me. They said I was too starved looking and thin.

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Now I have just been to see a tradesman wife, a woman from our villages in service with her,

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and she is promised to take me. I thought it was all settled at last, but she tells me not to come

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till next week. It is far to her place and I am fagged out and the baby is quite starved, the poor

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might. Fortunately, our landlady has pity on us and lets us lodge free. Else, I don't know what else I'd

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do." Martin said. "Haven't you any warmer clothing?" he asked. "How could I get warmer clothing?"

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said she. "When I pawned up for my last short for six months yesterday, then the woman came and took

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the child, and Martin got up. He went and looked among some things that were hanging on the wall

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and brought back an old cloak. Here he said, though it's worn out and it's an old thing,

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it will do to wrap him up in. The woman looked at the cloak, then at the old man,

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and taking it burst into tears. Martin turned away and groping under the bed brought out a small trunk.

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He fumbled about in it and again sat down opposite the woman, and the woman said,

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"The Lord bless you, friend. Surely Christ must have sent you to the window. Else, the child would have

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frozen. It was mild when I started, but now see how cold it has turned."

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Surely it must have been Christ who made you look out your window and take pity on me, the poor

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edge. Martin smiled and said, "It is quite true. It was he who made me do it. It was no mere chance

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that made me look out." And he told the woman of his dream and how he had heard the Lord's voice

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promising to visit that day. "Who knows? All things are possible," said the woman,

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and she got up and threw the cloak over her shoulders,

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brapping it around herself and around the baby. Then she bowed and thanked Martin once more.

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"Take this, but Christ's sake," said Martin, and gave her six pence to get her shawl out of the

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pawn. The woman crossed herself and Martin did the same. And then he saw her out.

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After the woman had gone, Martin ate some cabbage soup, cleared the things away and sat down to work

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again. He sat and worked, but did not forget the window, and every time a shadow fell on it,

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he looked at once more to see who was passing. People he knew and strangers passed by,

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but no one remarkable. After a while, Martin saw an apple woman stop in front of the window.

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She had a large basket, but there did not seem to be many apples left in it.

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She had evidently sold most of her stock. On her back, she had a sack full of chips,

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which she was taking home. No doubt, she had gathered them at some place where building was going on.

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The sack evidently hurt her, and she wanted to shift it from one shoulder to the other.

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So she put it down on the footpath, and placing her basket on a post, began to shake down the chips in

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the shack. While she was doing this, a boy in a tattered cap ran up, snatched an apple out of the

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basket and tried to slip away. But the old woman noticed it, and turning, caught the boy by his sleeve.

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He began to struggle, trying to free himself. But the old woman held on with both hands,

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knocked his cap off his head and ceased hold of his hair. The boy screamed, and the old woman

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scolded. Martin dropped his arm, not waiting to stick it in its place and rushed out of the door,

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stumbling up the steps and dropping his spectacles in his hurry. He ran out into the street.

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The old woman was pulling the boy's hair and scolding him and threatening to take him to the police.

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The lad was struggling and protesting, saying, "I did not take it. Why are you beating me for? Let me go."

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Martin separated them. He took the boy by the hand and said, "Let him go,

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granny. Forgive him for Christ's sake. I'll pay him out so that he won't forget it for a year.

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I'll take the rascal to the police." Martin began and treating the old woman.

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"Let him go, granny. He won't do it again. Let him go for Christ's sake."

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The old woman let go, and the boy wished her run away, but Martin stopped him.

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"Ask the granny's forgiveness," said he, "and don't do it another time. I saw you take the apple."

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The boy began to cry and to beg pardon. That's right. And now here's an apple for you.

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And Martin took an apple from the basket and gave it to the boy saying, "I will pay you,

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granny. You will spoil them that way." The young rascal said the old woman. He ought to be whipped so

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that he should remember it for a week. "Oh, granny, granny," said Martin. "That's our way, but it's not

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God's way. If he should be whipped for stealing an apple, what should be done to us for our sins?"

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The woman fell silent. And Martin told her of the parable of the Lord who forgave his

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servant, a large debt, and how the servant went out and seized his debtor by the throat.

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The old woman listened to it all, and the boy too stood by and listened.

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"God bids us forgive," said Martin, "or else we shall not be forgiven. Forgive everyone,

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and I thought this youngster most of all." The old woman wagged her head inside.

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"It's true enough," she said, "but they are getting terribly spoiled."

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Then we old ones must show them better ways," Martin replied.

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"That's just what I say," said the old woman. "I've had seven of them myself, and only one

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daughter is left, and the old woman began to tell how where she was living with her daughter,

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and how many grandchildren she had." "There now," she said. "I have but little strength left,

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yet I work hard for the sake of my grandchildren, and nice children they are too."

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"No one comes out to meet me but the children. Little Annie now won't leave me for anyone."

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"It's grandmother, dear grandmother, darling grandmother," and the old woman completely softened

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at the thought. Of course, it was only his childnessness, God help him, she said, referring to the boy.

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As the old woman was about to hoist her sack on her back, the lad sprang forward to her saying,

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"Let me carry it for you, Granny. I'm going that way."

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The old woman nodded her head and put the sack on the boys back,

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and they went down the street together. The old woman quite forgetting to ask Martin to

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pay for the apple. Martin stood and watched them as they went along talking to each other.

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When they were out to sight, Martin went back to the house, having found his spectacles unbroken

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on the step. He picked up his shore and sat down again to work. He worked a little,

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but could not soon see past the bristle through the holes in the leather, and presently he noticed

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a lamp light passing on his way to light the street lamps. Seems it's time to light up, 40.

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So he trimmed his lamp, hung it up and sat down again to work.

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He finished off one boot and turning it about examined it. It was all right. Then he gathered his

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tools together, swept up the cuttings, put away the bristles and the thread and the holes,

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and taking down the lamp placed it on the table.

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Then he took the gospels from the shelf. He meant to open them at the place he had marked the day before

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with a bit of Morocco, but the book opened and another place. As Martin opened it, his yesterday's

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dreams came back to his mind. And no sooner had he thought of it than he seemed to hear footsteps,

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as though someone was moving behind him. Martin turned around, and it seemed to him as if people

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were standing in the dark corner, but he could not make out who they were and a voice whispered in his

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ear. Martin, Martin, don't you know me? Who is it, Martin?

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His eyes said the voice, and out of the dark corner, stepped step on it, who smiled and vanishing

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like a cloud was seen no more. His eyes said the voice again, and out of the darkness,

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stepped the woman with the baby in her arms and the woman smiled and the baby laughed, and they too

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vanished. It his eyes said the voice once more, and the old woman and the boy with the apple stepped

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out and both smiled, and then they too vanished. And Martin's soul grew glad. He crossed himself,

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put on his spectacles and began reading the gospel just where it had opened,

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and at the top of the page he read, "I was a hungered, and you gave me me."

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I was thirsty, and you gave me drunk. I was a stranger, and you took me in.

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And at the bottom of the page he read, "In as much as you did it unto one of these my brethren,

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even these least he did it unto me." And Martin understood that his dream had come true,

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and that the Savior had rarely come to him that day, and he had welcomed him in.

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