“Ah, Aley, no doubt you are thinking how they are keeping this holiday at home in Daghestan? It must be nice there.”
“Yes,” he answered enthusiastically, and his eyes shone. “But how do you know I am thinking about it?”
“How can I help knowing! It’s better there than here, isn’t it?”
“Oh, why do you say that! …”
“What flowers there must be there now, what a paradise!”
“O‑oh, better not talk of it.”
He was deeply stirred.
“Listen, Aley, had you a sister?”
“Yes, but why?”
“She must be a beauty if she is like you.”
“Like me! She is such a beauty, there is no one in Daghestan handsomer. Ah, she is a beauty, my sister! You’ve never seen anyone like her. My mother was beautiful too.”
“Was your mother fond of you?”
“Ah! What are you saying! She must have died of grieving over me by now. I was her favourite son. She loved me more than my sister, more than anyone. … She came to me in my dreams last night and cried over me.”
He sank into silence and said nothing more that evening. But from that time forward he sought every opportunity to talk to me, though the respect which he for some reason felt for me always prevented him from speaking first. But he was greatly delighted whenever I addressed him. I questioned him about the Caucasus, about his former life. His brothers did not hinder his talking to me, in fact they seemed to like it. Seeing that I was getting fonder and fonder of Aley, they, too, became much more cordial to me.
Aley helped me at work, did his utmost to be of service to me in the prison, and I could see that he was delighted when he could do anything to please me or make my life easier, and in his efforts to please me there was not a trace of anything cringing or self-seeking, nothing but a warm, friendly feeling for me which he no longer concealed. He had, moreover, a good deal of mechanical ability: he learnt to make underclothes fairly well, and to make boots and later on, as far as he could, to do carpentering. His brothers praised him and were proud of him.
“Listen, Aley,” I said to him one day, “why don’t you learn to read and write Russian? It would be a great advantage to you in Siberia later on, you know.”
“I should like to very much. But of whom can I learn?”
“Lots of men here can read and write! But if you like, I’ll teach you.”
“Oh, please do!” And he positively sat up on the bed and clasped his hands, looking at me imploringly.
We set to work the next evening. I had the Russian translation of the New Testament, a book not prohibited in prison. With this book alone and no alphabet, Aley learnt in a few weeks to read excellently. In three months he had completely mastered the language of the book. He learnt eagerly, with enthusiasm.
One day we read together the whole of the Sermon on the Mount. I noticed that he seemed to read parts of it aloud with special feeling.
I asked him if he liked what he had read.
He glanced at me quickly and the colour came into his face.
“Oh, yes,” he answered. “Yes. Jesus is a holy prophet. Jesus speaks God’s words. How good it is!”
“What do you like best of all?”
“Where He says ‘forgive, love, don’t hurt others, love even your enemies.’ Ah, how well He speaks!”
He turned to his brothers who were listening to our conversation, and began warmly saying something to them. They talked earnestly for a long time together, and nodded their heads approvingly. Then with a dignified and gracious, that is, a typically Mussulman smile (which I love so much, and love especially for its dignity) they turned to me and repeated that Jesus was a prophet of God, and that He worked great marvels; that He had made a bird out of clay, had breathed on it and it had flown away … and that that was written in their books. They were convinced that in saying this they were giving me great pleasure by praising Jesus, and Aley was perfectly happy that his brothers had deigned and desired to give me this pleasure.
The writing lessons, too, were very successful. Aley procured paper (he would not let me buy it with my money), pens and ink, and in about two months he had learnt to write an excellent hand. This actually impressed his brothers. Their pride and satisfaction knew no bounds. They did not know how to show their gratitude to me. If they happened to be working near me, they were continually helping me, and looked on it as a happiness to be able to. I need hardly say the same of Aley. He loved me perhaps as much as he loved his brothers. I shall never forget how he left the prison. He drew me away behind the prison, flung himself on my neck and cried. He had never before kissed me or shed tears. “You’ve done so much for me, so much for me,” he said, “that my father and my mother could not have done more you have made a man of me. God will repay you and I shall never forget you. …”
Where is he now, my good, dear, dear Aley?
Besides the Circassians there was a group of Poles in our room, and they made a family apart, and had hardly anything do with the other convicts. I have mentioned already that their exclusiveness and their hatred of the Russian prisoners made them hated by everyone. There were six of them; they were men broken and made morbid by suffering. Some of them were educated men; I will speak of them more fully afterwards. During my later years in prison I used sometimes to get books
