charming man who was his father and who was crying remained in Yura's
memory as something dreadful and extremely serious. And, if there
were things of which he did not feel like speaking, it was absolutely
necessary to say nothing of this, as though it were something sacred
and terrible, and in that silence he must love father all the more.
But he must love so that father should not notice it, and he must
give the impression that it is very jolly to live on earth.

And Yura succeeded in accomplishing all this. Father did not notice
that he loved him in a special manner; and it was really jolly to
live on earth, so there was no need for him to make believe. The
threads of his soul stretched themselves to all--to the sun, to the
knife and the cane he was peeling; to the beautiful and enigmatic
distance which he saw from the top of the iron roof; and it was hard
for him to separate himself from all that was not himself. When the
grass had a strong and fragrant odour it seemed to him that it was he
who had such a fragrant odour, and when he lay down in his bed,
however strange it may seem, together with him in his little bed lay
down the enormous yard, the street, the slant threads of the rain and
the muddy pools and the whole, enormous, live, fascinating,
mysterious world. Thus all fell asleep with him and thus all
awakened with him, and together with him they all opened their eyes.
And there was one striking fact, worthy of the profoundest reflection
--if he placed a stick somewhere in the garden in the evening it was
there also in the morning; and the knuckle-bones which he hid in a
box in the barn remained there, although it was dark and he went to
his room for the night. Because of this he felt a natural need for
hiding under his pillow all that was most valuable to him. Since
things stood or lay there alone, they might also disappear of their
accord, he reasoned. And in general it was so wonderful and pleasant