Two weeks after the death of his father, on a Sunday, Pavel came home very drunk.

Staggering he crawled to a corner in the front of the room, and striking his fist on the table as his father used to do, shouted to his mother: "Supper!" The mother walked up to him, sat down at his side, and with her arm around her son, drew his head upon her breast.

With his hand on her shoulder he pushed her away and shouted: "Mother, quick!" "You foolish boy!" said the mother in a sad and affectionate voice, trying to overcome his resistance.
"I am going to smoke, too.

Give me father's pipe," mumbled Pavel indistinctly, wagging his tongue heavily.
It was the first time he had been drunk.

The alcohol weakened his body, but it did not quench his consciousness, and the question knocked at his brain: "Drunk?
Drunk ?" The fondling of his mother troubled him, and he was touched by the sadness in her eyes.