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Updated: May 1, 2025
Only to be on shore." Chelkash waved his hand, spat, and fell to rowing, flinging the oars far back with his long arms. The sea had waked up. It frolicked in little waves, bringing them forth, decking them with a fringe of foam, flinging them on one another, and breaking them up into tiny eddies. The foam, melting, hissed and sighed, and everything was filled with the musical plash and cadence.
"Give the money here!" growled Chelkash, clutching Gavrilo by the throat. Gavrilo struggled away once, twice. Chelkash's other arm twisted like a snake about him there was the sound of a shirt tearing and Gavrilo lay on the sand, with his eyes staring wildly, his fingers clutching at the air and his legs waving.
He was boiling inwardly, and trembling at the affront dealt him by this young calf, whom he had despised while he talked to him, but now hated all at once because he had such clear blue eyes, such health, a sunburned face, and broad, strong hands; because he had somewhere a village, a home in it, because a well-to-do peasant wanted him for a son-in-law, because of all his life, past and future, and most of all, because he this babe compared with Chelkash dared to love freedom, which he could not appreciate, nor need.
You'll row the boat." "Well. Yes. All right. I don't mind a job. Only there's this. I don't want to get into a mess with you. You're so awfully deep. You're rather shady." Chelkash felt a scalding sensation in his breast, and with cold anger he said in a low voice: "And you'd better hold your tongue, whatever you think, or I'll give you a tap on your nut that will make things light enough."
As if it couldn't have come before! Hi, you spongeos. Hi! Hi!" "Is that Selkash?" they heard a soft purring voice say overhead. "Come, let down the ladder." "Kalimera, Selkash." "Let down the ladder, you smutty devil!" yelled Chelkash. "Ah, what a rage he's come in to-day. Ahoy!" "Get up, Gavrilo!" Chelkash said to his companion.
Then Gavrilo took off his soaked cap, made the sign of the cross, looked at the notes crushed up in his hand, heaved a deep sigh of relief, thrust them into his bosom, and with long, firm strides went along the shore, in the opposite direction from that Chelkash had taken.
Chelkash got up from the stern, still holding the oars in his hands, and peering with his cold eyes into the pale and twitching face of Gavrilo. Crouching forward Chelkash was like a cat on the point of springing. There was the sound of angry gnashing of teeth. "Who's calling?" rang out a surly shout from the sea. "Now, you devil, row! quietly with the oars! I'll kill you, you cur. Come, row!
One, two! There! you only make a sound! I'll cut your throat!" hissed Chelkash. "Mother of God Holy Virgin " muttered Gavrilo, shaking and numb with terror and exertion. The boat turned smoothly and went back toward the harbor, where the lights gathered more closely into a group of many colors and the straight stems of masts could be seen. "Hi! Who's shouting?" floated across again.
Gavrilo, come along! Are you hungry?" "I'm sleepy," answered Gavrilo, and five minutes later he was snoring in the dirty hold of the vessel, while Chelkash, sitting beside him, tried on somebody's boots. Dreamily spitting on one side, he whistled angrily and mournfully between his teeth.
Gavrilo inquired, smiling. Chelkash looked searchingly at him. The youth had completely regained his composure; he was calm, cheerful and even seemed somehow triumphant. He was very young, all his life lay before him. And he knew nothing. That was bad. Maybe the earth would keep hold of him.
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