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Updated: May 15, 2025
Tchelkache frightened, astonished and furious threw himself backward, still seated on the sand, and leaning on his two hands silently gazed at him, his eyes starting from their orbits; the lad leaned his head on his knees and gasped forth his supplications. Tchelkache finally pushed him away, jumped to his feet, and thrusting his hand into his pocket threw the multi-colored bills at Gavrilo.
"Why " But Gavrilo's face flushed, then turned gray, and he moved irresolutely, as though he were half longing to throw himself on Chelkash, or half torn by some desire, the attainment of which was hard for him. Chelkash felt ill at ease at the sight of such excitement in this lad. He wondered what form it would take. Gavrilo began laughing strangely, a laugh that was like a sob.
"It doesn't matter!" sighed Gavrilo, coughing. "You needn't keep on rowing so hard. It's ended, now. There's only one more bad place to pass. . . Rest yourself." Gavrilo stopped docilely, wiped the perspiration from his face with the sleeve of his blouse and again dipped the oars in the water. "That's right, row more gently. So that the water tells no tales. There's a channel to cross.
Everything resounded sadly like the lullaby of a mother who has lost all hope for the happiness of her son. Tchelkache, with parted lips, raised his head and gazed around him . . . and murmuring a few words, lay down again. He was the first to awaken, starting up uneasily; then suddenly quieting down he looked at Gavrilo, who was still sleeping.
Chelkash commanded briefly, for some reason holding back a whole torrent of furious abuse, which surged up into his throat. They changed places again, and Chelkash, as he crept across the boat to the stern, felt an intense desire to give Gavrilo a kick that would send him flying into the water, and at the same time could not pluck up courage to look him in the face.
Wherever you go, you've home to come back to! It's snug! There's peace! You're a king! Aren't you really?" Chelkash concluded enthusiastically his long reckoning of the peasant's advantages and privileges, forgetting, somehow, his duties. Gavrilo looked at him with curiosity, and he, too, warmed to the subject.
And he tried to kick Gavrilo away, as he knelt, overwhelmed, beside him, but he could not, and would have rolled over again if Gavrilo had not held him up, putting his arms round his shoulders. Chelkash's face was now on a level with Gavrilo's. Both were pale, piteous, and terrible-looking. "Tfoo!" Chelkash spat into the wide, open eyes of his companion.
But he had hardly taken two steps when Gavrilo, crouched like a cat on one knee, and with a wide sweep of his arm, flung a round stone at him, viciously, shouting: "O one!" Chelkash uttered a cry, clapped his hands to the nape of his neck, staggered forward, turned round to Gavrilo, and fell on his face on the sand. Gavrilo's heart failed him as he watched him.
Don't meddle with what doesn't concern you. You've been brought to row, now row. And if you let your tongue wag, no good will come of it. Do you understand?" For one minute, the boat wavered and stopped. The oars stood still in the foaming water around them, and Gavrilo moved uneasily on his seat. "Row!" A fierce oath broke the stillness. Gavrilo bent to the oars.
But he had hardly taken two steps when Gavrilo, crouching like a cat, threw a large, round stone at him, crying furiously: "O one!" Tchelkache groaned, raised his hands to the back of his neck and stumbled forward, then turned toward Gavrilo and fell face downward on the sand. He moved a leg, tried to raise his head and stiffened, vibrating like a stretched cord.
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