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Updated: May 15, 2025
Mechanically Gavrilo changed places. When Chelkash, as he changed places with him, glanced into his face, and noticed that he was staggering on his shaking legs, he felt still sorrier for the lad. He clapped him on the shoulder. "Come, come, don't be scared! You've earned a good sum for it. I'll pay you richly, mate. Would you like twenty-five roubles, eh?" "I don't want anything.
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.
"Enough said, wait a little. Let us go to the tavern." They walked side by side along the street; Tchelkache twisting his moustache with the important air of an employer, the lad submissively, but at the same time filled with distrust and fear. "What's your name?" asked Tchelkache. "Gavrilo," replied the lad.
Lean your hands against the wall! Softly, devil!" Gavrilo caught hold of the slippery stone and guided the boat along the wall. He advanced noiselessly, just grazing the slimy moss of the stone. "Stop, give me the oars! Give them here! And your passport, where have you put it? In your bag! Give me the bag! Quicker! . . . That, my friend, is so that you'll not run away. . . Now I hold you.
It'll be rough to-night!" said Tchelkache, nodding his head in the direction of the sea. "A storm?" asked Gavrilo. He was rowing hard. He was drenched from head to foot by the drops blown by the wind. "Ehe!" affirmed Tchelkache. Gavrilo looked at him curiously. "How much did they give you?" he asked at last, seeing that Tchelkache was not disposed to talk. "See!" said Tchelkache.
"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.
So . . . is it such a pleasant prospect?" "What pleasure can there be in that?" timidly and shudderingly replied Gavrilo. "What can one do?" Here and there, the clouds were rent by the wind and, through the spaces, the cold sky studded with a few stars looked down. Reflected by the joyous sea, these stars leaped upon the waves, now disappearing, now shining brightly.
Gavrilo felt crushed by this gloomy stillness and beauty, and felt that he longed to see his master come back quickly. And how was it that he lingered there so long? The time passed slowly, more slowly than those clouds crawled over the sky. And the stillness grew more malignant as time went on. From the wall of the quay came the sound of splashing, rustling, and something like whispering.
When they had come into the dirty and smoky eating-house, and Chelkash going up to the counter, in the familiar tone of an habitual customer, ordered a bottle of vodka, cabbage soup, a cut from the joint, and tea, and reckoning up his order, flung the waiter a brief "put it all down!" to which the waiter nodded in silence, Gavrilo was at once filled with respect for this ragamuffin, his employer, who enjoyed here such an established and confident position.
Are you distressed at leaving me? Eh! youngster, speak, or else I'm going!" "You're going?" cried Gavrilo, in a sonorous voice. The deserted and sandy beach trembled at this cry, and the waves of sand brought by the waves of the sea seemed to shudder. Tchelkache also shuddered.
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