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Updated: May 14, 2025
"Strike, I say!" shouted the police commissioner, pushing the peasant on the back of his neck. The peasant stepped aside, and inclining his head, said sullenly: "I won't do it again." "What?" The face of the police commissioner quivered. He stamped his feet, and, cursing, suddenly flung himself upon Rybin.
Proud of her resourcefulness she looked askance at Sofya's serious, stern face. "How are you?" said Rybin, smiling grimly. He shook her hand, bowed to Sofya, and continued: "Don't lie. This isn't the city. No need of lies. These are all our own people, good people." Yefim, sitting at the table, looked sharply at the pilgrims, and whispered something to his comrades.
Staring him straight in the face, Rybin stammered out heavily: "Now look, people, how the beasts choke you with your own hands! Look! Look! Think! Why does he want to beat me why? I ask." The peasant raised his hand and lazily struck Mikhail's face. "Ah, Nikita! don't forget God!" subdued shouts came from the crowd.
He clapped his hands, and rubbing them vigorously against each other continued: "But not even the flight of an eagle's wings will enable anyone to reach that holiday, so we'll make a little one for the first of May. It will be jolly." His words and his vivacity dispelled the alarm excited in the mother's heart by Rybin.
Several men walked away from the crowd, formed different circles, and with earnest faces and shaking their heads carried on conversations. Some smiled. More and more people came running up excited, bearing marks of having dressed quickly. They seethed like black foam about Rybin, and he rocked to and fro in their midst.
Savely shook his head in declination, but Yakob took him under the arm, lifted him, and made him walk to the table. "Listen," said Sofya softly to Rybin. She was troubled and reproached him. "Why did you invite him here? He may die any minute." "He may," retorted Rybin. "Let him die among people. That's easier than to die alone. In the meantime let him speak. He lost his life for trifles.
The sergeant, jumping and swinging in front of Rybin, struck him in his face, breast, and stomach. "Don't beat him!" some one shouted dully. "Why do you beat him?" another voice upheld the first. "Lazy, good-for-nothing beast!" "Come!" said the blue-eyed peasant, motioning with his head; and without hastening, the two walked toward the town hall, accompanied by a kind look from the mother.
When the mother had concluded her short account, all were silent for a moment, looking at one another. Ignaty, sitting at the table, drew a pattern with his nails on the boards. Yefim stood behind Rybin, resting his elbows on his shoulders. Yakob leaned against the trunk of a tree, his hands folded over his chest, his head inclined. Sofya observed the peasants from the corner of her eye.
"Wait a little while, you devils!" the people shouted. Rybin wiped the blood from his face and beard and looked about in silence. His gaze glided by the face of the mother. She started, stretched herself out to him, and instinctively waved her hand. He turned away; but in a few minutes his eyes again rested on her face.
She felt a pity for the black-bearded, sedate peasant. He was so broad and strong and yet there was a certain helplessness about him, as about all the people. Presently Andrey came in gay and vivacious. When the mother told him about Rybin, he exclaimed: "Going, is he? Well, let him go through the villages. Let him ring forth the word of truth. Let him arouse the people.
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