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Updated: May 26, 2025
His eyes smarted from having gazed too long into the darkness out of which he expected to see someone rise up and cry out: "Stop thieves!" When Tchelkache murmured: "the custom-house!"
In the spring it is one thing, in the summer another, in the autumn and winter still another. From wherever you may be you always return to your home. There is warmth, rest! . . . You are a king, are you not?" Tchelkache had waxed enthusiastic over this long enumeration of the privileges and rights of the peasant, forgetting only to speak of his duties.
Tchelkache, while clambering over the bales to return to the helm, experienced a sharp desire to give Gavrilo a good blow that would send him overboard, and, at the same time, he could not muster strength to look him in the face. The short conversation was ended; but now Gavrilo's silence even savored to Tchelkache of the village.
You're not the kind of man for whom any stir would be made! You're of no use on the earth! Who would take your part? That's the way it would be! Eh?" "Give back that money!" roared Tchelkache, seizing Gavrilo by the throat.
Then Gavrilo took off his wet cap, made the sign of the cross, looked at the money pressed tightly in his hand and drew a long, deep sigh; he concealed his booty in his blouse and began to walk, taking long strides, in the opposite direction to that in which Tchelkache had gone. The sea thundered, threw great heavy waves upon the sand and broke them into foam and spray.
One is his own master, goes where he likes, and does what he pleases. If he succeeds in supporting himself and has no weight dragging at his neck, what more can he ask? He can have as good a time as he likes provided he doesn't forget God." Tchelkache spat contemptuously and interrupted the boy's questions by turning his back to him.
I know how to work. . . Only suppose anything happens to me with you; you're not reassuring, with your mysterious airs. . ." Tchelkache felt a burning sensation in his breast and said with concentrated rage: "Don't talk about what yon can't understand, or else, I'll hit yon on the head so hard that your ideas will soon clear up."
The two men dreamed, rocked upon the water and gazing vaguely around them. Tchelkache had spoken to Gavrilo of his village with the purpose of quieting him and helping him to recover from his emotion.
Tchelkache regarded him ironically. Gavrilo seized the oars; he rowed in nervous haste, his eyes lowered, as though he were afraid. His shoulders shook. "My God, how greedy you are! That's bad. Besides, for a peasant. . ." "Just think of what one can do with money!" exclaimed Gavrilo, passionately.
"Isn't the sea beautiful?" asked Tchelkache. "Not bad! Only one is afraid on it," replied Gavrilo, rowing evenly and strongly. The sea could scarcely be heard; it dripped from the long oars and still shone with its warm, blue phosphorescent lights. "Afraid? Simpleton!" growled Tchelkache. He, the cynical robber, loved the sea.
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