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Updated: June 26, 2025
"A sweep-net. . ." But Tchelkache was ashamed to lie to this child to conceal his real purpose; he also regretted the thoughts and feelings that the lad had put to flight by his question. He became angry. He felt the sharp burning sensation that he knew so well, in his breast; his throat contracted. He said harshly to Gavrilo: "You're there; well, remain there!
Then, he turned to Gavrilo, who continued to murmur a prayer. "Yes, brother, you're in luck. If those devils had pursued us, it would have been the end of you. Do you hear? I'd have soon sent you to the fishes." Now that Tchelkache again spoke quietly and even good-naturedly, Gavrilo, still trembling with fear, begged him: "Listen, let me go! In the name of Christ, let me go.
"It's nothing!" drily replied Tchelkache, as he supported his head with his left hand and gently pulled his moustache with his right. Gavrilo stood gazing after him until he had disappeared in the rain that still fell in fine, close drops, enveloping the steppe in a mist as impenetrable and gray as steel.
He took Gavrilo by the arm, led and gently pushed him from the public house and deposited him in the shade of a pile of cut wood; he sat down beside him and lighted his pipe. Gavrilo stirred a little, muttered something and went to sleep. "Well, is it ready?" asked Tchelkache in a low voice to Gavrilo who was looking after the oars.
"Little brother!" mimicked Tchelkache, rising on his tottering limbs. "Why should I pardon you? There's no occasion for it. To-day it's you, to-morrow it'll be me . . ." "Ah! brother, brother!" sighed Gavrilo, sorrowfully, shaking his head. Tchelkache was standing before him, smiling strangely; the cloth wrapped around his head, gradually reddening, resembled a Turkish head-dress.
Tchelkache had recovered his spirits; he whistled softly between his teeth, and, thrusting his hands in his trousers' pockets, walked slowly, like a man who has nothing to do, throwing to the right and left scathing remarks and jests. He received replies in kind.
He was very young, all his life was before him. That was bad! But perhaps the soil would retain him. At this thought, Tchelkache grew sad again, and growled out in reply: "I'm tired! . . . and the boat rocks!" "Of course it rocks! So, now, there's no danger of being caught with this?" Gavrilo kicked the bales. "No, be quiet. I'm going to deliver them at once and receive the money. Yes!"
Tchelkache swore inwardly at the thought that for want of Michka he might perhaps fail in his enterprise. What was the night going to be? He questioned the sky and inspected the street. Six steps away, was a boy squatting in the road near the sidewalk, his back against a post; he was dressed in blue blouse and trousers, tan shoes, and a russet cap.
"Why of course? . . . Perhaps you'd like to go to Turkey." "To Turkey?" drawled the boy. "Do Christians go there? What do you mean by that?" "What an imbecile you are!" sighed Tchelkache, and he again turned his back on his interlocutor, thinking this time that he would not vouchsafe him another word. This robust peasant awakened something obscure within him.
"More to the left!" said Tchelkache. "We shall soon be there, Yes! . . . it is ended. We've done a good stroke of work. In a single night, you understand five hundred rubles gained! Isn't that doing well, say?" "Five hundred rubles!" repeated Gavrilo, distrustfully, but he was immediately seized with fright and quickly asked, kicking the bales at the bottom of the boat: "What are those things?"
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