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Updated: June 26, 2025
"I'm going to sleep, now. Come Gavrilo. Are you hungry?" "I'm sleepy," replied Gavrilo, In five minutes, he was snoring on the dirty deck; Tchelkache sitting beside him, was trying on an old boot that he found lying there. He softly whistled, animated both by sorrow and anger.
On the right and left of the boat, the motionless, melancholy, black hulls of ships emerged from the equally black water. A light moved to and fro on one; someone was walking with a lantern. The sea, caressing their sides, seemed to dully implore them while they responded by a cold, rumbling echo, as though they were disputing and refusing to yield. "The custom-house," whispered Tchelkache.
Go on, friend, take my advice or else I shall have to beat you." "Ah! And you were saying: I don't know Michka! You see that you do know him. What's put you out, Semenitch?" "Enough, Grichka, say no more and off with you " The officer was getting angry and, darting apprehensive glances on either side, tried to free his hand from the firm grasp of Tchelkache.
Without oars you could have made off just the same, but, without a passport you'll not dare. Wait! And remember that if you so much as breathe a word I'll catch you, even though at the bottom of the sea." Suddenly, catching hold of something, Tchelkache rose in the air; he disappeared over the wall. Gavrilo shuddered. . . It had been so quickly done!
"Who goes there?" This imperious demand resounded over the sea. "The devil! Row, row! No noise! I'll kill you, dog. Row, can't you! One, two! Dare to cry out! I'll tear you from limb to limb! . . ." hissed Tchelkache. "Oh, Holy Virgin," murmured Gavrilo, trembling and exhausted.
In his efforts to speak, he protruded his lips comically and roared. Tchelkache looked at him fixedly as though he was recalling something, then without turning aside his gaze twisted his moustache and smiled, but this time, moodily and viciously. The ale-house was filled with a drunken uproar. The red-haired sailor was asleep with his elbows on the table.
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.
Youngster, get up!" said he touching Gavrilo with his foot. The last named started up, and not recognizing him just at first, gazed at him vacantly. Tchelkache burst out laughing. "How you're gotten up! . . ." finally exclaimed Gavrilo, smiling broadly. "You are a gentleman!" "We do that quickly here! What a coward you are! Dear, dear!
I'll pay you well. Would you like to have twenty-five rubles, eh?" "I I don't need anything. All I ask is to reach land!" Tchelkache removed his hand, spat and began to row; his long arms sent the oars far back of him. The sea had awakened. It sported with its tiny waves, brought them forth, adorned them with a fringe of foam, tumbled them over each other and broke them into spray.
Evidently he had not expected that his conversation with this moustached person would end so quickly and in a manner so humiliating for him. Tchelkache paid no more attention to him. Sitting on the block, he whistled absent-mindedly and beat time with his bare and dirty heel. The boy longed to be revenged. "Hey! Fisherman!
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