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Updated: June 26, 2025
The rain and the breaking waves soon washed away the red spot where Tchelkache had been struck to the ground; they soon effaced his footprints and those of the lad on the sand, and the lonely beach was left without the slightest trace of the little drama that had been played between these two men. Malva The sea laughed.
Oh! how true that is! See now, take your case, for instance: what are you now, without land? Ah! friend, the earth is like a mother: one doesn't forget it long." Tchelkache came to himself. He felt within him that burning sensation that always seized upon him when his self-love as a dashing devil-may-care fellow was wounded, especially when the offender was of no account in his eyes.
The boy's mouth had gradually opened wider and wider, as he listened to Tchelkache, and his round face expressed surprised admiration; then, comprehending that he was being ridiculed by this ragged man, be brought his jaws together suddenly and burst, out laughing. Tchelkache kept a serious face, concealing a smile under his moustache.
"Go, go away!" growled the other. "Absolve my sin! Friend . . . forgive me!" "Go, go to the devil!" suddenly cried out Tchelkache, sitting up on the sand. His face was pale, threatening; his clouded eyes closed as though he were very sleepy . . . "What do you want, now? You've finished your business . . . go! Off with you!"
It rings like a clock . . . I'm going to wet it with a little water." "What good will that do? Wet it rather inside; you'll come to quicker." Tchelkache handed the bottle to Gavrilo. "Do you think so? With the blessing of God! . . ." A soft gurgle was heard. "Eh! you're not sorry to have the chance? Enough!" cried Tchelkache, stopping him.
Tchelkache was enveloped in a peaceful whiff of natal air that was wafting toward him the sweet words of his mother, the sage counsel of his father, the stern peasant, and many forgotten sounds and savory odors of the earth, frozen as in the springtime, or freshly ploughed, or lastly, covered with young wheat, silky, and green as an emerald. . . Then he felt himself a pitiable, solitary being, gone astray, without attachments and an outcast from the life where the blood in his veins had been formed.
You, listen: If anyone speaks to us, keep still, if you value your skin. Do you understand?" "Alas!" hopelessly sighed Gavrilo, in response to this stern command, and he added: "It was my lot to be lost!" "Stop howling!" whispered Tchelkache. These words completely robbed Gavrilo of all understanding and he remained crushed under the chill presentiment of some misfortune.
"Five hundred?" "Not less, probably. . ." "It's a lot! If I had it, poor beggar that I am, I'd soon let it be known." "At the village? . . ." "Sure! without delay. . ." Gavrilo let himself be carried away by his imagination. Tchelkache appeared crushed. His moustache hung down straight; his right side was all wet from the waves, his eyes were sunken in his head and without life.
Lost in these reflections, which brought to him the consciousness of his liberty and his audacity, he remained beside Gavrilo on the lonely shore. "You have made me happy!" cried Gavrilo, seizing Tchelkache's hand and laying it against his cheek. Tchelkache was silent and showed his teeth like a wolf. Gavrilo continued to pour out his heart. "What an idea that was of mine!
He mechanically dipped his oars and sending them back and forth through the water in an even and steady stroke did not lift his eyes again. The slumbering murmur of the waves was gloomy and fearsome. Here is the harbor. . . From behind its stone wall, comes the sound of human voices, the plashing of water, singing and shrill whistling." "Stop!" whispered Tchelkache. "Drop the oars!
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