6 files changed, 8170 insertions, 0 deletions

diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..6833f05
--- /dev/null
+++ b/.gitattributes
@@ -0,0 +1,3 @@
+* text=auto
+*.txt text
+*.md text
diff --git a/14480-0.txt b/14480-0.txt
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..f81706c
--- /dev/null
+++ b/14480-0.txt
@@ -0,0 +1,3881 @@
+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 14480 ***
+
+TWENTY-SIX AND ONE and OTHER STORIES
+
+by
+
+MAXIME GORKY
+
+From the Vagabond Series
+
+Translated from the Russian
+
+Preface by Ivan Strannik
+
+New York
+J. F. Taylor & Company
+
+1902
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+PREFACE
+
+MAXIME GORKY
+
+Russian literature, which for half a century has abounded in happy
+surprises, has again made manifest its wonderful power of innovation.
+A tramp, Maxime Gorky, lacking in all systematic training, has suddenly
+forced his way into its sacred domain, and brought thither the fresh
+spontaneity of his thoughts and character.  Nothing as individual or as
+new has been produced since the first novels of Tolstoy.  His work owes
+nothing to its predecessors; it stands apart and alone.  It, therefore,
+obtains more than an artistic success, it causes a real revolution.
+
+Gorky was born of humble people, at Nizhni-Novgorod, in 1868 or
+1869,--he does not know which--and was early left an orphan.  He was
+apprenticed to a shoemaker, but ran away, a sedentary life not being to
+his taste.  He left an engraver's in the same manner, and then went to
+work with a painter of _ikoni_, or holy pictures.  He is next found to
+be a cook's boy, then an assistant to a gardener.  He tried life in
+these diverse ways, and not one of them pleased him.   Until his
+fifteenth year, he had only had the time to learn to read a little; his
+grandfather taught him to read a prayer-book in the old Slav dialect.
+He retained from his first studies only a distaste for anything printed
+until the time when, cook's boy on board a steam-boat, he was initiated
+by the chief cook into more attractive reading matter.  Gogol, Glebe
+Ouspenski, Dumas _pere_ were revelations to him.  His imagination took
+fire; he was seized with a "fierce desire" for instruction.  He set out
+for Kazan, "as though a poor child could receive instruction
+gratuitously," but he soon perceived that "it was contrary to custom."
+Discouraged, he became a baker's boy with the wages of three rubles
+(about $1.50) a month.  In the midst of worse fatigue and ruder
+privations, he always recalls the bakery of Kazan with peculiar
+bitterness; later, in his story, "Twenty-Six and One," he utilized this
+painful remembrance: "There were twenty-six of us--twenty-six living
+machines, locked up in a damp cellar, where we patted dough from
+morning till night, making biscuits and cakes.  The windows of our
+cellar looked out into a ditch, which was covered with bricks grown
+green from dampness, the window frames were obstructed from the outside
+by a dense iron netting, and the light of the sun could not peep in
+through the panes, which were covered with flour dust. . . ."
+
+Gorky dreamed of the free air.  He abandoned the bakery.  Always
+reading, studying feverishly, drinking with vagrants, expending his
+strength in every possible manner, he is one day at work in a saw-mill,
+another, 'longshoreman on the quays. . . .  In 1888, seized with
+despair, he attempted to kill himself.  "I was," said he, "as ill as I
+could be, and I continued to live to sell apples. . . ."  He afterward
+became a gate-keeper and later retailed _kvass_ in the streets.   A
+happy chance brought him to the notice of a lawyer, who interested
+himself in him, directed his reading and organized his instruction.
+But his restless disposition drew him back to his wandering life; he
+traveled over Russia in every direction and tried his hand at every
+trade, including, henceforth, that of man of letters.
+
+He began by writing a short story, "Makar Tchoudra," which was
+published by a provincial newspaper.  It is a rather interesting work,
+but its interest lies more, frankly speaking, in what it promises than
+in what it actually gives.  The subject is rather too suggestive of
+certain pieces of fiction dear to the romantic school.
+
+Gorky's appearance in the world of literature dates from 1893.  He had
+at this time, the acquaintance of the writer Korolenko, and, thanks to
+him, soon published "Tchelkache," which met with a resounding success.
+Gorky henceforth rejects all traditional methods, and free and
+untrammeled devotes himself to frankly and directly interpreting life
+as he sees it.  As he has, so far, lived only in the society of tramps,
+himself a tramp, and one of the most refractory, it has been reserved
+for him to write the poem of vagrancy.
+
+His preference is for the short story.  In seven years, he has written
+thirty, contained in three volumes, which in their expressive brevity
+sometimes recall Maupassant.
+
+The plot is of the simplest.  Sometimes, there are only two personages:
+an old beggar and his grandson, two workmen, a tramp and a Jew, a
+baker's boy and his assistant, two companions in misery.
+
+The interest of these stories does not lie in the unraveling of an
+intricate plot.  They are rather fragments of life, bits of biography
+covering some particular period, without reaching the limits of a real
+drama.  And these are no more artificially combined than are the events
+of real life.
+
+Everything that he relates, Gorky has seen.  Every landscape that he
+describes has been seen by him in the course of his adventurous
+existence.  Each detail of this scenery is fraught for him with some
+remembrance of distress or suffering.  This vagrant life has been his
+own.  These tramps have been his companions, he has loved or hated
+them.  Therefore his work is alive with what he has almost
+unconsciously put in of himself.  At the same time, he knows how to
+separate himself from his work; the characters introduced live their
+own lives, independent of his, having their own characters and their
+own individual way of reacting against the common misery.  No writer
+has to a greater degree the gift of objectivity, while at the same time
+freely introducing himself into his work.
+
+Therefore, his tramps are strikingly truthful.  He does not idealise
+them; the sympathy that their strength, courage, and independence
+inspire in him does not blind him.  He conceals neither their faults,
+vices, drunkenness nor boastfulness.  He is without indulgence for
+them, and judges them discriminatingly.  He paints reality, but
+without, for all that, exaggerating ugliness.  He does not avoid
+painful or coarse scenes; but in the most cynical passages he does not
+revolt because it is felt that he only desires to be truthful, and not
+to excite the emotions by cheap means.  He simply points out that
+things are as they are, that there is nothing to be done about it, that
+they depend upon immutable laws.  Accordingly all those sad, even
+horrible spectacles are accepted as life itself.  To Gorky, the
+spectacle presented by these characters is only natural: he has seen
+them shaken by passion as the waves by the wind, and a smile pass over
+their souls like the sun piercing the clouds.  He is, in the true
+acceptation of the term, a realist.
+
+The introduction of tramps in literature is the great innovation of
+Gorky.  The Russian writers first interested themselves in the
+cultivated classes of society; then they went as far as the moujik.
+The "literature of the moujik," assumed a social importance.  It had a
+political influence and was not foreign to the abolition of serfdom.
+
+In the story "Malva," Gorky offers us two characteristic types of
+peasants who become tramps by insensible degrees; almost without
+suspecting it, through the force of circumstances.  One of them is
+Vassili.  When he left the village, he fully intended to return.  He
+went away to earn a little money for his wife and children.  He found
+employment in a fishery.  Life was easy and joyous.  For a while he
+sent small sums of money home, but gradually the village and the old
+life faded away and became less and less real.  He ceased to think of
+them.  His son Iakov came to seek him and to procure work for himself
+for a season.  He had the true soul of a peasant.
+
+Later he falls, like the others, under the spell of this easy, free
+life, and one feels that Iakov will never more return to the village.
+
+
+In Gorky's eyes, his work is tainted by a capital vice.  It is unsuited
+to producing the joy that quickens.  Humanity has forgotten joy; what
+has he done beyond pitying or rallying suffering? . . .  These
+reflections haunt him, and this doubt of his beneficent efficacy
+imparts extreme sadness to his genius.
+
+IVAN STRANNIK.
+
+
+
+
+  CONTENTS
+
+  Preface
+  Twenty-Six and One
+  Tchelkache
+  Malva
+
+
+
+
+Twenty-Six and One
+
+BY MAXIME GORKY
+
+There were twenty-six of us--twenty-six living machines, locked up in
+a damp cellar, where we patted dough from morning till night, making
+biscuits and cakes.  The windows of our cellar looked out into a
+ditch, which was covered with bricks grown green from dampness, the
+window frames were obstructed from the outside by a dense iron
+netting, and the light of the sun could not peep in through the
+panes, which were covered with flour-dust.  Our proprietor stopped up
+our windows with iron that we might not give his bread to the poor or
+to those of our companions who, being out of work, were starving; our
+proprietor called us cheats and gave us for our dinner tainted
+garbage instead of meat.
+
+It was stifling and narrow in our box of stone under the low, heavy
+ceiling, covered with smoke-black and spider-webs.  It was close and
+disgusting within the thick walls, which were spattered with stains
+of mud and mustiness. . . .  We rose at five o'clock in the morning,
+without having had enough sleep, and, dull and indifferent, we seated
+ourselves by the table at six to make biscuits out of the dough,
+which had been prepared for us by our companions while we were
+asleep.  And all day long, from morning till ten o'clock at night,
+some of us sat by the table rolling out the elastic dough with our
+hands, and shaking ourselves that we might not grow stiff, while the
+others kneaded the dough with water.  And the boiling water in the
+kettle, where the cracknels were being boiled, was purring sadly and
+thoughtfully all day long; the baker's shovel was scraping quickly
+and angrily against the oven, throwing off on the hot bricks the
+slippery pieces of dough.  On one side of the oven, wood was burning
+from morning till night, and the red reflection of the flame was
+trembling on the wall of the workshop as though it were silently
+mocking us.  The huge oven looked like the deformed head of a
+fairy-tale monster.  It looked as though it thrust itself out from
+underneath the floor, opened its wide mouth full of fire, and
+breathed on us with heat and stared at our endless work through the
+two black air-holes above the forehead.  These two cavities were like
+eyes--pitiless and impassible eyes of a monster: they stared at us
+with the same dark gaze, as though they had grown tired of looking at
+slaves, and expecting nothing human from them, despised them with the
+cold contempt of wisdom.  Day in and day out, amid flour-dust and mud
+and thick, bad-odored suffocating heat, we rolled out the dough and
+made biscuits, wetting them with our sweat, and we hated our work
+with keen hatred; we never ate the biscuit that came out of our
+hands, preferring black bread to the cracknels.  Sitting by a long
+table, one opposite the other--nine opposite nine--we mechanically
+moved our hands, and fingers during the long hours, and became so
+accustomed to our work that we no longer ever followed the motions of
+our hands.  And we had grown so tired of looking at one another that
+each of us knew all the wrinkles on the faces of the others.  We had
+nothing to talk about, we were used to this and were silent all the
+time, unless abusing one another--for there is always something for
+which to abuse a man, especially a companion.  But we even abused one
+another very seldom.  Of what can a man be guilty when he is half
+dead, when he is like a statue, when all his feelings are crushed
+under the weight of toil?  But silence is terrible and painful only
+to those who have said all and have nothing more to speak of; but to
+those who never had anything to say--to them silence is simple and
+easy. . . .  Sometimes we sang, and our song began thus: During work
+some one would suddenly heave a sigh, like that of a tired horse, and
+would softly start one of those drawling songs, whose touchingly
+caressing tune always gives ease to the troubled soul of the singer.
+One of us sang, and at first we listened in silence to his lonely
+song, which was drowned and deafened underneath the heavy ceiling of
+the cellar, like the small fire of a wood-pile in the steppe on a
+damp autumn night, when the gray sky is hanging over the earth like a
+leaden roof.  Then another joined the singer, and now, two voices
+soar softly and mournfully over the suffocating heat of our narrow
+ditch.  And suddenly a few more voices take up the song--and the song
+bubbles up like a wave, growing stronger, louder, as though moving
+asunder the damp, heavy walls of our stony prison.
+
+All the twenty-six sing; loud voices, singing in unison, fill the
+workshop; the song has no room there; it strikes against the stones
+of the walls, it moans and weeps and reanimates the heart by a soft
+tickling pain, irritating old wounds and rousing sorrow.
+
+The singers breathe deeply and heavily; some one unexpectedly leaves
+off his song and listens for a long time to the singing of his
+companions, and again his voice joins the general wave.  Another
+mournfully exclaims, Eh! sings, his eyes closed, and it may be that
+the wide, heavy wave of sound appears to him like a road leading
+somewhere far away, like a wide road, lighted by the brilliant sun,
+and he sees himself walking there. . . .
+
+The flame is constantly trembling in the oven, the baker's shovel is
+scraping against the brick, the water in the kettle is purring, and
+the reflection of the fire is trembling on the wall, laughing in
+silence. . . .  And we sing away, with some one else's words, our
+dull sorrow, the heavy grief of living men, robbed of sunshine, the
+grief of slaves.  Thus we lived, twenty-six of us, in the cellar of a
+big stony house, and it was hard for us to live as though all the
+three stories of the house had been built upon our shoulders.
+
+But besides the songs, we had one other good thing, something we all
+loved and which, perhaps, came to us instead of the sun.  The second
+story of our house was occupied by an embroidery shop, and there,
+among many girl workers, lived the sixteen year old chamber-maid,
+Tanya.  Every morning her little, pink face, with blue, cheerful
+eyes, leaned against the pane of the little window in our hallway
+door, and her ringing, kind voice cried to us: "Little prisoners!
+Give me biscuits!"
+
+We all turned around at this familiar, clear sound and joyously,
+kind-heartedly looked at the pure maiden face as it smiled to us
+delightfully.  We were accustomed and pleased to see her nose
+flattened against the window-pane, and the small, white teeth that
+flashed from under her pink lips, which were open with a smile.  We
+rush to open the door for her, pushing one another; she enters,
+cheerful and amiable, and holding out her apron.  She stands before
+us, leaning her head somewhat on one side and smiles all the time.  A
+thick, long braid of chestnut hair, falling across her shoulder, lies
+on her breast.  We, dirty, dark, deformed men, look up at her from
+below--the threshold was four steps higher than the floor--we look at
+her, lifting our heads upwards, we wish her a good morning.  We say
+to her some particular words, words we use for her alone.  Speaking
+to her our voices are somehow softer, and our jokes lighter.
+Everything is different for her.  The baker takes out a shovelful of
+the brownest and reddest biscuits and throws them cleverly into
+Tanya's apron.
+
+"Look out that the boss doesn't see you!" we always warn her.  She
+laughs roguishly and cries to us cheerfully:
+
+"Good-by, little prisoners!" and she disappears quickly, like a
+little mouse.  That's all.  But long after her departure we speak
+pleasantly of her to one another.  We say the very same thing we said
+yesterday and before, because she, as well as we and everything
+around us, is also the same as yesterday and before.  It is very hard
+and painful for one to live, when nothing changes around him, and if
+it does not kill his soul for good, the immobility of the
+surroundings becomes all the more painful the longer he lives.  We
+always spoke of women in such a manner that at times we were
+disgusted at our own rude and shameless words, and this is quite
+clear, for the women we had known, perhaps, never deserved any better
+words.  But of Tanya we never spoke ill.  Not only did none of us
+ever dare to touch her with his hand, she never even heard a free
+jest from us.  It may be that this was because she never stayed long
+with us; she flashed before our eyes like a star coming from the sky
+and then disappeared, or, perhaps, because she was small and very
+beautiful, and all that is beautiful commands the respect even of
+rude people.  And then, though our hard labor had turned us into dull
+oxen, we nevertheless remained human beings, and like all human
+beings, we could not live without worshipping something.  We had
+nobody better than she, and none, except her, paid any attention to
+us, the dwellers of the cellar; no one, though tens of people lived
+in the house.  And finally--this is probably the main reason--we all
+considered her as something of our own, as something that existed
+only because of our biscuits.  We considered it our duty to give her
+hot biscuits and this became our daily offering to the idol, it
+became almost a sacred custom which bound us to her the more every
+day.  Aside from the biscuits, we gave Tanya many advices--to dress
+more warmly, not to run fast on the staircase, nor to carry heavy
+loads of wood.  She listened to our advice with a smile, replied to
+us with laughter and never obeyed us, but we did not feel offended at
+this.  All we needed was to show that we cared for her.  She often
+turned to us with various requests.  She asked us, for instance, to
+open the heavy cellar door, to chop some wood.  We did whatever she
+wanted us to do with joy, and even with some kind of pride.
+
+But when one of us asked her to mend his only shirt, she declined,
+with a contemptuous sneer.
+
+We laughed heartily at the queer fellow, and never again asked her
+for anything.  We loved her; all is said in this.  A human being
+always wants to bestow his love upon some one, although he may
+sometime choke or slander him; he may poison the life of his neighbor
+with his love, because, loving, he does not respect the beloved.  We
+had to love Tanya, for there was no one else we could love.
+
+At times some one of us would suddenly begin to reason thus:
+
+"And why do we make so much of the girl?  What's in her?  Eh?  We
+have too much to do with her."  We quickly and rudely checked the man
+who dared to say such words.  We had to love something.  We found it
+out and loved it, and the something which the twenty-six of us loved
+had to be inaccessible to each of us as our sanctity, and any one
+coming out against us in this matter was our enemy.  We loved,
+perhaps, not what was really good, but then we were twenty-six, and
+therefore we always wanted the thing dear to us to be sacred in the
+eyes of others.  Our love is not less painful than hatred.  And
+perhaps this is why some haughty people claim that our hatred is more
+flattering than our love.  But why, then, don't they run from us, if
+that is true?
+
+Aside from the biscuit department our proprietor had also a shop for
+white bread; it was in the same house, separated from our ditch by a
+wall; the _bulochniks_ (white-bread bakers), there were four of them,
+kept aloof, considering their work cleaner than ours, and therefore
+considering themselves better than we were; they never came to our
+shop, laughed at us whenever they met us in the yard; nor did we go
+to them.  The proprietor had forbidden this for fear lest we might
+steal loaves of white bread.  We did not like the _bulochniks_,
+because we envied them.  Their work was easier than ours, they were
+better paid, they were given better meals, theirs was a spacious,
+light workshop, and they were all so clean and healthy--repulsive to
+us; while we were all yellow, and gray, and sickly.  During holidays
+and whenever they were free from work they put on nice coats and
+creaking boots; two of them had harmonicas, and they all went to the
+city park; while we had on dirty rags and burst shoes, and the city
+police did not admit us into the park--could we love the _bulochniks_?
+
+One day we learned that one of their bakers had taken to drink, that
+the proprietor had discharged him and hired another one in his place,
+and that the other one was a soldier, wearing a satin vest and a gold
+chain to his watch.  We were curious to see such a dandy, and in the
+hope of seeing him we, now and again, one by one, began to run out
+into the yard.
+
+But he came himself to our workshop.  Kicking the door open with his
+foot, and leaving it open, he stood on the threshold, and smiling,
+said to us:
+
+"God help you!  Hello, fellows!" The cold air, forcing itself in at
+the door in a thick, smoky cloud, was whirling around his feet; he
+stood on the threshold, looking down on us from above, and from under
+his fair, curled moustache, big, yellow teeth were flashing.  His
+waistcoat was blue, embroidered with flowers; it was beaming, and the
+buttons were of some red stones.  And there was a chain too.  He was
+handsome, this soldier, tall, strong, with red cheeks, and his big,
+light eyes looked good--kind and clear.  On his head was a white,
+stiffly-starched cap, and from under his clean apron peeped out sharp
+toes of stylish, brightly shining boots.
+
+Our baker respectfully requested him to close the door; he did it
+without haste, and began to question us about the proprietor.  Vieing
+with one another, we told him that our "boss" was a rogue, a rascal,
+a villain, a tyrant, everything that could and ought to be said of
+our proprietor, but which cannot be repeated here.  The soldier
+listened, stirred his moustache and examined us with a soft, light
+look.
+
+"And are there many girls here?" he asked, suddenly.
+
+Some of us began to laugh respectfully, others made soft grimaces;
+some one explained to the soldier that there were nine girls.
+
+"Do you take advantage?" . . . asked the soldier, winking his eye.
+
+Again we burst out laughing, not very loud, and with a confused
+laughter.  Many of us wished to appear before the soldier just as
+clever as he was, but not one was able to do it.  Some one confessed,
+saying in a low voice:
+
+"It is not for us." . . .
+
+"Yes, it is hard for you!" said the soldier with confidence,
+examining us fixedly.  "You haven't the bearing for it . . . the
+figure--you haven't the appearance, I mean!  And a woman likes a good
+appearance in a man.  To her it must be perfect, everything perfect!
+And then she respects strength. . . .  A hand should be like this!"
+The soldier pulled his right hand out of his pocket.  The shirt
+sleeve was rolled up to his elbow.  He showed his hand to us. . . .
+It was white, strong, covered with glossy, golden hair.
+
+"A leg, a chest, in everything there must be firmness.  And then,
+again, the man must be dressed according to style. . . .  As the
+beauty of things requires it.  I, for instance, I am loved by women.
+I don't call them, I don't lure them, they come to me of themselves."
+He seated himself on a bag of flour and told us how the women loved
+him and how he handled them boldly.  Then he went away, and when the
+door closed behind him with a creak, we were silent for a long time,
+thinking of him and of his stories.  And then suddenly we all began
+to speak, and it became clear at once that he pleased every one of
+us.  Such a kind and plain fellow.  He came, sat awhile and talked.
+Nobody came to us before, nobody ever spoke to us like this; so
+friendly. . . . And we all spoke of him and of his future successes
+with the embroidery girls, who either passed us by, closing their
+lips insultingly, when they met us in the yard, or went straight on
+as if we had not been in their way at all.  And we always admired
+them, meeting them in the yard, or when they went past our
+windows--in winter dressed in some particular hats and in fur coats,
+in summer in hats with flowers, with colored parasols in their hands.
+But thereafter among ourselves, we spoke of these girls so that had
+they heard it, they would have gone mad for shame and insult.
+
+"However, see that he doesn't spoil Tanushka, too!" said the baker,
+suddenly, with anxiety.
+
+We all became silent, dumb-founded by these words.  We had somehow
+forgotten Tanya; it looked as though the soldier's massive, handsome
+figure prevented us from seeing her.  Then began a noisy dispute.
+Some said that Tanya would not submit herself to this, others argued
+that she would not hold out against the soldier; still others said
+that they would break the soldier's bones in case he should annoy
+Tanya, and finally all decided to look after the soldier and Tanya,
+and to warn the girl to be on guard against him. . . .  This put an
+end to the dispute.
+
+About a month went by.  The soldier baked white bread, walked around
+with the embroidery girls, came quite often to our workshop, but
+never told us of his success with the girls; he only twisted his
+moustache and licked his lips with relish.
+
+Tanya came every morning for the biscuits and, as always, was
+cheerful, amiable, kind to us.  We attempted to start a conversation
+with her about the soldier, but she called him a "goggle-eyed calf,"
+and other funny names, and this calmed us.  We were proud of our
+little girl, seeing that the embroidery girls were making love to the
+soldier.  Tanya's relation toward him somehow uplifted all of us, and
+we, as if guided by her relation, began to regard the soldier with
+contempt.  And we began to love Tanya still more, and, meet her in
+the morning more cheerfully and kind-heartedly.
+
+But one day the soldier came to us a little intoxicated, seated
+himself and began to laugh, and when we asked him what he was
+laughing at he explained: "Two had a fight on account of me. . . .
+Lidka and Grushka. . . .  How they disfigured each other!  Ha, ha!
+One grabbed the other by the hair, and knocked her to the ground in
+the hallway, and sat on her. . . .  Ha, ha, ha!  They scratched each
+other's faces. . . .  It is laughable!  And why cannot women fight
+honestly?  Why do they scratch?  Eh?"
+
+He sat on the bench, strong and clean and jovial; talking and
+laughing all the time.  We were silent.  Somehow or other he seemed
+repulsive to us this time.
+
+"How lucky I am with women, Eh?  It is very funny!  Just a wink and I
+have them!"
+
+His white hands, covered with glossy hair, were lifted and thrown
+back to his knees with a loud noise.  And he stared at us with such a
+pleasantly surprised look, as though he really could not understand
+why he was so lucky in his affairs with women.  His stout, red face
+was radiant with happiness and self-satisfaction, and he kept on
+licking his lips with relish.
+
+Our baker scraped the shovel firmly and angrily against the hearth of
+the oven and suddenly said, sarcastically:
+
+"You need no great strength to fell little fir-trees, but try to
+throw down a pine." . . .
+
+"That is, do you refer to me?" asked the soldier.
+
+"To you. . . ."
+
+"What is it?"
+
+"Nothing. . . .  Too late!"
+
+"No, wait!  What's the matter?  Which pine?"
+
+Our baker did not reply, quickly working with his shovel at the oven.
+He would throw into the oven the biscuits from the boiling kettle,
+would take out the ready ones and throw them noisily to the floor, to
+the boys who put them on bast strings.  It looked as though he had
+forgotten all about the soldier and his conversation with him.  But
+suddenly the soldier became very restless.  He rose to his feet and
+walking up to the oven, risked striking his chest against the handle
+of the shovel, which was convulsively trembling in the air.
+
+"No, you tell me--who is she?  You have insulted me. . . .  I?  . . .
+Not a single one can wrench herself from me, never!  And you say to
+me such offensive words."  . . . And, indeed, he looked really
+offended.  Evidently there was nothing for which he might respect
+himself, except for his ability to lead women astray; it may be that
+aside from this ability there was no life in him, and only this
+ability permitted him to feel himself a living man.
+
+There are people to whom the best and dearest thing in life is some
+kind of a disease of either the body or the soul.  They make much of
+it during all their lives and live by it only; suffering from it,
+they are nourished by it, they always complain of it to others and
+thus attract the attention of their neighbors.  By this they gain
+people's compassion for themselves, and aside from this they have
+nothing.  Take away this disease from them, cure them, and they are
+rendered most unfortunate, because they thus lose their sole means of
+living, they then become empty.  Sometimes a man's life is so poor
+that he is involuntarily compelled to prize his defect and live by
+it.  It may frankly be said that people are often depraved out of
+mere weariness.  The soldier felt insulted, and besetting our baker,
+roared:
+
+"Tell me--who is it?"
+
+"Shall I tell you?" the baker suddenly turned to him.
+
+"Well?"
+
+"Do you know Tanya?"
+
+"Well?"
+
+"Well, try." . . .
+
+"I?"
+
+"You!"
+
+"Her?  That's easy enough!"
+
+"We'll see!"
+
+"You'll see!  Ha, ha!"
+
+"She'll. . . ."
+
+"A month's time!"
+
+"What a boaster you are, soldier!"
+
+"Two weeks!  I'll show you!  Who is it?  Tanya!  Tfoo!" . . .
+
+"Get away, I say."
+
+"Get away, . . .  you're bragging!"
+
+"Two weeks, that's all!"
+
+Suddenly our baker became enraged, and he raised the shovel against
+the soldier.  The soldier stepped back, surprised, kept silent for
+awhile, and, saying ominously, in a low voice: "Very well, then!" he
+left us.
+
+During the dispute we were all silent, interested in the result.  But
+when the soldier went out, a loud, animated talk and noise was
+started among us.
+
+Some one cried to the baker:
+
+"You contrived a bad thing, Pavel!"
+
+"Work!" replied the baker, enraged.
+
+We felt that the soldier was touched to the quick and that a danger
+was threatening Tanya.  We felt this, and at the same time we were
+seized with a burning, pleasant curiosity--what will happen?  Will
+she resist the soldier?  And almost all of us cried out with
+confidence:
+
+"Tanya?  She will resist!  You cannot take her with bare hands!"
+
+We were very desirous of testing the strength of our godling; we
+persistently proved to one another that our godling was a strong
+godling, and that Tanya would come out the victor in this combat.
+Then, finally, it appeared to us that we did not provoke the soldier
+enough, that he might forget about the dispute, and that we ought to
+irritate his self-love the more.  Since that day we began to live a
+particular, intensely nervous life--a life we had never lived before.
+We argued with one another all day long, as if we had grown wiser.
+We spoke more and better.  It seemed to us that we were playing a
+game with the devil, with Tanya as the stake on our side.  And when
+we had learned from the _bulochniks_ that the soldier began to court
+"our Tanya," we felt so dreadfully good and were so absorbed in our
+curiosity that we did not even notice that the proprietor, availing
+himself of our excitement, added to our work fourteen _poods_ (a
+_pood_ is a weight of forty Russian pounds) of dough a day.  We did
+not even get tired of working.  Tanya's name did not leave our lips
+all day long.  And each morning we expected her with especial
+impatience.  Sometimes we imagined that she might come to us--and
+that she would be no longer the same Tanya, but another one.
+
+However, we told her nothing about the dispute.  We asked her no
+questions and treated her as kindly as before.  But something new and
+foreign to our former feelings for Tanya crept in stealthily into our
+relation toward her, and this new _something_ was keen curiosity,
+sharp and cold like a steel knife.
+
+"Fellows!  Time is up to-day!" said the baker one morning, commencing
+to work.
+
+We knew this well without his calling our attention to it, but we
+gave a start, nevertheless.
+
+"Watch her! . . .  She'll come soon!" suggested the baker.  Some one
+exclaimed regretfully: "What can we see?"
+
+And again a lively, noisy dispute ensued.  To-day we were to learn at
+last how far pure and inaccessible to filth was the urn wherein we
+had placed all that was best in us.  This morning we felt for the
+first time that we were really playing a big game, that this test of
+our godling's purity might destroy our idol.  We had been told all
+these days that the soldier was following Tanya obstinately, but for
+some reason or other none of us asked how she treated him.  And she
+kept on coming to us regularly every morning for biscuits and was the
+same as before.  This day, too, we soon heard her voice:
+
+"Little prisoners!  I've come. . . ."
+
+We hastened to let her in, and when she entered we met her, against
+our habit, in silence.  Staring at her fixedly, we did not know what
+to say to her, what to ask her; and as we stood before her we formed
+a dark, silent crowd.  She was evidently surprised at our unusual
+reception, and suddenly we noticed that she turned pale, became
+restless, began to bustle about and asked in a choking voice:
+
+"Why are you . . . such?
+
+"And you?" asked the baker sternly, without taking his eyes off the
+girl.
+
+"What's the matter with me?"
+
+"Nothing. . . ."
+
+"Well, quicker, give me biscuits. . . ."
+
+She had never before hurried us on. . . .
+
+"There's plenty of time!" said the baker, his eyes fixed, on her face.
+
+Then she suddenly turned around and disappeared behind the door.
+
+The baker took up his shovel and said calmly, turning towards the
+oven:
+
+"It is done, it seems! . . .  The soldier! . . .  Rascal! . . .
+Scoundrel!" . . .
+
+Like a herd of sheep, pushing one another, we walked back to the
+table, seated ourselves in silence and began to work slowly.  Soon
+some one said:
+
+"And perhaps not yet." . . .
+
+"Go on! Talk about it!" cried the baker.
+
+We all knew that he was a clever man, cleverer than any of us, and we
+understood by his words that he was firmly convinced of the soldier's
+victory. . . .  We were sad and uneasy.  At twelve o'clock, during
+the dinner hour, the soldier came.  He was, as usual, clean and
+smart, and, as usual, looked straight into our eyes.  We felt awkward
+to look at him.
+
+"Well, honorable gentlemen, if you wish, I can show you a soldier's
+boldness," . . . said he, smiling proudly.  "You go out into the
+hallway and look through the clefts.  . . .  Understand?"
+
+We went out and, falling on one another, we stuck to the cleft, in
+the wooden walls of the hallway, leading to the yard.  We did not
+have to wait long. . . . . . . .  Soon Tanya passed with a quick
+pace, skipping over the plashes of melted snow and mud.  Her face
+looked troubled.  She disappeared behind the cellar door.  Then the
+soldier went there slowly and whistling.  His hands were thrust into
+his pockets, and his moustache was stirring.
+
+A rain was falling, and we saw the drops fall into plashes, and the
+plashes were wrinkling under their blows.  It was a damp, gray day--a
+very dreary day.  The snow still lay on the roofs, while on the
+ground, here and there, were dark spots of mud.  And the snow on the
+roofs, too, was covered with a brownish, muddy coating.  The rain
+trickled slowly, producing a mournful sound.  We felt cold and
+disagreeable.
+
+The soldier came first out of the cellar; he crossed the yard slowly,
+Stirring his moustache, his hands in his pockets--the same as always.
+
+Then Tanya came out.  Her eyes . . . her eyes were radiant with joy
+and happiness, and her lips were smiling.  And she walked as though
+in sleep, staggering, with uncertain steps.  We could not stand this
+calmly.  We all rushed toward the door, jumped out into the yard, and
+began to hiss and bawl at her angrily and wildly.  On noticing us she
+trembled and stopped short as if petrified in the mud under her feet.
+We surrounded her and malignantly abused her in the most obscene
+language.  We told her shameless things.
+
+We did this not loud but slowly, seeing that she could not get away,
+that she was surrounded by us and we could mock her as much as we
+pleased.  I don't know why, but we did not beat her.  She stood among
+us, turning her head one way and another, listening to our abuses.
+And we kept on throwing at her more of the mire and poison of our
+words.
+
+The color left her face.  Her blue eyes, so happy a moment ago,
+opened wide, her breast breathed heavily and her lips were trembling.
+
+And we, surrounding her, avenged ourselves upon her, for she had
+robbed us.  She had belonged to us, we had spent on her all that was
+best in us, though that best was the crusts of beggars, but we were
+twenty-six, while she was one, and therefore there was no suffering
+painful enough to punish her for her crime!  How we abused her!  She
+was silent, looked at us wild-eyed, and trembling in every limb.  We
+were laughing, roaring, growling.  Some more people ran up to us.
+Some one of us pulled Tanya by the sleeve of her waist. . . .
+
+Suddenly her eyes began to flash; slowly she lifted her hands to her
+head, and, adjusting her hair, said loudly, but calmly, looking
+straight into our eyes:
+
+"Miserable prisoners!"
+
+And she came directly toward us, she walked, too, as though we were
+not in front of her, as though we were not in her way.  Therefore
+none of us were in her way, and coming out of our circle, without
+turning to us, she said aloud, and with indescribable contempt:
+
+"Rascals! . . .  Rabble!" . . .
+
+Then she went away.
+
+We remained standing in the centre of the yard, in the mud, under the
+rain and the gray, sunless sky. . . .
+
+Then we all went back silently to our damp, stony ditch.  As before,
+the sun never peeped in through our windows, and Tanya never came
+there again! . . . .
+
+
+
+
+Tchelkache
+
+The sky is clouded by the dark smoke rising from the harbor.  The
+ardent sun gazes at the green sea through a thin veil.  It is unable to
+see its reflection in the water so agitated is the latter by the oars,
+the steamer screws and the sharp keels of the Turkish feluccas, or sail
+boats, that plough the narrow harbor in every direction.  The waves
+imprisoned by stone walls, crushed under the enormous weights that they
+carry, beat against the sides of the vessels and the quays; beat and
+murmur, foaming and muddy.
+
+The noise of chains, the rolling of wagons laden with merchandise, the
+metallic groan of iron falling on the pavements, the creaking of
+windlasses, the whistling of steamboats, now in piercing shrieks, now
+in muffled roars, the cries of haulers, sailors and custom-house
+officers--all these diverse sounds blend in a single tone, that of
+work, and vibrate and linger in the air as though they feared to rise
+and disappear.  And still the earth continues to give forth new sounds;
+heavy, rumbling, they set in motion everything about them, or,
+piercing, rend the hot and smoky air.
+
+Stone, iron, wood, vessels and men, all, breathe forth a furious and
+passionate hymn to the god of Traffic.  But the voices of the men,
+scarcely distinguishable, appear feeble and ridiculous, as do also the
+men, in the midst of all this tumult.  Covered with grimy rags, bent
+under their burdens, they move through clouds of dust in the hot and
+noisy atmosphere, dwarfed to insignificance beside the colossal iron
+structures, mountains of merchandise, noisy wagons and all the other
+things that they have themselves created.  Their own handiwork has
+reduced them to subjection and robbed them of their personality.
+
+The giant vessels, at anchor, shriek, or sigh deeply, and in each sound
+there is, as it were, an ironical contempt for the men who crawl over
+their decks and fill their sides with the products of a slaved toil.
+The long files of 'longshoremen are painfully absurd; they carry huge
+loads of corn on their shoulders and deposit them in the iron holds of
+the vessels so that they may earn a few pounds of bread to put in their
+famished stomachs.  The men, in rags, covered with perspiration, are
+stupefied by fatigue, noise and heat; the machines, shining, strong and
+impassive, made by the hands of these men, are not, however, moved by
+steam, but by the muscles and blood of their creators--cold and cruel
+irony!
+
+The noise weighs down, the dust irritates nostrils and eyes; the heat
+burns the body, the fatigue, everything seems strained to its utmost
+tension, and ready to break forth in a resounding explosion that will
+clear the air and bring peace and quiet to the earth again--when the
+town, sea and sky will be calm and beneficent.  But it is only an
+illusion, preserved by the untiring hope of man and his imperishable
+and illogical desire for liberty.
+
+Twelve strokes of a bell, sonorous and measured, rang out.  When the
+last one had died away upon the air, the rude tones of labor were
+already half softened.  At the end of a minute, they were transformed
+into a dull murmur.  Then, the voices of men and sea were more
+distinct.  The dinner hour had come.
+
+      *      *      *      *      *
+
+When the longshoremen, leaving their work, were dispersed in noisy
+groups over the wharf, buying food from the open-air merchants, and
+settling themselves on the pavement, in shady corners, to eat, Grichka
+Tchelkache, an old jail-bird, appeared among them.  He was game often
+hunted by the police, and the entire quay knew him for a hard drinker
+and a clever, daring thief.  He was bare-headed and bare-footed, and
+wore a worn pair of velvet trousers and a percale blouse torn at the
+neck, showing his sharp and angular bones covered with brown skin.  His
+touseled black hair, streaked with gray, and his sharp visage,
+resembling a bird of prey's, all rumpled, indicated that he had just
+awakened.  From his moustache hung a straw, another clung to his
+unshaved cheek, while behind his ear was a fresh linden leaf.  Tall,
+bony, a little bent, he walked slowly over the stones, and, turning his
+hooked nose from side to side, cast piercing glances about him,
+appearing to be seeking someone among the 'longshoremen.  His long,
+thick, brown moustache trembled like a cat's, and his hands, behind his
+back, rubbed each other, pressing closely   together  their twisted and
+knotty fingers.  Even here, among hundreds of his own kind, he
+attracted attention by his resemblance to a sparrow-hawk of the
+steppes, by his rapacious leanness, his easy stride, outwardly calm but
+alert and watchful as the flight of the bird that he recalled.
+
+When he reached a group of tatterdemalions, seated in the shade of some
+baskets of charcoal, a broad-shouldered and stupid looking boy rose to
+meet him.  His face was streaked with red and his neck was scratched;
+he bore the traces of a recent fight.  He walked along beside
+Tchelkache, and said under his breath:
+
+"The custom-house officers can't find two boxes of goods.  They are
+looking for them.  You understand, Grichka?"
+
+"What of it?" asked Tchelkache, measuring him calmly with his eyes.
+
+"What of it?  They are looking, that's all."
+
+"Have they inquired for me to help them in their search?"
+
+Tchelkache gazed at the warehouses with a meaning smile.
+
+"Go to the devil!"
+
+The other turned on his heel.
+
+"Hey! Wait!--Who has fixed you up in that fashion?  Your face is all
+bruised--Have you seen Michka around here?"
+
+"I haven't seen him for a long time!" cried the other, rejoining the
+'longshoremen.
+
+Tchelkache continued on his way, greeted in a friendly manner by all.
+But he, usually so ready with merry word or biting jest, was evidently
+out of sorts to-day, and answered all questions briefly.
+
+Behind a bale of merchandise appeared a custom-house officer, standing
+in his dark-green, dusty uniform with military erectness.  He barred
+Tchelkache's way, placing himself before him in an offensive attitude,
+his left hand on his sword, and reached out his right hand to take
+Tchelkache by the collar.
+
+"Stop, where are you going?"
+
+Tchelkache fell back a step, looked at the officer and smiled drily.
+
+The red, cunning and good-natured face of the custom-house officer was
+making an effort to appear terrible; with the result that swollen and
+purple, with wrinkling eyebrows and bulging eyes, it only succeeded in
+being funny.
+
+"You've been warned before: don't you dare to come upon the wharf, or
+I'll break every rib in your body!" fiercely exclaimed the officer.
+
+"How do you do, Semenitch!  I haven't seen you for a long time,"
+quietly replied Tchelkache, extending his hand.
+
+"I could get along without ever seeing you!  Go about your business!"
+
+However, Semenitch shook the hand that was extended to him.
+
+"You're just the one I want to see," pursued Tchelkache, without
+loosening the hold of his hooked fingers on Semenitch's hand, and
+shaking it familiarly.  "Have you seen Michka?"
+
+"What Michka?  I don't know any Michka!  Get along with you, friend, or
+the inspector'll see you; he--"
+
+"The red-haired fellow who used to work with me on board the
+'Kostroma,'" continued Tchelkache, unmoved.
+
+"Who stole with you would be nearer the truth!  Your Michka has been
+sent to the hospital: his leg was crushed under a bar of iron.  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.
+The last named looked at him calmly from under his heavy eyebrows,
+while a slight smile curved his lips, and without releasing his hold of
+the officer's hand, continued talking.
+
+"Don't hurry me.  When I'm through talking to you I'll go.  Tell me how
+you're getting on.  Are your wife and children well?"
+
+Accompanying his words with a terrible glance, and showing his teeth in
+a mocking grin, he added:
+
+"I'm always intending to make you a visit, but I never have the time:
+I'm always drunk--"
+
+"That'll do, that'll do, drop that--Stop joking, bony devil! If you
+don't, comrade, I--Or do you really intend to rob houses and streets?"
+
+"Why?  There's enough here for both of us.  My God, yes!--Semenitch!
+You've stolen two boxes of goods again?--Look out, Semenitch, be
+careful!  Or you'll be caught one of these days!"
+
+Semenitch trembled with anger at the impudence of Tchelkache; he spat
+upon the ground in a vain effort to speak.  Tchelkache let go his hand
+and turned back quietly and deliberately at the entrance to the wharf.
+The officer, swearing like a trooper, followed him.
+
+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.
+
+"Happy Grichka, what good care the authorities take of him!" cried
+someone in a group of 'longshoremen who had eaten their dinner and were
+lying, stretched out on the ground.
+
+"I have no shoes; Semenitch is afraid that I may hurt my feet," replied
+Tchelkache.
+
+They reached the gate.  Two soldiers searched Tchelkache and pushed him
+gently aside.
+
+"Don't let him come back again!" cried Semenitch, who had remained
+inside.
+
+Tchelkache crossed the road and seated himself on a stepping-block in
+front of the inn door.  From the wharf emerged an interminable stream
+of loaded wagons.  From the opposite direction arrived empty wagons at
+full speed, the drivers jolting up and down on the seats.  The quay
+emitted a rumbling as of thunder; accompanied by an acrid dust.  The
+ground seemed to shake.
+
+Accustomed to this mad turmoil, stimulated by his scene with Semenitch,
+Tchelkache felt at peace with all the world.  The future promised him
+substantial gain without great outlay of energy or skill on his part.
+He was sure that neither the one nor the other would fail him; screwing
+up his eyes, he thought of the next day's merry-making when, his work
+accomplished, he should have a roll of bills in his pocket.  Then his
+thoughts reverted to his friend Michka, who would have been of so much
+use to him that night, if he had not broken his leg.  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.  Near him lay a little bag and a scythe,
+without a handle, wrapped in hay carefully bound with string.  The boy
+was broad shouldered and fairhaired with a sun-burned and tanned face;
+his eyes were large and blue and gazed at Tchelkache confidingly and
+pleasantly.
+
+Tchelkache showed his teeth, stuck out his tongue, and, making a
+horrible grimace, stared at him persistently.
+
+The boy, surprised, winked, then suddenly burst out laughing and cried:
+
+"O! how funny he is!"
+
+Almost without rising from the ground, he rolled heavily along toward
+Tchelkache, dragging his bag in the dust and striking the stones with
+his scythe.
+
+"Eh! say, friend, you've been on a good spree!" said he to Tchelkache,
+pulling his trousers.
+
+"Just so, little one, just so!" frankly replied Tchelkache.  This
+robust and artless lad pleased him from the first.
+
+"Have you come from the hay-harvest?"
+
+"Yes.   I've mowed a verst and earned a kopek!  Business is bad!  There
+are so many hands!  The starving folks have come--have spoiled the
+prices.  They used to give sixty kopeks at Koubagne.  As much as that!
+And formerly, they say, three, four, even five rubles."
+
+"Formerly!--Formerly, they gave three rubles just for the sight of a
+real Russian.  Ten years ago, I made a business of that.  I would go to
+a village, and I would say: 'I am a Russian!'  At the words, everyone
+came flocking to look at me, feel of me, marvel at me--and I had three
+rubles in my pocket!  In addition, they gave me food and drink and
+invited me to stay as long as I liked."
+
+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.
+
+"What a funny fellow! . . .  You said that as though it was true, and I
+believed you.  But, truly, formerly, yonder. . . ."
+
+"And what did I say?  I said that formerly, yonder. . ."
+
+"Get along with you!" said the boy, accompanying his words with a
+gesture.  "Are you a shoemaker?  or a tailor?  Say?"
+
+"I?" asked Tchelkache; then after a moment's reflection, he added:
+
+"I'm a fisherman."
+
+"A fisherman?  Really!  What do you catch, fish?"
+
+"Why should I catch fish?  Around here the fishermen catch other things
+besides that.  Very often drowned men, old anchors, sunken
+boats--everything, in fact!  There are lines for that. . ."
+
+"Invent, keep on inventing!  Perhaps you're one of those fishermen who
+sing about themselves:
+
+  "We are those who throw our nets
+  Upon dry banks,
+  Upon barns and stables!"
+
+"Have you ever seen any of that kind?" asked Tchelkache, looking
+ironically at him, and thinking that this honest boy must be very
+stupid.
+
+"No, I've never seen any; but I've heard them spoken of."
+
+"Do you like them?"
+
+"Why not? They are fearless and free."
+
+"Do you feel the need of freedom?  Do you like freedom?"
+
+"How could I help liking it?  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.
+
+"Look at me, for instance," said the other, with sudden animation.
+"When my father died, he left little.  My mother was old, the land worn
+out, what could I do?  One must live.  But how?  I don't know.  A
+well-to-do family would take me in as a son-in-law, to be sure!  If the
+daughter only received her share!  But no!  The devil of a
+father-in-law never wants to divide the property.   So then, I must
+toil for him . . . a long time . . . years.  Do you see how it stands?
+While if I could put by a hundred and fifty rubles, I should feel
+independent and be able to talk to the old man.  'Will you give Marfa
+her share?' No!  'All right!  She's not the only girl in the village,
+thank God.'  And so I'd be perfectly free, my own master.  Yes!" The
+lad sighed.  "As it is, there's nothing for it but to go into a family.
+I've thought that if I were to go to Koubagne, I'd easily make two
+hundred rubles.  Then I should have a chance for myself.   But no,
+nothing has come my way, I've failed in everything!  So now it's
+necessary to enter a family, be a slave, because I can't get along with
+what I have--impossible!  Ehe! . . ."
+
+The lad detested the idea of becoming the husband of some rich girl who
+would remain at home.  His face grew dull and sad.  He moved restlessly
+about on the ground; this roused Tchelkache from the reflections in
+which his speech had plunged him.
+
+Tchelkache felt that he had no more desire to talk, but he nevertheless
+asked:
+
+"Where are you going, now?"
+
+"Where am I going?  Home, of course!"
+
+"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.
+
+A confused feeling was gradually growing up, a kind of vexation was
+stirring the depths of his being and preventing him from concentrating
+his thoughts upon what he had to do that night.
+
+The lad whom he had just insulted muttered something under his breath
+and looked askance at him.  His cheeks were comically puffed out, his
+lips pursed up, and he half closed his eyes in a laughable manner.
+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!  Are you often drunk?" he began; but at the same
+instant the fisherman turned quickly around and asked:
+
+"Listen, youngster!  Do you want to work with me to-night?  Eh?  Answer
+quick."
+
+"Work at what?" questioned the boy, distrustfully.
+
+"At what I shall tell you. . .  We'll go fishing.  You shall row. . ."
+
+"If that's it . . . why not?  All right!  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."
+
+He jumped up, pulling his moustache with his left hand and doubling his
+right fist all furrowed with knotted veins and hard as iron; his eyes
+flashed.
+
+The lad was afraid.  He glanced quickly around him and, blinking
+timidly, also jumped up on his feet.  They measured each other with
+their eyes in silence.
+
+"Well?" sternly demanded Tchelkache.
+
+He was boiling over with rage at being insulted by this young boy, whom
+he had despised even when talking with him, and whom he now began to
+hate on account of his pure blue eyes, his healthy and sun-burned face
+and his short, strong arms; because he had, somewhere yonder, a village
+and a home in that village; because it had been proposed to him to
+enter as son-in-law in a well-to-do family, and, above all, because
+this being, who was only a child in comparison with himself, should
+presume to like liberty, of which he did not know the worth and which
+was useless to him.  It is always disagreeable to see a person whom we
+consider our inferior like, or dislike, the same things that we do and
+to be compelled to admit that in that respect they are our equals.
+
+The lad gazed at Tchelkache and felt that he had found his master.
+
+"Why . . ." said he; "I consent.  I'm willing.  It's work that I'm
+looking for.  It's all the same to me whether I work with you or
+someone else.  I only said that because you don't seem like a man that
+works . . .  you are far too ragged.  However, I know very well that
+that may happen to anyone.  Have I never seen a drunkard?  Eh!  How
+many I've seen, and much worse than you!"
+
+"Good!  Then you consent?" asked Tchelkache, somewhat mollified.
+
+"I, why yes, with pleasure.  Name your price."
+
+"My price depends upon the work.  It's according to what we do and
+take.  You may perhaps receive five rubles.  Do you understand?"
+
+But now that it was a question of money, the peasant wanted a clear
+understanding and exacted perfect frankness on the part of his master.
+He again became distrustful and suspicious.
+
+"That's scarcely to my mind, friend.  I must have those five rubles in
+my hand how."
+
+Tchelkache humored him.
+
+"Enough said, wait a little.  Let us go to the tavern."
+
+They walked side by side along the street; Tchelkache twisting his
+moustache with the important air of an employer, the lad submissively,
+but at the same time filled with distrust and fear.
+
+"What's your name?" asked Tchelkache.
+
+"Gavrilo," replied the lad.
+
+When they had entered the dirty and smoky ale-house Tchelkache went up
+to the bar and ordered, in the familiar tone of a regular customer, a
+bottle of brandy, cabbage soup, roast beef and tea, and, after
+enumerating the order, said briefly: "to be charged!"  To which the boy
+responded by a silent nod.  At this, Gavrilo was filled with great
+respect for his master, who, despite his knavish exterior, was so well
+known and treated with so much confidence.
+
+"There, let us eat a bite, and talk afterward.  Wait for me an instant,
+I will be back directly."
+
+He went out.  Gavrilo looked around him.  The ale-house was in a
+basement; it was damp and dark and reeking with tobacco smoke, tar and
+a musty odor.  In front of Gavrilo, at another table, was a drunken
+sailor, with a red beard, all covered with charcoal and tar.  He was
+humming, interrupted by frequent hiccoughs, a fragment of a song very
+much out of tune.  He was evidently not a Russian.
+
+Behind him were two ragged women from Moldavia, black-haired and
+sun-burned; they were also grinding out a song.
+
+Further on, other faces started out from the darkness, all dishevelled,
+half drunk, writhing, restless. . .
+
+Gavrilo was afraid to remain alone.  He longed for his master's return.
+The divers noises of the ale-house blended in one single note: it
+seemed like the roaring of some enormous animal with a hundred voices,
+struggling blindly and furiously in this stone box and finding no
+issue.  Gavrilo felt himself growing heavy and dull as though his body
+had absorbed intoxication; his head swam and he could not see, in spite
+of his desire to satisfy his curiosity.
+
+Tchelkache returned; he ate and drank while he talked.  At the third
+glass Gavrilo was drunk.  He grew lively; he wanted to say something
+nice to his host, who, worthy man that he was, was treating him so
+well, before he had availed himself of his services.  But the words,
+which vaguely mounted to his throat, refused to leave his suddenly
+thick tongue.
+
+Tchelkache looked at him.   He said, smiling sarcastically.
+
+"So you're done for, already!  . . . it isn't possible!  Just for five
+small glasses!  How will you manage to work?"
+
+"Friend," stammered  Gavrilo, "don't be afraid!  I will serve you.  Ah,
+how I'll serve you!  Let me embrace you, come?"
+
+"That's  right, that's  right! . . . One more glass?"
+
+Gavrilo drank.  Everything swam before his eyes in unequal waves.  That
+was unpleasant and gave him nausea.  His face had a stupid expression.
+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.
+
+"Let us get out of here!" said Tchelkache rising.
+
+Gavrilo tried to rise, but not succeeding, uttered a formidable oath
+and burst out into an idiotic, drunken laugh.
+
+"See how fresh you are!" said Tchelkache, sitting down again.  Gavrilo
+continued to laugh, stupidly contemplating his master.  The other
+looked at him lucidly and penetratingly.  He saw before him a man whose
+life he held in his hands.  He knew that he had it in his power to do
+what he would with him.  He could bend him like a piece of cardboard,
+or help him to develop amid his staid, village environments.  Feeling
+himself the master and lord of another being, he enjoyed this thought
+and said to himself that this lad should never drink of the cup that
+destiny had made him, Tchelkache, empty.  He at once envied and pitied
+this young existence, derided it and was moved to compassion at the
+thought that it might again fall into hands like his own.  All these
+feelings were finally mingled in one--paternal and authoritative.  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.
+
+"In a moment! one of the thole-pins is loose; may I pound it down with
+an oar?"
+
+"No, no!  No noise!  Push it down with your hands, it will be firm."
+
+They noiselessly cut loose the boat fastened to the bow of a sailing
+vessel.  There was here a whole fleet of sailing vessels, loaded with
+oak bark, and Turkish feluccas still half full of palma, sandal-wood
+and great cypress logs.
+
+The night was dark; the sky was overspread with shreds of heavy clouds,
+and the sea was calm, black and thick as oil.  It exhaled a humid and
+salt aroma, and softly murmured as it beat against the sides of the
+vessels and the shore and gently rocked Tchelkache's boat.  Far out at
+sea rose the black forms of ships; their sharp masts, surmounted with
+colored lanterns, were outlined against the sky.  The sea reflected the
+lights and appeared to be sown with yellow spots, which trembled upon
+its soft velvety black bosom, rising and falling regularly.  The sea
+was sleeping the healthy sound sleep of the laborer after his day's
+work.
+
+"We're off!" said Gavrilo, dipping his oars.
+
+"Let us pull!"
+
+Tchelkache, with a strong stroke of the oar, drove the boat into an
+open space between two fishing-boats; he pulled rapidly over the
+shining water, which glowed, at the contact of the oars, with a blue
+phosphorescent fire.  A long trail of softly scintillating light
+followed the boat windingly.
+
+"Well! does your head ache very much?" asked Tchelkache, kindly.
+
+"Horribly! 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.
+
+The boat shot on again, noiselessly; it moved easily between the
+ships. . . .  All at once it cleared itself from the other craft, and
+the  immense shining sea lay before them.  It disappeared in the blue
+distance, where from its waters rose lilac-gray clouds to the sky;
+these were edged with down, now yellow, again green as the sea, or
+again slate-colored, casting those gloomy shadows that oppress soul and
+mind.  The clouds slowly crept over one another, sometimes melting in
+one, sometimes dispersing each other; they mingled their forms and
+colors, dissolving or reappearing with new contours, majestic and
+mournful.  This slow moving of inanimate masses had something fatal
+about it.  It seemed as though yonder at the confines of the sea, there
+was an innumerable quantity of them always crawling indifferently over
+the sky, with the wicked and stupid intention of never allowing it to
+illumine the sleeping sea with the million golden eyes of its
+many-colored stars, which awaken the noble desires of beings in
+adoration before their holy and pure light.
+
+"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.  His ardent temperament, greedy
+for impressions, never tired of contemplating its infinite, free and
+powerful immensity.  It offended him to receive such a reply to his
+question concerning the beauty of the sea that he loved.   Seated at
+the tiller, he cleaved the water with his oar and gazed tranquilly
+before him, filled with the desire to thus continue rowing forever over
+this velvet plain.
+
+On the sea, warm and generous impulses rose within him, filled his soul
+and in a measure purified it of the defilements of life.  He enjoyed
+this effect and liked to feel himself better, out here, amid the waves
+and air where the thoughts and occupations of life lose their interest
+and life itself sinks into insignificance.  In the night, the sound of
+its soft breathing is wafted over the slumbering sea, and this infinite
+murmur fills the soul with peace, checks all unworthy impulses and
+brings forth mighty dreams.
+
+"The nets, where are they, eh?" suddenly asked Gavrilo, inspecting the
+boat.
+
+Tchelkache shuddered.
+
+"There's the net, at the rudder."
+
+"What kind of a net's that?" asked Gavrilo, suspiciously.
+
+"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!  Don't meddle with what doesn't
+concern you.  You've been brought to row, now row.  And if you let your
+tongue wag, no good will come of it.  Do you understand?"
+
+For one minute, the boat wavered and stopped.  The oars stood still in
+the foaming water around them, and Gavrilo moved uneasily on his seat.
+
+"Row!"
+
+A fierce oath broke the stillness.  Gavrilo bent to the oars.  The
+boat, as though frightened, leaped ahead rapidly and nervously, noisily
+cutting the water.
+
+"Better than that!"
+
+Tchelkache had risen from the helm and, without letting go his oar, he
+fixed his cold eyes upon the pale face and trembling lips of Gavrilo.
+Sinuous and bending forward, he resembled a cat ready to jump.  A
+furious grinding of teeth and rattling of bones could be heard.
+
+"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.
+
+The boat turned, obedient to his touch; he pulled toward the harbor
+where the many-colored lanterns were grouped together and the tall
+masts were outlined against the sky.
+
+"Hey!  Who calls?" was again asked.  This time the voice was further
+away; Tchelkache felt relieved.
+
+"It's you, yourself, friend, who calls!" said he, in the direction of
+the voice.  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.  Set me down
+somewhere.  Oh dear! oh, dear!  I'm lost!  For God's sake, let me go.
+What do you want of me?  I can't do this, I've never done anything like
+it.  It's the first time, Lord!  I'm lost!  How did you manage,
+comrade, to get around me like this?  Say?  It's a sin, you make me
+lose my soul! . . . Ah! what a piece of business!"
+
+"What business?" sternly questioned Tchelkache.  "Speak, what business
+do you mean?"
+
+The lad's terror amused him; he also enjoyed the sensation of being
+able to provoke such fear.
+
+"Dark transactions, brother. . .  Let me go, for the love of Heaven.
+What am I to you?  Friend . . ."
+
+"Be quiet!  If I hadn't needed you, I shouldn't have brought you!  Do
+you understand?  Eh!  Well, be quiet!"
+
+"Oh, Lord!" sobbed Gavrilo.
+
+"Enough!"
+
+Gavrilo could no longer control himself and his breath came in broken
+and painful gasps; he wept and moved restlessly about on his seat, but
+rowed hard, in despair.  The boat sped ahead like an arrow.  Again the
+black hulls of the ships arose before them, and the boat, turning like
+a top in the narrow channels that separated them, was soon lost among
+them.
+
+"Hey! 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.  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!  Lean your hands against the wall!  Softly, devil!"
+
+Gavrilo caught hold of the slippery stone and guided the boat along the
+wall.  He advanced noiselessly, just grazing the slimy moss of the
+stone.
+
+"Stop, give me the oars!  Give them here!  And your passport, where
+have you put it?  In your bag!  Give me the bag!  Quicker!  . . . That,
+my friend, is so that you'll not run away. . .  Now I hold you.
+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!  He felt that the
+cursed weight and fear that he experienced in the presence of this
+moustached and lean bandit had, as it were, slipped off and rolled away
+from him.  Could he escape, now?  Breathing freely, he looked around
+him.  On the left rose a black hull without masts, like an immense
+empty, deserted coffin.  The waves beating against its sides awakened
+heavy echoes therein, resembling long-drawn sighs.  On the right,
+stretched the damp wall of the quay, like a cold heavy serpent.  Behind
+were visible black skeletons, and in front, in the space between the
+wall and the coffin, was the sea, silent and deserted, with black
+clouds hanging over it.  These clouds were slowly advancing, their
+enormous, heavy masses, terrifying in the darkness, ready to crush man
+with their weight.  All was cold, black and of evil omen.  Gavrilo was
+afraid.  This fear was greater than that imposed on him by Tchelkache;
+it clasped Gavrilo's breast in a tight embrace, squeezed him to a
+helpless mass and riveted him to the boat's bench.
+
+Perfect silence reigned.  Not a sound, save the sighs of the seas; it
+seemed as though this silence was about to be suddenly broken by some
+frightful, furious explosion of sound that would shake the sea to its
+depths, tear apart the dark masses of clouds floating over the sky and
+bury under the waves all those black craft.  The clouds crawled over
+the sky as slowly and as wearily as before, but the sea gradually
+emerged from under them, and one might fancy, looking at the sky, that
+it was also a sea, but an angry sea overhanging a peaceful, sleeping
+one.  The clouds resembled waves whose gray crests touched the earth;
+they resembled abysses hollowed by the wind between the waves and
+nascent billows not yet covered with the green foam of fury.
+
+Gavrilo was oppressed by this dark calm and beauty; he realized that he
+desired his master's return.  But he did not come!  The time passed
+slowly, more slowly than crawled the clouds up in the sky. . .  And the
+length of time augmented the agony of the silence.  But just now behind
+the wall, the plashing of water was heard, then a rustling, and
+something like a whisper.  Gavrilo was half dead from fright.
+
+"Hey, there!  Are you asleep?  Take this!  Softly!" said Tchelkache's
+hoarse voice.
+
+From the wall descended a solid, square, heavy object.  Gavrilo put it
+in the boat, then another one like it.  Across the wall stretched
+Tchelkache's long figure.  The oars reappeared mysteriously, then
+Gavrilo's bag fell at his feet and Tchelkache out of breath seated
+himself at the tiller.
+
+Gavrilo looked at him with a timid and glad smile.
+
+"Are you tired?" said he.
+
+"A little, naturally, simpleton!  Row firm, with all your might.  You
+have a pretty profit, brother!  The affair is half done, now there only
+remains to pass unseen under the eyes of those devils, and then you'll
+receive your money and fly to your Machka. . .  You have a Machka, say,
+little one?"
+
+"N-no!"
+
+Gavrilo did not spare himself; his breast worked like a bellows and his
+arms like steel springs.  The water foamed under the boat and the blue
+trail that followed in the wake of the stern had become wider.  Gavrilo
+was bathed in perspiration, but he continued to row with all his
+strength.  After twice experiencing the fright that he had on this
+night, he dreaded a repetition of it and had only one desire: to finish
+this accursed task as soon as possible, regain the land, and flee from
+this man before he should be killed by him or imprisoned on account of
+his misdeeds.  He resolved not to speak to him, not to contradict him
+in anything, to execute all his commands and if he succeeded in freeing
+himself from him unmolested, to sing a Te Deum to Saint Nicholas.  An
+earnest prayer was on his lips.  But he controlled himself, puffed like
+a steamboat, and in silence cast furtive glances at Tchelkache.
+
+The other, bending his long, lean body forward, like a bird poising for
+flight, gazed ahead into the darkness with his hawk's eyes.  Turning
+his fierce, aquiline nose from side to side, he held the tiller with
+one hand and with the other tugged at his moustache which by a constant
+trembling betrayed the quiet smile on the thin lips.  Tchelkache was
+pleased with his success, with himself and with this lad, whom he had
+terrified into becoming his slave.  He enjoyed in advance to-morrow's
+feast and now he rejoiced in his strength and the subjection of this
+young, untried boy.  He saw him toil; he took pity on him and tried to
+encourage him.
+
+"Hey!  Say there!" he asked softly.  "Were you very much afraid?"
+
+"It doesn't matter!" sighed Gavrilo, coughing.
+
+"You needn't keep on rowing so hard.  It's ended, now.  There's only
+one more bad place to pass. . .  Rest yourself."
+
+Gavrilo stopped docilely, wiped the perspiration from his face with the
+sleeve of his blouse and again dipped the oars in the water.
+
+"That's right, row more gently.  So that the water tells no tales.
+There's a channel to cross.  Softly, softly.  Here, brother, are
+serious people.  They are quite capable of amusing themselves with a
+gun, They could raise a fine lump on your forehead before you'd have
+time to cry out."
+
+The boat glided over the water almost without sound.  Blue drops fell
+from the oars and when they touched the sea there flamed up for an
+instant a little blue spot.  The night was growing darker and more
+silent.  The sky no longer resembled a rough sea; the clouds extended
+over its surface, forming a thick, even curtain, hanging motionless
+above the ocean.  The sea was calmer and blacker, its warm and salty
+odor was stronger and it did not appear as vast as before.
+
+"Oh! if it would only rain!" murmured Tchelkache; "we would be hidden
+by a curtain."
+
+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.
+
+From the moment that he had ordered Gavrilo to row slowly, the lad had
+again experienced a feeling of feverish expectation.  He leaned
+forward, toward the darkness and it seemed to him that he was growing
+larger; his bones and veins stretched painfully; his head, filled with
+one thought, ached; the skin on his back shivered and in his legs were
+pricking sensations as though small sharp, cold needles were being
+thrust into them.  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!" Gavrilo started: he was
+consumed by a sharp, burning thought; his nerves were wrought up to the
+highest pitch; he wanted to cry out, to call for help, he had already
+opened his mouth and straightened himself up on the seat.  He thrust
+forward his chest, drew a long breath, and again opened his mouth; but
+suddenly, overcome by sharp fear, he closed his eyes and fell from his
+seat.
+
+Ahead of the boat, far off on the horizon, an immense, flaming blue
+sword sprang up from the black water.  It rose, cleaved the darkness;
+its blade flashed across the clouds and illumined the surface of the
+sea with a broad blue hand.  In this luminous ray stood out the black,
+silent ships, hitherto invisible.  It seemed as though they had been
+waiting at the bottom of the sea, whither they had been dragged by an
+irresistible tempest, and that now they arose in obedience to the sword
+of fire to which the sea had given birth.  They had ascended to
+contemplate the sky and all that was above the water.  The rigging
+clinging to the mast seemed like seaweed that had left the water with
+these black giants, covering them with their meshes.  Then the
+wonderful blue sword again arose in the air, cleaved the night and
+descended in a different place.  Again, on the spot where it rested,
+appeared the skeletons of ships until then invisible.
+
+Tchelkache's boat stopped and rocked on the water as though hesitating.
+Gavrilo lay flat on the bottom of the boat, covering his face with his
+hands, and Tchelkache prodded him with his oar, hissing furiously, but
+quite low.
+
+"Idiot, that's the custom-house cruiser.  The electric lantern!  Get
+up, row with all your might!  They'll throw the light upon us!  You'll
+ruin us, devil, both of us!"
+
+When the sharp edge of the oar had been brought down once more, harder
+this time, on Gavrilo's back, he arose and, not daring to open his
+eyes, resumed his seat and feeling for the oars, sent the boat ahead.
+
+"Softly, or I'll kill you!  Softly!  Imbecile, may the devil take you!
+What are you afraid of?  Say?  A lantern and a mirror.  That's all!
+Softly with those oars, miserable wretch!  They incline the mirror at
+will and light the sea to find out if any folks like us are roving over
+it.  They're on the watch for smugglers.  We're out of reach; they're
+too far away, now.  Don't be afraid, boy, we're safe!  Now, we. . ."
+
+Tchelkache looked around him triumphantly.
+
+"Yes, we're safe.  Out!  You were  in  luck,  you worthless stick!"
+
+Gavrilo rowed in silence; breathing heavily, he cast sidelong glances
+at the spot where still rose and fell the sword of fire.  He could not
+believe that it was only, as Tchelkache said, a lantern with a
+reflector.  The cold, blue light, cutting the darkness, awoke silver
+reflections upon the sea; there seemed something mysterious about it,
+and Gavrilo again felt his faculties benumbed with fear.  The
+presentiment of some misfortune oppressed him a second time.  He rowed
+like a machine, bent his shoulders as though expecting a blow to
+descend and felt himself void of every desire, and without soul.  The
+emotions of that night had consumed all that was human in him.
+
+Tchelkache was more triumphant than ever: his success was complete!
+His nerves, accustomed to shocks, were already calmed.  His lips
+trembled and his eyes shone with an eager light.  He felt strong and
+well, whistled softly, inhaled long breaths of the salt sea air,
+glanced about from right to left and smiled good-naturedly when his
+eyes fell upon Gavrilo.
+
+A light breeze set a thousand little waves to dancing.  The clouds
+became thinner and more transparent although still covering the sky.
+The wind swept lightly and freely over the entire surface of the sea,
+but the clouds remained motionless, and seemed to be plunged in a dull,
+gray reverie.
+
+"Come, brother, wake up, it's time!  Your soul seems to have been
+shaken out of your skin; there's nothing left but a bag of bones.  My
+dear fellow!  We have hold of the good end, eh?"
+
+Gavrilo was glad to hear a human voice, even though it was that of
+Tchelkache.
+
+"I know it," said he, very low.
+
+"That's right, little man!  Take the tiller, I'll row; You're tired,
+aren't you?"
+
+Gavrilo mechanically changed places, and when Tchelkache saw that he
+staggered, he pitied him more still and patted him on the shoulder,
+
+"Don't be afraid!  You've made a good thing out of it.  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.  The foam as it melted sighed and the air
+was filled with harmonious sounds and the plashing of water.  The
+darkness seemed to be alive.
+
+"Well! tell me . . ." began Tchelkache.  "You'll return to the village,
+you'll marry, you'll set to work to plough and sow, your wife'll
+present you with many children, you'll not have enough bread and you'll
+just manage to keep soul and body together all your life!  So . . . is
+it such a pleasant prospect?"
+
+"What pleasure can there be in that?" timidly and shudderingly replied
+Gavrilo.  "What can one do?"
+
+Here and there, the clouds were rent by the wind and, through the
+spaces, the cold sky studded with a few stars looked down.  Reflected
+by the joyous sea, these stars leaped upon the waves, now disappearing,
+now shining brightly.
+
+"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?"
+
+"That's silk.  A very dear thing.  If it were to be sold for its real
+value, it would bring a thousand rubles.  But I don't raise the price
+. . . clever that, eh?"
+
+"Is it possible?" asked Gavrilo.  "If I only had as much!"
+
+He sighed at the thought of the country, of his miserable life, his
+toil, his mother and all those far-distant and dear things for which he
+had gone away to work, and for which he had suffered so much that
+night.  A wave of memory swept over him: he saw his village on a
+hill-side with the river at the bottom, hidden by birches, willows,
+mountain-ash and wild cherry trees.  The picture breathed some life in
+him and gave him a little strength.
+
+"Oh, Lord, how much good it would do!" he sighed, sadly.
+
+"Yes! I imagine that you'd very quickly board the train
+and--good-evening!  Oh, how the girls would love you, yonder, in the
+village!  You could have your pick.  You could have a new house built.
+But for a new house, there might not be enough . . ."
+
+"That's true.  A house, no; wood is very dear with us."
+
+"Never mind, you could have the one that you have repaired.  Do you own
+a horse?"
+
+"A horse?  Yes, there's one, but he's very old!"
+
+"Then a horse, a good horse!  A cow . . . sheep . . . poultry . . . eh?"
+
+"Why do you say that?  If only! . . . Ah! Lord, how I might enjoy life."
+
+"Yes, brother, life under those circumstances would not be bad . . .
+I, too, I know a little about such things.  I also have a nest
+belonging to me.  My father was one of the richest peasants of his
+village."
+
+Tchelkache rowed slowly.  The boat danced upon the waves which beat
+against its sides; it scarcely advanced over the somber sea, now
+disporting itself harder than ever.  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.  He at first spoke with a sceptical smile
+hidden under his moustache, but as he talked and recalled the joys of
+country life, in regard to which he himself had long since been
+disabused, and that he had forgotten until this moment, he became
+carried away, and instead of talking to the lad, he began unconsciously
+to harangue:
+
+"The essential part of the life of a peasant, brother, is liberty.  You
+must be your own master.  You own your house: it is not worth much, but
+it belongs to you.  You possess a piece of ground, a little corner,
+perhaps, but it is yours.  Your chickens, eggs, apples are yours.  You
+are a king upon the earth.  Then you must be methodical. . .  As soon
+as you are up in the morning, you must go to work.  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.
+
+Gavrilo looked at him with curiosity, and was also aroused to
+enthusiasm.  He had already had time in the course of this conversation
+to forget with whom he was dealing; he saw before him only a peasant
+like himself, attached to the earth by labor, by several generations of
+laborers, by memories of childhood, but who had voluntarily withdrawn
+from it and its cares and who was now suffering the punishment of his
+ill-advised act.
+
+"Yes, comrade, that's true!  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.
+
+"There he goes again!" he exclaimed fiercely.  "You imagine, I suppose
+that I'm speaking seriously.  I'm worth more than that, let me tell
+you!"
+
+"Why, you funny fellow!" replied Gavrilo, again intimidated, "am I
+speaking of you?  There are a great many like you!  My God, how many
+unfortunate  persons, vagabonds there are on the earth!"
+
+"Take the oars again, dolt!" commanded Tchelkache shortly, restraining
+himself from pouring forth a string of fierce oaths that rose in his
+throat.
+
+They  again  changed  places.  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.  He was lost in thoughts of the
+past and forgot to steer his boat; the waves had turned it and it was
+now going out to sea.  They seemed to understand that this boat had no
+aim, and they played with it and lightly tossed it, while their blue
+fires flamed up under the oars.  Before Tchelkache's inward vision, was
+rapidly unfolded a series of pictures of the past--that far distant
+past separated from the present by a wall of eleven years of vagrancy.
+He saw himself again a child, in the village, he saw his mother,
+red-cheeked, fat, with kind gray eyes,--his father, a giant with a
+tawny beard and stern countenance,--himself betrothed to Amphissa,
+black-eyed with a long braid down her back, plump, easy-going, gay. . .
+And then, himself, a handsome soldier of the guard; later, his father,
+gray and bent by work, and his mother, wrinkled and bowed.  What a
+merry-making there was at the village when he had returned after the
+expiration of his service!  How proud the father was of his Gregori,
+the moustached, broad-shouldered soldier, the cock of the village!
+Memory, that scourge of the unfortunate, brings to life even the stones
+of the past, and, even to the poison, drunk in former days, adds drops
+of honey; and all this only to kill man by the consciousness of his
+faults, and to destroy in his soul all faith in the future by causing
+him to love the past too well.
+
+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.
+
+"Hey!  Where are we going?" suddenly asked Gavrilo.
+
+Tchelkache started and turned around with the uneasy glance of a wild
+beast.
+
+"Oh! the devil!  Never mind. . . Row more cautiously. . . We're almost
+there."
+
+"Were you dreaming?" asked Gavrilo, smiling.
+
+Tchelkache looked searchingly at him.  The lad was entirely himself
+again; calm, gay, he even seemed complacent.  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!"
+
+"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.  He was a pitiful and dull object.  His likeness to a
+bird of prey had disappeared; self-abasement appeared in the very folds
+of his dirty blouse.
+
+"I'm tired, worn out!"
+
+"We are landing. . .  Here we are."
+
+Tchelkache abruptly turned the boat and guided it toward something
+black that arose from the water.
+
+The sky was covered with clouds, and a fine, drizzling rain began to
+fall, pattering joyously on the crests of the waves.
+
+"Stop! . . . Softly!" ordered Tchelkache.
+
+The bow of the boat hit the hull of a vessel.
+
+"Are  the  devils  sleeping?" growled Tchelkache, catching the ropes
+hanging over the side with his boat-hook.  "The ladder isn't lowered.
+In this rain, besides. . . It couldn't have rained before!  Eh!  You
+vermin, there! Eh!"
+
+"Is that you Selkache?" came softly from above.
+
+"Lower the ladder, will you!"
+
+"Good-day, Selkache."
+
+"Lower the ladder, smoky devil!" roared Tchelkache.
+
+"Oh! Isn't he ill-natured to-day. . . Eh! Oh!"
+
+"Go up, Gavrilo!" commanded Tchelkache to his companion.
+
+In a moment they were on the deck, where three dark and bearded
+individuals were looking over the side at Tchelkache's boat and talking
+animatedly in a strange and harsh language.  A fourth, clad in a long
+gown, advanced toward Tchelkache, shook his hand in silence and cast a
+suspicious glance at Gavrilo.
+
+"Get the money ready for to-morrow morning," briefly said Tchelkache.
+"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.  Then he lay down
+beside Gavrilo, without removing the boot from his foot, and putting
+his hands under the back of his neck he carefully examined the deck,
+working his lips the while.
+
+The boat rocked joyously on the water; the sound of wood creaking
+dismally was heard, the rain fell softly on the deck, the waves beat
+against the sides.  Everything resounded sadly like the lullaby of a
+mother who has lost all hope for the happiness of her son.
+
+Tchelkache, with parted lips, raised his head and gazed around him
+. . . and murmuring a few words, lay down again.
+
+      *      *      *      *      *
+
+He was the first to awaken, starting up uneasily; then suddenly
+quieting down he looked at Gavrilo, who was still sleeping.  The lad
+was smiling in his sleep, his round, sun-burned face irradiated with
+joy.
+
+Tchelkache sighed and climbed up a narrow rope ladder.  The opening of
+the trap-door framed a piece of leaden sky.  It was daylight, but the
+autumn weather was gray and gloomy.
+
+It was two hours before Tchelkache reappeared.  His face was red, his
+moustache curled fiercely upward; his eyes beamed with gaiety and
+good-nature.  He wore high, thick boots, a coat and leather trowsers;
+he looked like a hunter.  His costume, which, although a little worn,
+was still in good condition and fitted him well, made him appear
+broader, concealed his too angular lines and gave him a martial air.
+
+"Hey! 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!  How
+many times did you make up your mind to die last night, eh?  Say. . ."
+
+"But you see, it's the first time I've ever done anything like this!
+One might lose his soul for the rest of his days!"
+
+"Would you be willing to go again?"
+
+"Again?  I must know first what there would be in it for me."
+
+"Two hundred."
+
+"Two hundred, you say?  Yes I'd go."
+
+"Stop! . . . And your soul?"
+
+"Perhaps I shouldn't lose it!" said Gavrilo, smiling.  "And then one
+would be a man for the rest of his days!"
+
+Tchelkache burst out laughing.  "That's right, but we've joked long
+enough!  Let us row to the shore.  Get ready."
+
+"I?  Why I'm ready. . ."
+
+They again took their places in the boat.  Tchelkache at the helm,
+Gavrilo rowing.
+
+The gray sky was covered with clouds; the troubled, green sea, played
+with their craft, tossing it on its still tiny waves that broke over it
+in a shower of clear, salt drops.  Far off, before the prow of the
+boat, appeared the yellow line of the sandy beach; back of the stern
+was the free and joyous sea, all furrowed by the troops of waves that
+ran up and down, already decked in their superb fringe of foam.  In the
+far distance, ships were rocking on the bosom of the sea and, on the
+left, was a whole forest of masts mingled with the white masses of the
+houses of the town.  Prom there, a dull murmur is borne out to sea and
+blending with the sound of the waves swelled into rapturous music.
+Over all stretched a thin veil of mist, widening the distance between
+the different objects.
+
+"Eh!  It'll be rough to-night!" said Tchelkache, nodding his head in
+the direction of the sea.
+
+"A storm?" asked Gavrilo.  He was rowing hard.  He was drenched from
+head to foot by the drops blown by the wind.
+
+"Ehe!" affirmed Tchelkache.
+
+Gavrilo looked at him curiously.
+
+"How much did they give you?" he asked at last, seeing that Tchelkache
+was not disposed to talk.
+
+"See!" said Tchelkache.  He held out toward Gavrilo something that he
+drew from his pocket.
+
+Gavrilo saw the variegated banknotes, and they assumed in his eyes all
+the colors of the rainbow.
+
+"Oh! And I thought you were boasting!  How much?"
+
+"Five hundred and forty!  Isn't that a good haul?"
+
+"Certain!" murmured Gavrilo, following with greedy eyes the five
+hundred and forty roubles as they again disappeared in the pocket.
+"Ah! If it was only mine!"  He sighed dejectedly.
+
+"We'll have a lark, little one!" enthusiastically exclaimed Tchelkache!
+"Have no fear: I'll pay you, brother.  I'll give you forty rubles!  Eh?
+Are you pleased?  Do you want your money now?"
+
+"If you don't mind.  Yes, I'll accept it!"
+
+Gavrilo trembled with anticipation; a sharp, burning pain oppressed his
+breast.
+
+"Ha! ha! ha!  Little devil!  You'll accept it?  Take it, brother, I beg
+of you!  I implore you, take it!  I don't know where to put all this
+money; relieve me, here!"
+
+Tchelkache handed Gavrilo several ten ruble notes.  The other took them
+with a shaking hand, dropped the oars and proceeded to conceal his
+booty in his blouse, screwing up his eyes greedily, and breathing
+noisily as though he were drinking something hot.  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.  He began to talk brokenly and rapidly, as though
+pursuing an idea, and seizing the words on the wing, of life in the
+country with and without money.  "Respect, ease, liberty, gaiety. . ."
+
+Tchelkache listened attentively with a serious countenance and
+inscrutable eyes.  Occasionally, he smiled in a pleased manner.
+
+"Here we are!" he said at last.
+
+A wave seized hold of the boat and landed it high on the sand.
+
+"Ended, ended, quite ended! We must draw the boat up farther, so that
+it will be out of reach of the tide.  They will come after it.  And,
+now, good-bye.  The town is eight versts from here.  You'll return to
+town, eh?"
+
+Tchelkache's face still beamed with a slily good-natured smile; he
+seemed to be planning something pleasant for himself and a surprise for
+Gavrilo.  He put his hand in his pocket and rustled the bank-notes.
+
+"No, I'm not going. . .  I. . ."
+
+Gavrilo stifled and choked.  He was shaken by a storm of conflicting
+desires, words and feelings.  He burned as though on fire.
+
+Tchelkache gazed at him with astonishment.
+
+"What's the matter with you?" he asked.
+
+"Nothing."
+
+But Gavrilo's face grew red and then ashy pale.  The lad moved his feet
+restlessly as though he would have thrown himself upon Tchelkache, or
+as though he were torn by Borne secret desire difficult to realize.
+
+His suppressed excitement moved Tchelkache to some apprehension.  He
+wondered what form it would take in breaking out.
+
+Gavrilo gave a laugh, a strange laugh, like a sob.  His head was bent,
+so that Tchelkache could not see the expression of his face; he could
+only perceive Gavrilo's ears, by turns red and white.
+
+"Go to the devil!" exclaimed Tchelkache, motioning with his hand.  "Are
+you in love with me?  Say?  Look at you mincing like a young girl.  Are
+you distressed at leaving me?  Eh! youngster, speak, or else I'm going!"
+
+"You're going?" cried Gavrilo, in a sonorous voice.  The deserted and
+sandy beach trembled at this cry, and the waves of sand brought by the
+waves of the sea seemed to shudder.  Tchelkache also shuddered.
+Suddenly Gavrilo darted from his place, and throwing himself at
+Tchelkache's feet, entwined his legs with his arms and drew him toward
+him.  Tchelkache tottered, sat down heavily on the sand, and gritting
+his teeth, brandished his long arm and closed fist in the air.  But
+before he had time to strike, he was stopped by the troubled and
+suppliant look of Gavrilo.
+
+"Friend!  Give me . . . that money!  Give it to me, in the name of
+Heaven.  What need have you of it?  It is the earnings of one night
+. . .  a single night . . .  And it would take me years to get as much
+as that. . .  Give it to me. . .  I'll pray for you . . . all my life
+. . . in three churches . . . for the safety of your soul.  You'll
+throw it to the winds, and I'll give it to the earth.  Oh! give me that
+money.  What will you do with it, say?  Do you care about it as much as
+that?  One night . . . and you are rich!  Do a good deed!  You are
+lost, you! . . . You'll never come back again to the way, while I!
+. . . Ah! give it to me!"
+
+Tchelkache frightened, astonished and furious threw himself backward,
+still seated on the sand, and leaning on his two hands silently gazed
+at him, his eyes starting from their orbits; the lad leaned his head on
+his knees and gasped forth his supplications.  Tchelkache finally
+pushed him away, jumped to his feet, and thrusting his hand into his
+pocket threw the multi-colored bills at Gavrilo.
+
+"There, dog, swallow them!" he cried trembling with mingled feelings of
+anger, pity and hate for this greedy slave.  Now that he had thrown him
+the money, he felt himself a hero.  His eyes, his whole person, beamed
+with conscious pride.
+
+"I meant to have given you more.  I pitied you yesterday.  I thought of
+the village.  I said to myself: 'I'll help this boy.'  I was waiting to
+see what you'd do, whether you'd ask me or not.  And now, see!
+tatterdemalion, beggar, that you are! . . .  Is it right to work
+oneself up to such a state for money . . . to suffer like that?
+Imbeciles, greedy devils who forget . . . who would sell themselves for
+five kopeks, eh?"
+
+"Friend . . .  Christ's blessing on you!  What is this?  What?
+Thousands? . . . I'm a rich man, now!" screamed Gavrilo, in a frenzy of
+delight, hiding the money in his blouse.  "Ah! dear man! I shall, never
+forget this! never!  And I'll beg my wife and children to pray for you."
+
+Tchelkache listened to these cries of joy, gazed at this face,
+irradiated and disfigured by the passion of covetousness; he felt that
+he himself, the thief and vagabond, freed from all restraining
+influence, would never become so rapacious, so vile, so lost to all
+decency.  Never would he sink so low as that!  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!  We were rowing here . . .  I saw the
+money . . .  I said to myself:
+
+"Suppose I were to give him . . .  give you . . .  a blow with the oar
+. . . just one!  The money would be mine; as for him, I'd throw him in
+the sea . . . you, you understand?  Who would ever notice his
+disappearance?  And if you were found, no inquest would be made: who,
+how, why had you been killed?  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.
+
+Gavrilo struggled, once, twice . . . but Tchelkache's other arm
+entwined itself like a serpent around him . . . a noise of tearing
+linen,--and Gavrilo slipped to the ground with bulging eyes, catching
+at the air with his hands and waving his legs.  Tchelkache, erect,
+spare, like a wild beast, showed his teeth wickedly and laughed
+harshly, while his moustache worked nervously on his sharp, angular
+face.  Never, in his whole life, had he been so deeply wounded, and
+never had his anger been so great.
+
+"Well!  Are you happy, now?" asked he, still laughing, of Gavrilo, and
+turning his back to him, he walked away in the direction of the town.
+
+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.  At this, Gavrilo began to run, to run
+far away, yonder, to where the shadow of that ragged cloud overhung the
+misty steppe.  The murmuring waves, coursing over the sands, joined him
+and ran on and on, never stopping.  The foam hissed, the spray flew
+through the air.
+
+The rain fell.  Slight at first, it soon came down thickly, heavily and
+came from the sky in slender streams.  They crossed, forming a net that
+soon shut off the distance on land and water.  For a long time there
+was nothing to be seen but the rain and this long body lying on the
+sand beside the sea . . .  But suddenly, behold Gavrilo coming from out
+the rain, running; he flew like a bird.  He went up to Tchelkache, fell
+upon his knees before him, and tried to turn him over.  His hand sank
+into a sticky liquid, warm and red.  He trembled and drew back, pale
+and distracted.
+
+"Get up, brother!" he whispered amid the noise of the falling rain into
+the ear of Tchelkache.
+
+Tchelkache came to himself and, repulsing Gavrilo, said in a hoarse
+voice:
+
+"Go away!"
+
+"Forgive me, brother: I was tempted by the devil . . ." continued
+Gavrilo, trembling and kissing Tchelkache's hand.
+
+"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!"
+
+He tried to kick Gavrilo, prostrated by grief, but failed, and would
+have fallen if Gavrilo hadn't supported him with his shoulders.
+Tchelkache's face was now on a level with Gavrilo's.  Both were pale,
+wretched and terrifying.
+
+"Fie!"
+
+Tchelkache spat in the wide opened eyes of his employe.
+
+The other humbly wiped them with his sleeve, and murmured:
+
+"Do what you will . . .  I'll not say one word.  Pardon me, in the name
+of Heaven!"
+
+"Fool, you don't even know how to steal!" cried Tchelkache,
+contemptuously.  He tore his shirt under his waistcoat and, gritting
+his teeth in silence, began to bandage his head.
+
+"Have you taken the money?" he asked, at last.
+
+"I haven't taken it, brother; I don't want it!  It brings bad luck!"
+
+Tchelkache thrust his hand into his waistcoat pocket, withdrew the
+package of bills, put one of them in his pocket and threw all the rest
+at Gavrilo.
+
+"Take that and be off!"
+
+"I cannot take it . . . I cannot!  Forgive me!"
+
+"Take it, I tell you!" roared Tchelkache, rolling his eyes frightfully.
+
+"Pardon me!  When you have forgiven me I'll take it," timidly said
+Gavrilo, falling on the wet sand at Tchelkache's feet.
+
+"You lie, fool, you'll take it at once!" said Tchelkache, confidently,
+and raising his head, by a painful effort, he thrust the money before
+his face.  "Take it, take it!  You haven't worked for nothing!  Don't
+be ashamed of having failed to assassinate a man!  No one will claim
+anyone like me.  You'll be thanked, on the contrary, when it's learned
+what you've done.  There, take it!  No one'll know what you've done and
+yet it deserves some reward! Here it is!"
+
+Gavrilo saw that Tchelkache was laughing, and he felt relieved.  He
+held the money tightly in his hand.
+
+"Brother!  Will you forgive me?  Won't you do it?  Say?" he supplicated
+tearfully.
+
+"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.
+
+The rain fell in torrents.  The sea complained dully and the waves beat
+angrily against the beach.
+
+The two men were silent.
+
+"Good-bye!" said Tchelkache, with cold irony.
+
+He staggered, his legs trembled, and he carried his head oddly, as
+though he was afraid of losing it.
+
+"Pardon me, brother!" again repeated Gavrilo.
+
+"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.
+
+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.  The rain lashed the sea and land pitilessly; the
+wind roared.  All the air around was filled with plaints, cries and
+dull sounds.  The rain masked sea and sky. . .
+
+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
+
+BY MAXIME GORKY
+
+The sea laughed.
+
+It trembled at the warm and light breath of the wind and became covered
+with tiny wrinkles that reflected the sun in blinding fashion and
+laughed at the sky with its thousands of silvery lips.  In the deep
+space between sea and sky buzzed the deafening and joyous sound of the
+waves chasing each other on the flat beach of the sandy promontory.
+This noise and brilliancy of sunlight, reverberated a thousand times by
+the sea, mingled harmoniously in ceaseless and joyous agitation.  The
+sky was glad to shine; the sea was happy to reflect the glorious light.
+
+The wind caressed the powerful and satin-like breast of the sea, the sun
+heated it with its rays and it sighed as if fatigued by these ardent
+caresses; it filled the burning air with the salty aroma of its
+emanations.  The green waves, coursing up the yellow sand, threw on the
+beach the white foam of their luxurious crests which melted with a
+gentle murmur, and wet it.
+
+At intervals along the beach, scattered with shells and sea weed, were
+stakes of wood driven into the sand and on which hung fishing nets,
+drying and casting shadows as fine as cobwebs.  A few large boats and a
+small one were drawn up beyond high-water mark, and the waves as they
+ran up towards them seemed as if they were calling to them.  Gaffs,
+oars, coiled ropes, baskets and barrels lay about in disorder and amidst
+it all was a cabin built of yellow branches, bark and matting.  Above
+the general chaos floated a red rag at the extremity of a tall mast.
+
+Under the shade of a boat lay Vassili Legostev, the watchman at this
+outpost of the Grebentchikov fishing grounds.  Lying on his stomach, his
+head resting on his hands, he was gazing fixedly out to sea, where away
+in the distance danced a black spot.  Vassili saw with satisfaction that
+it grew larger and was drawing nearer.
+
+Screwing up his eyes on account of the glare caused by the reflection on
+the water, he grunted with pleasure and content.  Malva was coming.  A
+few minutes more and she would be there, laughing so heartily as to
+strain every stitch of her well-filled bodice.  She would throw her
+robust and gentle arms around him and kiss him, and in that rich
+sonorous voice that startles the sea gulls would give him the news of
+what was going on yonder.  They would make a good fish soup together,
+and drink brandy as they chatted and caressed each other.  That is how
+they spent every Sunday and holiday.  And at daylight he would row her
+back over the sea in the sharp morning air.  Malva, still nodding with
+sleep, would hold the tiller and he would watch her as he pulled.  She
+was amusing at those times, funny and charming both, like a cat which
+had eaten well.  Sometimes she would slip from her seat and roll herself
+up at the bottom of the boat like a ball.
+
+As Vassili watched the little black spot grow larger it seemed to him
+that Malva was not alone in the boat.  Could Serejka have come along
+with her?  Vassili moved heavily on the sand, sat up, shaded his eyes
+with his hands, and with a show of ill humor began to strain his eyes to
+see who was coming.  No, the man rowing was not Serejka.  He rows strong
+but clumsily.  If Serejka were rowing Malva would not take the trouble
+to hold the rudder.
+
+"Hey there!" cried Vassili impatiently.
+
+The sea gulls halted in their flight and listened.
+
+"Hallo! Hallo!" came back from the boat.  It was Malva's sonorous voice.
+
+"Who's with you?"
+
+A laugh replied to him.
+
+"Jade!" swore Vassili under his breath.
+
+He spat on the ground with vexation.
+
+He was puzzled.  While he rolled a cigarette he examined the neck and
+back of the rower who was rapidly drawing nearer.  The sound of the
+water when the oars struck it resounded in the still air, and the sand
+crunched under the watchman's bare feet as he stamped about in his
+impatience.
+
+"Who's with you?" he cried, when he could discern the familiar smile on
+Malva's pretty plump face.
+
+"Wait.  You'll know him all right," she replied laughing.
+
+The rower turned on his seat and, also laughing, looked at Vassili.
+
+The watchman frowned.  It seemed to him that he knew the fellow.
+
+"Pull harder!" commanded Malva.
+
+The stroke was so vigorous that the boat was carried up the beach on a
+wave, fell over on one side and then righted itself while the wave
+rolled back laughing into the sea.  The rower jumped out on the beach,
+and going up to Vassili said:
+
+"How are you, father?"
+
+"Iakov!" cried Vassili, more surprised than pleased.
+
+They embraced three times.  Afterwards Vassili's stupor became mingled
+with both joy and uneasiness.  The watchman stroked his blond beard with
+one hand and with the other gesticulated:
+
+"I knew something was up; my heart told me so.  So it was you!  I kept
+asking myself if it was Serejka.  But I saw it was not Serejka.  How did
+you come here?"
+
+Vassili would have liked to look at Malva, but his son's rollicking eyes
+were upon him and he did not dare.  The pride he felt at having a son so
+strong and handsome struggled in him with the embarrassment caused by
+the presence of Malva.  He shuffled about and kept asking Iakov one
+question after another, often without waiting for a reply.  His head
+felt awhirl, and he felt particularly uneasy when he heard Malva say in
+a mocking tone.
+
+"Don't skip about--for joy.  Take him to the cabin and give him
+something to eat."
+
+The father examined his son from head to foot.  On the latter's lips
+hovered that cunning smile Vassili knew so well.  Malva turned her green
+eyes from the father to the son and munched melon seeds between her
+small white teeth.  Iakov smiled and for a few seconds, which were
+painful to Vassili, all three were silent.
+
+"I'll come back in a moment," said Vassili suddenly going towards the
+cabin.  "Don't stay there in the sun, I'm going to fetch some water.
+We'll make some soup.  I'll give you some fish soup, Iakov."
+
+He seized a saucepan that was lying on the ground and disappeared behind
+the fishing nets.
+
+Malva and the peasant followed him.
+
+"Well, my fine young fellow, I brought you to your father, didn't I?"
+said Malva, brushing up against Iakov's robust figure.
+
+He turned towards her his face framed in its curled blond beard, and
+with a brilliant gleam in his eyes said:
+
+"Yes, here we are--It's fine here, isn't it?  What a stretch of sea!"
+
+"The sea is great.  Has the old man changed much?"
+
+"No, not much.  I expected to find him more grey.  He's still pretty
+solid."
+
+"How long is it since you saw him?"
+
+"About five years.  I was nearly seventeen when he left the village."
+
+They entered the cabin, the air of which was suffocating from the heat
+and the odor of cooking fish.  They sat down.  Between them there was a
+roughly-hewn oak table.  They looked at each other for a long time
+without speaking.
+
+"So you want to work here?" said Malva at last.
+
+"I don't know.  If I find something, I'll work."
+
+"You'll find work," replied Malva with assurance, examining him
+critically with her green eyes.
+
+He paid no attention to her, and with his sleeve wiped away the
+perspiration that covered his face.
+
+She suddenly began to laugh.
+
+"Your mother probably sent messages for your father by you?"
+
+Iakov gave a shrug of ill humor and replied:
+
+"Of course.  What if she did?"
+
+"Oh, nothing."
+
+And she laughed the louder.
+
+Her laugh displeased Iakov.  He paid no attention to her and thought of
+his mother's instructions.  When she accompanied him to the end of the
+village she had said quickly, blinking her eyes:
+
+"In Christ's name, Iakov say to him: 'Father, mother is alone yonder.
+Five years have gone by and she is always alone.  She is getting old.'
+Tell him that, Iakov, my little Iakov, for the love of God.  Mother will
+soon be an old woman.  She's always alone, always at work.  In Christ's
+name, tell him that."
+
+And she had wept silently, hiding her face in her apron.
+
+Iakov had not pitied her then, but he did now.  And his face took on a
+hard expression before Malva, as if he were about to abuse her.
+
+"Here I am!" cried Vassili, bursting in on them with a wriggling fish in
+one hand and a knife in the other.
+
+He had not got over his uneasiness, but had succeeded in dissimulating
+it deep within him.  Now he looked at his guests with serenity and good
+nature; only his manner was more agitated than usual.
+
+"I'll make a bit of a fire in a minute, and we'll talk.  Why, Iakov,
+what a fine fellow you've grown!"
+
+Again he disappeared.
+
+Malva went on munching her melon seeds.  She stared familiarly at Iakov.
+He tried not to meet her eyes, although he would have liked to, and he
+thought to himself:
+
+"Life must come easy here.  People seem to eat as much as they want to.
+How strong she is and father, too!"
+
+Then intimidated by the silence, he said aloud:
+
+"I forgot my bag in the boat.  I'll go and get it."
+
+Iakov rose leisurely and went out.  Vassili appeared a moment later.  He
+bent down towards Malva and said rapidly with anger:
+
+"What did you want to bring him for?  What shall I tell him about you?"
+
+"What's that to me?  Am I afraid of him?  Or of you?" she asked, closing
+her green eyes with disdain.  Then she laughed: "How you went on when
+you saw him.  It was so funny!"
+
+"Funny, eh?"
+
+The sand crunched under Iakov's steps and they had to suspend their
+conversation.  Iakov had brought a bag which he threw into a corner.  He
+cast a hostile look at the young woman.
+
+She went on munching her seeds.  Vassili, seating himself on the
+woodbin, said with a forced smile:
+
+"What made you think of coming?"
+
+"Why, I just came.  We wrote you."
+
+"When?  I haven't received any letter."
+
+"Really?  We wrote often."
+
+"The letter must have got lost," said Vassili regretfully.  "It always
+does when it's important."
+
+"So you don't know how things are at home?" asked Iakov, suspiciously.
+
+"How should I know?  I received no letter."
+
+Then Iakov told him that the horse was dead, that all the corn had been
+eaten before the beginning of February, and that he himself had been
+unable to find any work.  Hay was also short, and the cow had almost
+perished from hunger.  They had managed as best they could until April
+and then they decided that Iakov should join the father far away and
+work three months with him.  That is what they had written.  Then they
+sold three sheep, bought flour and hay and Iakov had started.
+
+"How is that possible?" cried Vassali.  "I sent you some money."
+
+"Your money didn't go far.  We repaired the cottage, we had to marry
+sister off and I bought a plough.  You know five years is a long time."
+
+"Hum," said Vassili, "wasn't it enough?  What a tale of woe!  Ah,
+there's my soup boiling over!"
+
+He rose and stooping before the fire on which was the saucepan, Vassili
+meditated while throwing the scum into the flame.  Nothing in his son's
+recital had touched him particularly, and he felt irritated against his
+wife and Iakov.  He had sent them a great deal of money during the last
+five years, and yet they had not been able to manage.  If Malva had not
+been present he would have told his son what he thought about it.  Iakov
+was smart enough to leave the village on his own responsibility and
+without the father's permission, but he had not been able to get a
+living out of the soil.  Vassili sighed as he stirred the soup, and as
+he watched the blue flames he thought of his son and Malva.
+Henceforward, he thought, his life would be less agreeable, less free.
+Iakov had surely guessed what Malva was.
+
+Meanwhile Malva, in the cabin, was trying to arouse the rustic with her
+bold eyes.
+
+"Perhaps you left a girl in the village?" she asked suddenly.
+
+"Perhaps," he responded surlily.
+
+Inwardly he was abusing Malva.
+
+"Is she pretty?" she asked with indifference.
+
+Iakov made no reply.
+
+"Why don't you answer?  Is she better looking than I, or no?"
+
+He looked at her in spite of himself.  Her cheeks were sunburnt and
+plump, her lips red and tempting and now, parted in a malicious smile,
+showing the white even teeth, they seemed to tremble.  Her bust was full
+and firm under a pink cotton waist that set off to advantage her trim
+waist and well-rounded arms.  But he did not like her green and cynical
+eyes.
+
+"Why do you talk like that?" he asked.
+
+He sighed without reason and spoke in a beseeching tone, yet he wanted
+to speak brutally to her.
+
+"How shall I talk?" she asked laughing.
+
+"There you are, laughing--at what?"
+
+"At you--."
+
+"What have I done to you?" he said with irritation.  And once more he
+lowered his eyes under her gaze.
+
+She made no reply.
+
+Iakov understood her relations towards his father perfectly well and
+that prevented him from expressing himself freely.  He was not
+surprised.  It would have been difficult for a man like his father to
+have been long without a companion.
+
+"The soup is ready," announced Vassili, at the threshold of the cabin.
+"Get the spoons, Malva."
+
+When she found the spoons she said she must go down to the sea to wash
+them.
+
+The father and son watched her as she ran down the sands and both were
+silent.
+
+"Where did you meet her?" asked Vassili, finally.
+
+"I went to get news of you at the office.  She was there.  She said to
+me: 'Why go on foot along the sand?  Come in the boat.  I'm going
+there.'  And so we started."
+
+"And--what do you think of her?"
+
+"Not bad," said Iakov, vaguely, blinking his eyes.
+
+"What could I do?" asked Vassili.  "I tried at first.  But it was
+impossible.  She mends my clothes and so on.  Besides it's as easy to
+escape from death as from a woman when once she's after you."
+
+"What's it to me?" said Iakov.  "It's your affair.  I'm not your judge."
+
+Malva now returned with the spoons, and they sat down to dinner.  They
+ate without talking, sucking the bones noisily and spitting them out on
+the sand, near the door.  Iakov literally devoured his food, which
+seemed to please Malva vastly; she watched with tender interest his
+sunburnt cheeks extend and his thick humid lips moving quickly.  Vassili
+was not hungry.  He tried, however, to appear absorbed in the meal so as
+to be able to watch Malva and Iakov at his ease.
+
+After awhile, when Iakov had eaten his fill he said he was sleepy.
+
+"Lie down here," said Vassili.  "We'll wake you up."
+
+"I'm willing," said Iakov, sinking down on a coil of rope.  "And what
+will you do?"
+
+Embarrassed by his son's smile, Vassili left the cabin hastily, Malva
+frowned and replied to Iakov:
+
+"What's that to you?  Learn to mind your own business, my lad."
+
+Then she went out.
+
+Iakov turned over and went to sleep.
+
+Vassili had fixed three stakes in the sand, and with a piece of matting
+had rigged up a shelter from the sun.  Then he lay down flat on his back
+and contemplated the sky.  When Malva came up and dropped on the sand by
+his side he turned towards her with vexation plainly written on his face.
+
+"Well, old man," she said laughing, "you don't seem pleased to see your
+son."
+
+"He mocks me.  And why?  Because of you," replied Vassili testily.
+
+"Oh, I am sorry.  What can we do?  I mustn't come here again, eh?  All
+right.  I'll not come again."
+
+"Siren that you are!  Ah, you women!  He mocks me and you too--and yet
+you are what I have dearest to me."
+
+He moved away from her and was silent.  Squatting on the sand, with her
+legs drawn up to her chin, Malva balanced herself gently to and fro,
+idly gazing with her green eyes over the dazzling joyous sea, and she
+smiled with triumph as all women do when they understand the power of
+their beauty.
+
+"Why don't you speak?" asked Vassili.
+
+"I'm thinking," said Malva.  Then after a pause she added:
+
+"Your son's a fine fellow."
+
+"What's that to you?" cried Vassili, jealously.
+
+"Who knows?"
+
+He glanced at her suspiciously.  "Take care," he said, menacingly.
+"Don't play the imbecile.  I'm a patient man, but I mustn't be crossed."
+
+He ground his teeth and clenched his fists.
+
+"Don't frighten me, Vassili," she said indifferently, without looking up
+at him.
+
+"Well, stop your joking."
+
+"Don't try to frighten me."
+
+"I'll soon make you dance if you begin any foolishness."
+
+"Would you beat me?"
+
+She went up to him and gazed with curiosity at his frowning face.
+
+"One would think you were a countess.  Yes, I would beat you."
+
+"Yet I'm not your wife," said Malva, calmly.  "You have been accustomed
+to beat your wife for nothing, and you imagine that you can do the same
+with me.  No, I am free.  I belong only to myself, and I am afraid of no
+one.  But you are afraid of your son, and now you dare threaten me."
+
+She shook her head with disdain.  Her careless manner cooled Vassili's
+anger.  He had never seen her look so beautiful.
+
+"I have something else to tell you," she went on.  "You boasted to
+Serejka that I could no more get along without you than without bread,
+and that I cannot live without you.  You are mistaken.  Perhaps it is
+not you that I love and not for you that I come.  Perhaps I love the
+peace of this deserted beach.  (Here she made a wide gesture with her
+arms.)  Perhaps I love these lonely sands, with their vast stretch of
+sea and sky, and to be away from vile beings.  Because you are here is
+nothing to me.  If this were Serejka's place I should come here.  If
+your son lived here, I should come too.  It would be better still if no
+one were here, for I am disgusted with you all.  But if I take it into
+my head one day--beautiful as I am--I can always choose a man, and one
+who'll please me better than you."
+
+"So, so!" hissed Vassili, furiously, and he seized her by the throat.
+"So that's your game, is it?"
+
+He shook her, and she did not strive to get away from his grasp,
+although her face was congested and her eyes bloodshot.  She merely
+placed her two hands on the rough hands that were around her throat.
+
+"Ah, now I know you!" Vassili was hoarse with rage.  "And yet you said
+you loved me, and you kissed me and caressed me?  Ah, I'll show you!"
+
+Holding her down to the ground, he struck her repeatedly with his
+clenched fist.  Finally, fatigued with the exertion, he pushed her away
+from him crying:
+
+"There, serpent.  Now you've got what you deserved."
+
+Without a complaint, silent and calm, Malva fell back on her back, all
+crumpled, red and still beautiful.  Her green eyes watched him furtively
+under the lashes, and burned with a cold flame full of hatred, but he,
+gasping with excitement and satisfied with the punishment he had
+inflicted, did not notice the look, and when he stooped down towards her
+to see if she was crying, she smiled up at him gently.
+
+He looked at her, not understanding and not knowing what to do next.
+Should he beat her again?  But his fury was appeased, and he had no
+desire to recommence.
+
+"How you love me!" she whispered.
+
+Vassili felt hot all over.
+
+"All right! all right! the devil take you," he said gloomily.  "Are you
+satisfied now?"
+
+"Was I not foolish, Vassili?  I thought you no longer loved me!  I said
+to myself, 'now his son is here he will neglect me for him.'"
+
+And she burst out laughing, a strange forced laugh.
+
+"Foolish girl!" said Vassili, smiling in spite of himself.
+
+He felt himself at fault, and was sorry for her, but remembering what
+she had said, he went on crossly:
+
+"My son has nothing to do with it.  If I beat you it was your own fault.
+Why did you cross me?"
+
+"I did it on purpose to try you."
+
+And purring like a cat she rubbed herself against his shoulder.
+
+He glanced furtively towards the cabin and bending down embraced the
+young woman.
+
+"To try me?" he repeated.  "As if you wanted to do that?  You see the
+result?"
+
+"Oh, that's nothing!" said Malva, half closing her eyes.  "I'm not
+angry.  You beat me only because you loved me.  You'll make it up to me."
+
+She gave him a long look, trembled and lowering her voice repeated:
+
+"Oh, yes, you'll make it up to me."
+
+Vassili interpreted her words in a sense agreeable to him.
+
+"How?" he asked.
+
+"You'll see," replied Malva calmly, very calmly, but her lips trembled.
+
+"Ah, my darling!" cried Vassili, clasping her close in his arms.  "Do
+you know that since I have beaten you I love you better."  Her head fell
+back on his shoulders and he placed his lips on her trembling mouth.
+
+The sea gulls whirled about over their heads uttering hoarse cries.
+From the distance came the regular and gentle splash of the tiny waves
+breaking on the sand.
+
+When, at last, they broke from their long embrace, Malva sat up on
+Vassili's knee.  The peasant's face, tanned by wind and sun, was bent
+close to hers and his great blond beard tickled her neck.  The young
+woman was motionless; only the gradual and regular rise and fall of her
+bosom showed her to be alive.  Vassili's eyes wandered in turn from the
+sea to this woman by his side.  He told Malva how tired he was of living
+alone and how painful were his sleepless nights filled with gloomy
+thoughts.  Then he kissed her again on the mouth with the same sound
+that he might have made in chewing a hot piece of meat.
+
+They stayed there three hours in this way, and finally, when he saw the
+sun setting, Vassili said with a bored look:
+
+"I must go and make some tea.  Our guest will soon he awake."
+
+Malva rose with the indolent gesture of a languorous cat, and with a
+gesture of regret he started towards the cabin.  Through her half-open
+lids the young woman watched him as he moved away, and sighed as people
+sigh when they have borne too heavy a burden.
+
+      *      *      *      *      *
+
+Fifteen days later it was again Sunday and again Vassili Legostev,
+stretched out on the sand near his hut, was gazing out to sea, waiting
+for Malva.  And the deserted sea laughed, playing with the reflections
+of the sun, and legions of waves were born to run on the sand, deposit
+the foam of their crests and return to the sea, where they melted.
+
+All was as before.  Only Vassili, who the last time awaited her coming
+with peaceful security, was now filled with impatience.  Last Sunday she
+had not come; to-day she would surely come.  He did not doubt it for a
+moment, but he wanted to see her as soon as possible.  Iakov, at least,
+would not be there to embarrass them.  The day before yesterday, as he
+passed with the other fishermen, he said he would go to town on Sunday
+to buy a blouse.  He had found work at fifteen roubles a month.
+
+Except for the gulls, the sea was still deserted.  The familiar little
+black spot did not appear,
+
+"Ah, you're not coming!" said Vassili, with ill humor.  "All right,
+don't.  I don't want you."
+
+And he spat with disdain in the direction of the water.
+
+The sea laughed.
+
+"If, at least, Serejka would come," he thought.  And he tried to think
+only of Serejka.  "What a good-for-nothing the fellow is!  Robust, able
+to read, seen the world--but what a drunkard!  Yet good company.  One
+can't feel dull in his company.  The women are mad for him; all run
+after him.  Malva's the only one that keeps aloof.  No, no sign of her!
+What a cursed woman!  Perhaps she's angry because I beat her."
+
+Thus, thinking of his son, of Serejka, but more often of Malva, Vassili
+paced up and down the sandy beach, turning every now and then to look
+anxiously out to sea.  But Malva did not come.
+
+This is what had happened.
+
+Iakov rose early, and on going down to the beach as usual to wash
+himself, he saw Malva.  She was seated on the bow of a large fishing
+boat anchored in the surf and letting her bare feet hang, sat combing
+her damp hair.
+
+Iakov stopped to watch her.
+
+"Have you had a bath?" he cried.
+
+She turned to look at him, and glanced down at her feet: then,
+continuing to comb herself, she replied:
+
+"Yes, I took a bath.  Why are you up so early?"
+
+"Aren't you up early?"
+
+"I am not an example for you.  If you did all I do, you'd be in all
+kinds of trouble."
+
+"Why do you always wish to frighten me?" he asked.
+
+"And you, why do you make eyes at me?"
+
+Iakov had no recollection of having looked at her more than at the other
+women on the fishing grounds, but now he said to her suddenly:
+
+"Because you are so--appetizing."
+
+"If your father heard you, he'd give you an appetite!  No, my lad, don't
+run after me, because I don't want to be between you and Vassili.  You
+understand?"
+
+"What have I done?" asked Iakov.  "I haven't touched you."
+
+"You daren't touch me," retorted Malva.
+
+There was such a contemptuous tone in her voice that he resented this.
+
+"So I dare not?" he replied, climbing up on the boat and seating himself
+at her side.
+
+"No, you dare not."
+
+"And if I touch you?"
+
+"Try!"
+
+"What would you do?"
+
+"I'd give you such a box on the ear that you would fall into the water."
+
+"Let's see you do it"
+
+"Touch me if you dare!"
+
+Throwing his arm around her waist, he pressed her to his breast.
+
+"Here I am.  Now box my ears."
+
+"Let me be, Iakov," she said, quickly, trying to disengage herself from
+his arms which trembled.
+
+"Where is the punishment you promised me?"
+
+"Let go or take care!"
+
+"Oh, stop your threats--luscious strawberry that you are!"
+
+He drew her to him and pressed his thick lips into her sunburnt cheek.
+
+She gave a wild laugh of defiance, seized Iakov's arms and suddenly,
+with a quick movement of her whole body threw herself forward.  They
+fell into the water enlaced, forming a single heavy mass, and
+disappeared under the splashing foam.  Then from beneath the agitated
+water Iakov appeared, looking half drowned.  Malva, at his side swimming
+like a fish, eluded his grasp, and tried to prevent him regaining the
+boat.  Iakov struggled desperately, striking the water and roaring like
+a walrus, while Malva, screaming with laughter, swam round and round
+him, throwing the salt water in his face, and then diving to avoid his
+vigorous blows.
+
+At last he caught her and pulled her under the water, and the waves
+passed over both their heads.  Then they came to the surface again both
+panting with the exertion.  Thus they played like two big fish until,
+finally, tired out and full of salt water, they climbed up the beach and
+sat down in the sun to dry.
+
+Malva laughed and twisted her hair to get the water out.
+
+The day was growing.  The fishermen, after their night of heavy slumber,
+were emerging from their huts, one by one.  From the distance all looked
+alike.  One began to strike blows on an empty barrel at regular
+intervals.  Two women were heard quarrelling.  Dogs barked.
+
+"They are getting up," said Iakov.  "And I wanted to start to town
+early.  I've lost time with you."
+
+"One does nothing good in my company," she said, half in jest, half
+seriously.
+
+"What a habit you have of scaring people," replied Iakov.
+
+"You'll see when your father--."
+
+This allusion to his father angered him.
+
+"What about my father?  I'm not a boy.  And I'm not blind, either.  He's
+not a saint, either; he deprives himself of nothing.  If you don't mind
+I'll steal you from my father."
+
+"You?"
+
+"Do you think I wouldn't dare?"
+
+"Really?"
+
+"Now, look you," he began furiously, "don't defy me.  I--."
+
+"What now?" she asked with indifference.
+
+"Nothing."
+
+He turned away with a determined look on his face.
+
+"How brave you are," she said, tauntingly.  "You remind me of the
+inspector's little dog.  At a distance he barks and threatens to bite,
+but when you get near him he puts his tail between his legs and runs
+away."
+
+"All right," cried Iakov, angrily.  "Wait! you'll see what I am."
+
+Advancing towards them came a sunburnt, tattered and muscular-looking
+individual.  He wore a ragged red shirt, his trousers were full of
+holes, and his feet were bare.  His face was covered with freckles and
+he had big saucy blue eyes and an impertinent turned-up nose.  When he
+came up he stopped and made a grimace.
+
+"Serejka drank yesterday, and today Serejka's pocket is empty.  Lend me
+twenty kopeks.  I'll not return them."
+
+Iakov burst out laughing; Malva smiled.
+
+"Give me the money," went on the tramp.  "I'll marry you for twenty
+kopeks if you like."
+
+"You're an odd fellow," said Iakov, "are you a priest?"
+
+"Imbecile question," replied Serejka.  "Wasn't I servant to a priest at
+Ouglitch?"
+
+"I don't want to get married," said Iakov.
+
+"Give the money all the same, and I won't tell your father you're paying
+court to his queen," replied Serejka, passing his tongue over his dry
+and cracked lips.
+
+Iakov did not want to give twenty kopeks, but they had warned him to be
+on his guard when dealing with Serejka, and to put up with his whims.
+The tramp never demanded much, but if he was refused he spread evil
+tales about you or else he would beat you.  So Iakov, sighing, put his
+hand in his pocket.
+
+"That's right," said Serejka, with a tone of encouragement, and he sat
+down beside them on the sand.  "Always do what I tell you and you'll be
+happy.  And you," he went on, turning to Malva--"when are you going to
+marry me?  Better be quick.  I don't like to wait long."
+
+"You are too ragged.  Begin by sewing up your holes and then we'll see,"
+replied Malva.
+
+Serejka regarded his rents with a reproachful air and shook his head.
+
+"Give me one of your skirts, that'll be better."
+
+"Yes, I can," said Malva, laughing.
+
+"I'm serious.  You must have an old one you don't want."
+
+"You'd do better to buy yourself a pair of trousers."
+
+"I prefer to drink the money."
+
+Serejka rose and, jingling his twenty kopeks, shuffled off, followed by
+a strange smile from Malva.
+
+When he was some distance away, Iakov said:
+
+"In our village such a braggart would goon have been put in his place.
+Here, every one seems afraid of him."
+
+Malva looked at Iakov and replied, disdainfully:
+
+"You don't know his worth."
+
+"There's nothing to know.  He's worth five kopeks a hundred."
+
+She did not reply, but watched the play of the waves as they chased one
+after the other, swaying the fishing boat.  The mast inclined now to
+right, now to left, and the bow rose and then fell suddenly, striking
+the water with a loud splash.
+
+"Why don't you go?" asked Malva.
+
+"Where?" he asked.
+
+"You wanted to go to town."
+
+"I shan't go now."
+
+"Well, go to your father's."
+
+"And you?"
+
+"What?"
+
+"Shall you go, too?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Then I shan't either."
+
+"Are you going to stay round me all day?"
+
+"I don't want your company so much as that," replied Iakov, offended.
+
+He rose and moved away.  But he was mistaken in saying that he did not
+need her, for when away from her he felt lonely.  A strange feeling had
+come to him after their conversation, a secret desire to protest against
+the father.  Only yesterday this feeling had not existed, nor even
+to-day, before he saw Malva.  Now it seemed to him that his father
+embarrassed him and stood in his way, although he was far away over the
+sea yonder, on a narrow tongue of sand almost invisible to the eye.
+Then it seemed to him, too, that Malva was afraid of the father; if she
+were not afraid she would talk differently.  Now she was missing in his
+life while only that morning he had not thought of her.
+
+And so he wandered for several hours along the beach, stopping here and
+there to chat with fishermen he knew.  At noon he took a siesta under
+the shade of an upturned boat.  When he awoke he took another stroll and
+came across Malva far from the fishing ground, reading a tattered book
+under the shade of the willows.
+
+She looked up at Iakov and smiled.
+
+"Ah, there you are," he said, sitting down beside her.
+
+"Have you been looking for me long?" she asked, demurely.
+
+"Looking for you?  What an idea?" replied Iakov, who was only just
+beginning to realize that it was the truth.
+
+"Do you know how to read?" she asked.
+
+"Yes--I used to, but I've forgotten everything."
+
+"So have I."
+
+"Why didn't you go to the headland to-day?" asked Iakov, suddenly.
+
+"What's that to you?"
+
+Iakov plucked a leaf and chewed it.
+
+"Listen," he said in a low tone and drawing near her.  "Listen to what
+I'm going to say.  I'm young and I love you."
+
+"You're a silly lad, very silly," said Malva, shaking her head.
+
+"I may be a fool," cried Iakov, passionately.  "But I love you, I love
+you."
+
+"Be silent! Go away!"
+
+"Why?"
+
+"Because."
+
+"Don't be obstinate."  He took her gently by the shoulders.  "Can't you
+understand?"
+
+"Go away, Iakov," she cried, severely.  "Go away!"
+
+"Oh, if that's the tone you take I don't care a rap.  You're not the
+only woman here.  You imagine that you are better than the others."
+
+She made no reply, rose and brushed the dust off her skirt.
+
+"Come," she said.
+
+And they went back to the fishing grounds side by side.
+
+They walked slowly on account of the soft sand.  Suddenly, as they were
+nearing the boats, Iakov stopped short and seized Malva by the arms.
+
+"Are you driving me desperate on purpose?  Why do you play with me like
+this?" he demanded.
+
+"Leave me alone, I tell you," she said, calmly disengaging herself from
+his grasp.
+
+Serejka appeared from behind a boat.  He shook his fist at the couple,
+and said, threateningly:
+
+"So, that's how you go off together.  Vassili shall know of this."
+
+"Go to the devil, all of you!" cried Malva.  And she left them,
+disappearing among the boats.
+
+Iakov stood facing Serejka, and looked him square in the face.  Serejka
+boldly returned the stare and so they remained for a minute or two, like
+two rams ready to charge on each other.  Then without a word each turned
+away and went off in a different direction.
+
+The sea was calm and crimson with the rays of the setting sun.  A
+confused sound hovered over the fishing ground.  The voice of a drunken
+woman sang hysterically words devoid of sense.
+
+      *      *      *      *      *
+
+In the dawn's pure light the sea still slumbered, reflecting the
+pearl-like clouds.  On the headland a party of fishermen still only half
+awake moved slowly about, getting ready the rigging of their boat.
+
+Serejka, bareheaded and tattered as usual, stood in the bow hurrying the
+men on with a hoarse voice, the result of his drunken orgy of the
+previous night.
+
+"Where are the oars, Vassili?"
+
+Vassili, moody as a dark autumn day, was arranging the net at the bottom
+of the boat.  Serejka watched him and, when he looked his way, smacked
+his lips, signifying that he wanted to drink.
+
+"Have you any brandy," he asked.
+
+"Yes," growled Vassili.
+
+"Good.  I'll take a nip when they've gone."
+
+"Is all ready?" cried the fishermen.
+
+"Let go!" commanded Serejka, jumping to the ground.  "Be careful.  Go
+far out so as not to entangle the net."
+
+The big boat slid down the greased planks to the water, and the
+fishermen, jumping in as it went, seized the oars, ready to strike the
+water directly she was afloat.  Then with a big splash the graceful bark
+forged ahead through the great plain of luminous water.
+
+"Why didn't you come Sunday?" said Vassili, as the two men went back to
+the cabin.
+
+"I couldn't."
+
+"You were drunk?"
+
+"No, I was watching your son and his step-mother,"  said  Serejka,
+phlegmatically.
+
+"A new worry on your shoulders," said Vassili, sarcastically and with a
+forced smile.  "They are only children."  He was tempted to learn where
+and how Serejka had seen Malva and Iakov the day before, but he was
+ashamed.
+
+"Why don't you ask news of Malva?" asked Serejka, as he gulped down a
+glass of brandy.
+
+"What do I care what she does?" replied Vassili, with indifference,
+although he trembled with a secret presentiment.
+
+"As she didn't come Sunday, you should ask what she was doing.  I know
+you are jealous, you old dog!"
+
+"Oh, there are many like her," said Vassili, carelessly.
+
+"Are there?" said Serejka, imitating him.  "Ah, you peasants, you're all
+alike.  As long as you gather your honey, it's all one to you."
+
+"What's she to you?" broke in Vassili with irritation.  "Have you come
+to ask her hand in marriage?"
+
+"I know she's yours," said Serejka.  "Have I ever bothered you?  But now
+Iakov, your son, is all the time dancing around her, it's different.
+Beat him, do you hear?  If not, I will.  You've got a strong fist if you
+are a fool."
+
+Vassili did not reply, but watched the boat as it turned about and made
+toward the beach again.
+
+"You are right," he said finally.  "Iakov will hear from me."
+
+"I don't like him.  He smells too much of the village," said Serejka.
+
+In the distance, on the sea, was opening out the pink fan formed by the
+rays of the rising sun.  The glowing orb was already emerging from the
+water.  Amid the noise of the waves was heard from the boat the distant
+cry:
+
+"Draw in!"
+
+"Come, boys!" cried Serejka, to the other fishermen on the beach.
+"Let's pull together."
+
+"When you see Iakov tell him to come here to-morrow," said Vassili.
+
+The boat grounded on the beach and the fishermen, jumping out, pulled
+their end of the net so that the two groups gradually met, the cork
+floats bobbing up and down on the water forming a perfect semi-circle.
+
+      *      *      *      *      *
+
+Very late on the evening of the same day, when the fishermen had
+finished their dinner, Malva, tired and thoughtful, had seated herself
+on an old boat turned upside down and was watching the sea, already
+screened in twilight.  In the distance a fire was burning, and Malva
+knew that Vassili had lighted it.  Solitary and as if lost in the
+darkening shadows, the flame leaped high at times and then fell back as
+if broken.  And Malva felt a certain sadness as she watched that red dot
+abandoned in the desert of ocean, and palpitating feebly among the
+indefatigable and incomprehensible murmur of the waves.
+
+"What are you doing there?" asked Serejka's voice behind her.
+
+"What's that to you?" she replied dryly, without stirring.
+
+He lighted a cigarette, was silent a moment and then said in a friendly
+tone:
+
+"What a funny woman you are!  First you run away from everybody, and
+then you throw yourself round everyone's neck."
+
+"Not round yours," said Malva, carelessly.
+
+"Not mine, perhaps, but round Iakov's."
+
+"It makes you envious."
+
+"Hum! do you want me to speak frankly?"
+
+"Speak."
+
+"Have yon broken off with Vassili?"
+
+"I don't know," she replied, after a silence.  "I am vexed with him."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"He beat me."
+
+"Really?  And you let him?"
+
+Serejka could not understand it.  He tried to catch a glimpse of Malva's
+face, and made an ironical grimace.
+
+"I need not have let him beat me," she said.  "I did not want to defend
+myself."
+
+"So you love the old grey cat as much as that?" grinned Serejka, puffing
+out a cloud of smoke.  "I thought better of you than that."
+
+"I love none of you," she said, again indifferent and wafting the smoke
+away with her hand.
+
+"But if you don't love him, why did you let him beat you?"
+
+"Do you suppose I know?  Leave me alone."
+
+"It's funny," said Serejka, shaking his head.
+
+Both remained silent.
+
+Night was falling.  The shadows came down from the slow-moving clouds to
+the seas beneath.  The waves murmured.
+
+Vassili's fire had gone out on the distant headland, but Malva continued
+to gaze in that direction.
+
+      *      *      *      *      *
+
+The father and son were seated in the cabin facing each other, and
+drinking brandy which the youth had brought with him to conciliate the
+old man and so as not to be weary in his company.
+
+Serejka had told Iakov that his father was angry with him on account of
+Malva, and that he had threatened to beat Malva until she was half dead.
+He also said that was the reason she resisted Iakov's advances.
+
+This story had excited Iakov's resentment against his father.  He now
+looked upon him as an obstacle in his road that he could neither remove
+nor get around.
+
+But feeling himself of equal strength as his adversary, Iakov regarded
+his father boldly, with a look that meant: "Touch me if you dare!"
+
+They had both drunk two glasses without exchanging a word, except a few
+commonplace remarks about the fisheries.  Alone amidst the deserted
+waters each nursed his hatred, and both knew that this hate would soon
+burst forth into flame.
+
+"How's Serejka?" at last Vassili blurted out.
+
+"Drunk as usual," replied Iakov, pouring our some more brandy for his
+father.
+
+"He'll end badly--and if you don't take care you'll do the same."
+
+"I shall never become like him," replied Iakov, surlily.
+
+"No?" said Vassili, frowning.  "I know what I'm talking about.  How long
+are you here already?  Two months.  You must soon think of going back.
+How much money have you saved?"
+
+"In so little time I've not been able to save any," replied Iakov.
+
+"Then you don't want to stay here any longer, my lad, go back to the
+village."
+
+Iakov smiled.
+
+"Why these grimaces?" cried Vassili threateningly, and impatient at his
+son's coolness.  "Your father's advising you and you mock him.  You're
+in too much of a hurry to play the independent.  You want to be put in
+the traces again."
+
+Iakov poured out some more brandy and drank it.  These coarse reproaches
+offended him, but he mastered himself, not wanting to arouse his
+father's anger.
+
+Seeing that his son had drunk again, alone, without filling his glass,
+made Vassili more angry than ever.
+
+"Your father says to you, 'Go home,' and you laugh at him.  Very well,
+I'll speak differently.  You'll get your pay Saturday and trot--home to
+the village--do you understand?"
+
+"I won't go," said Iakov, firmly.
+
+"What!" cried Vassili, and leaning his two hands on the edge of the
+table he rose to his feet.  "Have I spoken, yes or no?  You dog, barking
+at your father!  Do you forget that I can do what I please with you?"
+
+His mouth trembled with passion, his face was convulsed, and two swollen
+veins stood out on his temples.
+
+"I forget nothing," said Iakov, in a low tone and not looking at his
+father.  "And you--have you forgotten nothing?"
+
+"It's not your place to preach to me.  I'll break every bone in your
+body."
+
+Iakov avoided the hand that his father raised over his head and a
+feeling of savage hatred arose in him.  He said, between his clenched
+teeth:
+
+"Don't touch me.  We're not in the village now."
+
+"Be silent.  I'm your father everywhere."
+
+They stood facing each other, Vassili, his eyes bloodshot, his neck
+outstretched, his fists clenched, panted his brandy-smelling breath in
+his son's face.  Iakov stepped back.  He was watching his father's
+movements, ready to ward off blows, peaceful outwardly, but steaming
+with perspiration.  Between them was the table.
+
+"Perhaps I won't give you a good beating?" cried Vassili hoarsely, and
+bending his back like a cat about to make a spring.
+
+"Here we are equal," said Iakov, watching him warily.  "You are a
+fisherman, I too.  Why do you attack me like this?  Do you think I do
+not understand?  You began."
+
+Vassili howled with passion, and raised his arm to strike so rapidly
+that Iakov had no time to avoid it.  The blow fell on his head.  He
+staggered and ground his teeth in his father's face.
+
+"Wait!" cried the latter, clenching his fists and again threatening him.
+
+They were now at close quarters, and their feet were entangled in the
+empty sacks and cordage on the floor.  Iakov, protecting himself as best
+he could against his father's blows, pale and bathed in perspiration,
+his teeth clenched, his eyes brilliant as a wolf's, slowly retreated,
+and as his father charged upon him, gesticulating with ferocity and
+blind with rage, like a wild boar, he turned and ran out of the cabin,
+down towards the sea.
+
+Vassili started in pursuit, his head bent, his arms extended, but his
+foot caught in some rope, and he fell all his length on the sand.  He
+tried to rise, but the fall had taken all the fight out of him and he
+sank back on the beach, shaking his fist at Iakov, who remained grinning
+at a safe distance.  He shouted:
+
+"Be cursed!  I curse you forever!"
+
+Bitterness came into Vassili's soul as he realized his own position.  He
+sighed heavily.  His head bent low as if an immense weight had crushed
+him.  For an abandoned woman he had deserted his wife, with whom he had
+lived faithfully for fifteen years, and the Lord had punished him by
+this rebellion of his son.  His son had mocked him and trampled on his
+heart.  Yes, he was punished for the past.  He made the sign of the
+cross and remained seated, blinking his eyes to free them from the tears
+that were blinding them.
+
+And the sun went down into the sea, and the crimson twilight faded away
+in the sky.  A warm wind caressed the face of the weeping peasant.  Deep
+in his resolutions of repentance he stayed there until he fell asleep
+shortly before dawn.
+
+      *      *      *      *      *
+
+The day following the quarrel, Iakov went off with a party to fish
+thirty miles out at sea.  He returned alone five days later for
+provisions.  It was midday when he arrived, and everyone was resting
+after dinner.  It was unbearably hot.  The sand burned his feet and the
+shells and fish bones pricked them.  As Iakov carefully picked his way
+along the beach he regretted he had no boots on.  He did not want to
+return to the bark as he was in a hurry to eat and to see Malva.  Many a
+time had he thought of her during the long lonely hours on the sea.  He
+wondered if she and his father had seen each other again and what they
+had said.  Perhaps the old man had beaten her.
+
+The deserted fisheries were slumbering, as if overcome by the heat.  In
+the inspector's office a child was crying.  From behind a heap of
+barrels came the sound of voices.
+
+Iakov turned his steps in that direction.  He thought he recognised
+Malva's voice, but when he arrived at the barrels he recoiled a step and
+stopped.
+
+In the shade, lying on his back, with his arms under his head, was
+Serejka.  Near him were, on one side, Vassili and, on the other, Malva.
+
+Iakov thought to himself: "Why is father here.  Has he left his post so
+as to be nearer Malva and to watch her?  Should he go up to them or not."
+
+"So, you've decided!" said Serejka to Vassili.  "It's goodbye to us all?
+Well, go your way and scratch the soil."
+
+A thrill went through Iakov and he made a joyous grimace.
+
+"Yes, I'm going;" said Vassili.
+
+Then Iakov advanced boldly.
+
+"Good-day, all!"
+
+The father gave him a rapid glance and then turned away his eyes.  Malva
+did not stir.  Serejka moved his leg and raising his voice said:
+
+"Here's our dearly beloved son, Iakov, back from a distant shore."
+
+Then he added in his ordinary voice:
+
+"You should flay him alive and make drums with his skin."
+
+Malva laughed.
+
+"It's hot," said Iakov, sitting beside them.
+
+"I've been waiting for you since this morning, Iakov.  The inspector
+told me you were coming."
+
+The young man thought his voice seemed weaker than usual and his face
+seemed changed.  He asked Serejka for a cigarette.
+
+"I have no tobacco for an imbecile like you," replied the latter,
+without stirring.
+
+"I'm going back home, Iakov," said Vassili, gravely digging into the
+sand with his fingers.
+
+"Why," asked the son, innocently.
+
+"Never mind why, shall you stay?"
+
+"Yes.  I'll remain.  What should we both do at home?"
+
+"Very well.  I have nothing to say.  Do as you please.  You are no
+longer a child.  Only remember that I shall not get about long.  I shall
+live, perhaps, but I do not know how long I shall work.  I have lost the
+habit of the soil.  Remember, too, that your mother is there."
+
+Evidently it was difficult for him to talk.  The words stuck between his
+teeth.  He stroked his beard and his hand trembled.
+
+Malva eyed him.  Serejka had half closed one eye and with the other
+watched Iakov.  Iakov was jubilant, but afraid of betraying himself; he
+was silent and lowered his head.
+
+"Don't forget your mother, Iakov.  Remember, you are all she has."
+
+"I know," said Iakov, shrugging his shoulders.
+
+"It is well if you know," said the father, with a look of distrust.  "I
+only warn you not to forget it."
+
+Vassili sighed deeply.  For a few minutes all were silent.
+
+Then Malva said:
+
+"The work bell will soon ring."
+
+"I'm going," said Vassili, rising.
+
+And all rose.
+
+"Goodbye, Serejka.  If you happen to be on the Volga, maybe you'll drop
+in to see me."
+
+"I'll not fail," said Serejka.
+
+"Goodbye."
+
+"Goodbye, dear friend."
+
+"Goodbye, Malva," said Vassili, not raising his eyes.
+
+She slowly wiped her lips with her sleeve, threw her two white arms
+round his neck and kissed him three times on the lips and cheeks.
+
+He was overcome with emotion and uttered some indistinct words.  Iakov
+lowered his head, dissimulating a smile.  Serejka was impassible, and he
+even yawned a little, at the same time gazing at the sky.
+
+"You'll find it hot walking," he said.
+
+"No matter.  Goodbye, you too, Iakov."
+
+"Goodbye!"
+
+They stood facing each other, not knowing what to do.  The sad word
+"goodbye" aroused in Iakov a feeling of tenderness for his father, but
+he did not know how to express it.  Should he embrace his father as
+Malva had done or shake his hand like Serejka?  And Vassili felt hurt at
+this hesitation, which was visible in his son's attitude.
+
+"Remember your mother," said Vassili, finally.
+
+"Yes, yes," replied Iakov, cordially.  "Don't worry.  I know."
+
+"That's all.  Be happy.  God protect you.  Don't think badly of me.  The
+kettle, Serejka, is buried in the sand near the bow of the green boat."
+
+"What does he want with the kettle?" asked Iakov.
+
+"He has taken my place yonder on the headland," explained Vassili.
+
+Iakov looked enviously at Serejka, then at Malva.
+
+"Farewell, all!  I'm going."
+
+Vassili waved his hand to them and moved away.  Malva followed him.
+
+"I'll accompany you a bit of the road."
+
+Serejka sat down on the ground and seized the leg of Iakov, who was
+preparing to accompany Malva.
+
+"Stop! where are you going?"
+
+"Let me alone," said Iakov, making a forward movement.  But Serejka had
+seized his other leg.
+
+"Sit down by my side."
+
+"Why?  What new folly is this?"
+
+"It is not folly.  Sit down."
+
+Iakov obeyed, grinding his teeth.
+
+"What do you want?"
+
+"Wait.  Be silent, and I'll think, and then I'll talk."
+
+He began staring at Iakov, who gave way.
+
+Malva and Vassili walked for a few minutes in silence.  Malva's eyes
+shone strangely.  Vassili was gloomy and preoccupied.  Their feet sank
+in the sand and they advanced slowly.
+
+"Vassili!"
+
+"What?"
+
+He turned and looked at her.
+
+"I made you quarrel with Iakov on purpose.  You might both have lived
+here without quarrelling," she said in a calm tone.
+
+There was not a shade of repentance in her words.
+
+"Why did you do that?" asked Vassili, after a silence.
+
+"I do not know--for nothing."
+
+She shrugged her shoulders and smiled.
+
+"What you have done was noble!" he said, with irritation.
+
+She was silent.
+
+"You will ruin my boy, ruin him entirely.  You do not fear God, you have
+no shame!  What are you going to do?"
+
+"What should I do?" she said.
+
+There was a ring of anguish, or vexation, in her voice.
+
+"What you ought to do!" cried Vassili, seized suddenly with a fierce
+rage.
+
+He felt a passionate desire to strike her, to knock her down and bury
+her in the sand, to kick her in the face, in the breast.  He clenched
+his fists and looked back.
+
+Yonder, near the barrels, he saw Iakov and Serejka.  Their faces were
+turned in his direction.
+
+"Get away with you!  I could crush you!"
+
+He stopped and hissed insults in her face.  His eyes were bloodshot, his
+beard trembled and his hands seemed to advance involuntarily towards
+Malva's hair, which emerged from beneath her shawl.
+
+She fixed her green eyes on him.
+
+"You deserve killing," he said.  "Wait, some one will break your head
+yet."
+
+She smiled, still silent.  Then she sighed deeply and said:
+
+"That's enough! now farewell!"
+
+And suddenly turning on her heels she left him and came back.
+
+Vassili shouted after her and shook his fists.  Malva, as she walked,
+took pains to place each foot in the deep impressions of Vassili's feet,
+and when she succeeded she carefully effaced the traces.  Thus she
+continued on until she came to the barrels where Serejka greeted her
+with this question:
+
+"Well, have you seen the last of him?"
+
+She gave an affirmative sign, and sat down beside him.  Iakov looked at
+her and smiled, gently moving his lips as if he were saying things that
+he alone heard.
+
+"When will you go to the headland?" she asked Serejka, indicating the
+sea with a movement of her head.
+
+"This evening."
+
+"I will go with you."
+
+"Bravo, that suits me."
+
+"And I, too--I'll go," cried Iakov.
+
+"Who invited you?" asked Serejka, screwing up his eyes.
+
+The sound of a cracked bell called the men to work.
+
+"She will invite me," said Iakov.
+
+He looked defiantly at Malva.
+
+"I? what need have I of you?" she replied, surprised.
+
+"Let us he frank, Iakov," said Serejka.  "If you annoy her, I'll beat
+you to a jelly.  And if you as much as touch her with a finger, I'll
+kill you like a fly.  I am a simple man."
+
+His face, all his person, his knotty and muscular arms proved eloquently
+that killing a man would be a very simple thing for him.
+
+Iakov recoiled a step and said, in a choking voice:
+
+"Wait!  That is for Malva to--"
+
+"Keep quiet, that's all.  You are not the dog that will eat the lamb.
+If you get the bones you may be thankful."
+
+Iakov looked at Malva.  Her green eyes laughed in a humiliating way at
+him and she fondled Serejka so that Iakov felt himself grow hot and cold.
+
+Then they went away side by side and both burst out laughing.  Iakov dug
+his foot deep in the sand and remained glued to the spot, his body
+stretched forward, his face red, his heart beating wildly.
+
+In the distance, on the dead waves of sand, was a small dark human
+figure moving slowly away; on his right beamed the sun and the powerful
+sea, and on the left, to the horizon, there was sand, nothing but sand,
+uniform, deserted,--gloomy.  Iakov watched the receding figure of the
+lonely man and blinked his eyes, filled with tears--tears of humiliation
+and painful uncertainty.
+
+On the fishing grounds everyone was busy at work.  Iakov heard Malva's
+sonorous voice ask, angrily:
+
+"Who has taken my knife?"
+
+The waves murmured, the sun shone and the sea laughed.
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 14480 ***
diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..6312041
--- /dev/null
+++ b/LICENSE.txt
@@ -0,0 +1,11 @@
+This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements,
+metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be
+in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES.
+
+Procedures for determining public domain status are described in
+the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org.
+
+No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in
+jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize
+this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright
+status under the laws that apply to them.
diff --git a/README.md b/README.md
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..8b913b4
--- /dev/null
+++ b/README.md
@@ -0,0 +1,2 @@
+Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for
+eBook #14480 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/14480)
diff --git a/old/14480.txt b/old/14480.txt
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..979b632
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/14480.txt
@@ -0,0 +1,4273 @@
+The Project Gutenberg eBook, Twenty-six and One and Other Stories, by
+Maksim Gorky, et al
+
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+
+
+
+Title: Twenty-six and One and Other Stories
+
+Author: Maksim Gorky
+
+Release Date: December 27, 2004  [eBook #14480]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII)
+
+
+***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TWENTY-SIX AND ONE AND OTHER
+STORIES***
+
+
+E-text prepared by Al Haines
+
+
+
+TWENTY-SIX AND ONE and OTHER STORIES
+
+by
+
+MAXIME GORKY
+
+From the Vagabond Series
+
+Translated from the Russian
+
+Preface by Ivan Strannik
+
+New York
+J. F. Taylor & Company
+
+1902
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+PREFACE
+
+MAXIME GORKY
+
+Russian literature, which for half a century has abounded in happy
+surprises, has again made manifest its wonderful power of innovation.
+A tramp, Maxime Gorky, lacking in all systematic training, has suddenly
+forced his way into its sacred domain, and brought thither the fresh
+spontaneity of his thoughts and character.  Nothing as individual or as
+new has been produced since the first novels of Tolstoy.  His work owes
+nothing to its predecessors; it stands apart and alone.  It, therefore,
+obtains more than an artistic success, it causes a real revolution.
+
+Gorky was born of humble people, at Nizhni-Novgorod, in 1868 or
+1869,--he does not know which--and was early left an orphan.  He was
+apprenticed to a shoemaker, but ran away, a sedentary life not being to
+his taste.  He left an engraver's in the same manner, and then went to
+work with a painter of _ikoni_, or holy pictures.  He is next found to
+be a cook's boy, then an assistant to a gardener.  He tried life in
+these diverse ways, and not one of them pleased him.   Until his
+fifteenth year, he had only had the time to learn to read a little; his
+grandfather taught him to read a prayer-book in the old Slav dialect.
+He retained from his first studies only a distaste for anything printed
+until the time when, cook's boy on board a steam-boat, he was initiated
+by the chief cook into more attractive reading matter.  Gogol, Glebe
+Ouspenski, Dumas _pere_ were revelations to him.  His imagination took
+fire; he was seized with a "fierce desire" for instruction.  He set out
+for Kazan, "as though a poor child could receive instruction
+gratuitously," but he soon perceived that "it was contrary to custom."
+Discouraged, he became a baker's boy with the wages of three rubles
+(about $1.50) a month.  In the midst of worse fatigue and ruder
+privations, he always recalls the bakery of Kazan with peculiar
+bitterness; later, in his story, "Twenty-Six and One," he utilized this
+painful remembrance: "There were twenty-six of us--twenty-six living
+machines, locked up in a damp cellar, where we patted dough from
+morning till night, making biscuits and cakes.  The windows of our
+cellar looked out into a ditch, which was covered with bricks grown
+green from dampness, the window frames were obstructed from the outside
+by a dense iron netting, and the light of the sun could not peep in
+through the panes, which were covered with flour dust. . . ."
+
+Gorky dreamed of the free air.  He abandoned the bakery.  Always
+reading, studying feverishly, drinking with vagrants, expending his
+strength in every possible manner, he is one day at work in a saw-mill,
+another, 'longshoreman on the quays. . . .  In 1888, seized with
+despair, he attempted to kill himself.  "I was," said he, "as ill as I
+could be, and I continued to live to sell apples. . . ."  He afterward
+became a gate-keeper and later retailed _kvass_ in the streets.   A
+happy chance brought him to the notice of a lawyer, who interested
+himself in him, directed his reading and organized his instruction.
+But his restless disposition drew him back to his wandering life; he
+traveled over Russia in every direction and tried his hand at every
+trade, including, henceforth, that of man of letters.
+
+He began by writing a short story, "Makar Tchoudra," which was
+published by a provincial newspaper.  It is a rather interesting work,
+but its interest lies more, frankly speaking, in what it promises than
+in what it actually gives.  The subject is rather too suggestive of
+certain pieces of fiction dear to the romantic school.
+
+Gorky's appearance in the world of literature dates from 1893.  He had
+at this time, the acquaintance of the writer Korolenko, and, thanks to
+him, soon published "Tchelkache," which met with a resounding success.
+Gorky henceforth rejects all traditional methods, and free and
+untrammeled devotes himself to frankly and directly interpreting life
+as he sees it.  As he has, so far, lived only in the society of tramps,
+himself a tramp, and one of the most refractory, it has been reserved
+for him to write the poem of vagrancy.
+
+His preference is for the short story.  In seven years, he has written
+thirty, contained in three volumes, which in their expressive brevity
+sometimes recall Maupassant.
+
+The plot is of the simplest.  Sometimes, there are only two personages:
+an old beggar and his grandson, two workmen, a tramp and a Jew, a
+baker's boy and his assistant, two companions in misery.
+
+The interest of these stories does not lie in the unraveling of an
+intricate plot.  They are rather fragments of life, bits of biography
+covering some particular period, without reaching the limits of a real
+drama.  And these are no more artificially combined than are the events
+of real life.
+
+Everything that he relates, Gorky has seen.  Every landscape that he
+describes has been seen by him in the course of his adventurous
+existence.  Each detail of this scenery is fraught for him with some
+remembrance of distress or suffering.  This vagrant life has been his
+own.  These tramps have been his companions, he has loved or hated
+them.  Therefore his work is alive with what he has almost
+unconsciously put in of himself.  At the same time, he knows how to
+separate himself from his work; the characters introduced live their
+own lives, independent of his, having their own characters and their
+own individual way of reacting against the common misery.  No writer
+has to a greater degree the gift of objectivity, while at the same time
+freely introducing himself into his work.
+
+Therefore, his tramps are strikingly truthful.  He does not idealise
+them; the sympathy that their strength, courage, and independence
+inspire in him does not blind him.  He conceals neither their faults,
+vices, drunkenness nor boastfulness.  He is without indulgence for
+them, and judges them discriminatingly.  He paints reality, but
+without, for all that, exaggerating ugliness.  He does not avoid
+painful or coarse scenes; but in the most cynical passages he does not
+revolt because it is felt that he only desires to be truthful, and not
+to excite the emotions by cheap means.  He simply points out that
+things are as they are, that there is nothing to be done about it, that
+they depend upon immutable laws.  Accordingly all those sad, even
+horrible spectacles are accepted as life itself.  To Gorky, the
+spectacle presented by these characters is only natural: he has seen
+them shaken by passion as the waves by the wind, and a smile pass over
+their souls like the sun piercing the clouds.  He is, in the true
+acceptation of the term, a realist.
+
+The introduction of tramps in literature is the great innovation of
+Gorky.  The Russian writers first interested themselves in the
+cultivated classes of society; then they went as far as the moujik.
+The "literature of the moujik," assumed a social importance.  It had a
+political influence and was not foreign to the abolition of serfdom.
+
+In the story "Malva," Gorky offers us two characteristic types of
+peasants who become tramps by insensible degrees; almost without
+suspecting it, through the force of circumstances.  One of them is
+Vassili.  When he left the village, he fully intended to return.  He
+went away to earn a little money for his wife and children.  He found
+employment in a fishery.  Life was easy and joyous.  For a while he
+sent small sums of money home, but gradually the village and the old
+life faded away and became less and less real.  He ceased to think of
+them.  His son Iakov came to seek him and to procure work for himself
+for a season.  He had the true soul of a peasant.
+
+Later he falls, like the others, under the spell of this easy, free
+life, and one feels that Iakov will never more return to the village.
+
+
+In Gorky's eyes, his work is tainted by a capital vice.  It is unsuited
+to producing the joy that quickens.  Humanity has forgotten joy; what
+has he done beyond pitying or rallying suffering? . . .  These
+reflections haunt him, and this doubt of his beneficent efficacy
+imparts extreme sadness to his genius.
+
+IVAN STRANNIK.
+
+
+
+
+  CONTENTS
+
+  Preface
+  Twenty-Six and One
+  Tchelkache
+  Malva
+
+
+
+
+Twenty-Six and One
+
+BY MAXIME GORKY
+
+There were twenty-six of us--twenty-six living machines, locked up in
+a damp cellar, where we patted dough from morning till night, making
+biscuits and cakes.  The windows of our cellar looked out into a
+ditch, which was covered with bricks grown green from dampness, the
+window frames were obstructed from the outside by a dense iron
+netting, and the light of the sun could not peep in through the
+panes, which were covered with flour-dust.  Our proprietor stopped up
+our windows with iron that we might not give his bread to the poor or
+to those of our companions who, being out of work, were starving; our
+proprietor called us cheats and gave us for our dinner tainted
+garbage instead of meat.
+
+It was stifling and narrow in our box of stone under the low, heavy
+ceiling, covered with smoke-black and spider-webs.  It was close and
+disgusting within the thick walls, which were spattered with stains
+of mud and mustiness. . . .  We rose at five o'clock in the morning,
+without having had enough sleep, and, dull and indifferent, we seated
+ourselves by the table at six to make biscuits out of the dough,
+which had been prepared for us by our companions while we were
+asleep.  And all day long, from morning till ten o'clock at night,
+some of us sat by the table rolling out the elastic dough with our
+hands, and shaking ourselves that we might not grow stiff, while the
+others kneaded the dough with water.  And the boiling water in the
+kettle, where the cracknels were being boiled, was purring sadly and
+thoughtfully all day long; the baker's shovel was scraping quickly
+and angrily against the oven, throwing off on the hot bricks the
+slippery pieces of dough.  On one side of the oven, wood was burning
+from morning till night, and the red reflection of the flame was
+trembling on the wall of the workshop as though it were silently
+mocking us.  The huge oven looked like the deformed head of a
+fairy-tale monster.  It looked as though it thrust itself out from
+underneath the floor, opened its wide mouth full of fire, and
+breathed on us with heat and stared at our endless work through the
+two black air-holes above the forehead.  These two cavities were like
+eyes--pitiless and impassible eyes of a monster: they stared at us
+with the same dark gaze, as though they had grown tired of looking at
+slaves, and expecting nothing human from them, despised them with the
+cold contempt of wisdom.  Day in and day out, amid flour-dust and mud
+and thick, bad-odored suffocating heat, we rolled out the dough and
+made biscuits, wetting them with our sweat, and we hated our work
+with keen hatred; we never ate the biscuit that came out of our
+hands, preferring black bread to the cracknels.  Sitting by a long
+table, one opposite the other--nine opposite nine--we mechanically
+moved our hands, and fingers during the long hours, and became so
+accustomed to our work that we no longer ever followed the motions of
+our hands.  And we had grown so tired of looking at one another that
+each of us knew all the wrinkles on the faces of the others.  We had
+nothing to talk about, we were used to this and were silent all the
+time, unless abusing one another--for there is always something for
+which to abuse a man, especially a companion.  But we even abused one
+another very seldom.  Of what can a man be guilty when he is half
+dead, when he is like a statue, when all his feelings are crushed
+under the weight of toil?  But silence is terrible and painful only
+to those who have said all and have nothing more to speak of; but to
+those who never had anything to say--to them silence is simple and
+easy. . . .  Sometimes we sang, and our song began thus: During work
+some one would suddenly heave a sigh, like that of a tired horse, and
+would softly start one of those drawling songs, whose touchingly
+caressing tune always gives ease to the troubled soul of the singer.
+One of us sang, and at first we listened in silence to his lonely
+song, which was drowned and deafened underneath the heavy ceiling of
+the cellar, like the small fire of a wood-pile in the steppe on a
+damp autumn night, when the gray sky is hanging over the earth like a
+leaden roof.  Then another joined the singer, and now, two voices
+soar softly and mournfully over the suffocating heat of our narrow
+ditch.  And suddenly a few more voices take up the song--and the song
+bubbles up like a wave, growing stronger, louder, as though moving
+asunder the damp, heavy walls of our stony prison.
+
+All the twenty-six sing; loud voices, singing in unison, fill the
+workshop; the song has no room there; it strikes against the stones
+of the walls, it moans and weeps and reanimates the heart by a soft
+tickling pain, irritating old wounds and rousing sorrow.
+
+The singers breathe deeply and heavily; some one unexpectedly leaves
+off his song and listens for a long time to the singing of his
+companions, and again his voice joins the general wave.  Another
+mournfully exclaims, Eh! sings, his eyes closed, and it may be that
+the wide, heavy wave of sound appears to him like a road leading
+somewhere far away, like a wide road, lighted by the brilliant sun,
+and he sees himself walking there. . . .
+
+The flame is constantly trembling in the oven, the baker's shovel is
+scraping against the brick, the water in the kettle is purring, and
+the reflection of the fire is trembling on the wall, laughing in
+silence. . . .  And we sing away, with some one else's words, our
+dull sorrow, the heavy grief of living men, robbed of sunshine, the
+grief of slaves.  Thus we lived, twenty-six of us, in the cellar of a
+big stony house, and it was hard for us to live as though all the
+three stories of the house had been built upon our shoulders.
+
+But besides the songs, we had one other good thing, something we all
+loved and which, perhaps, came to us instead of the sun.  The second
+story of our house was occupied by an embroidery shop, and there,
+among many girl workers, lived the sixteen year old chamber-maid,
+Tanya.  Every morning her little, pink face, with blue, cheerful
+eyes, leaned against the pane of the little window in our hallway
+door, and her ringing, kind voice cried to us: "Little prisoners!
+Give me biscuits!"
+
+We all turned around at this familiar, clear sound and joyously,
+kind-heartedly looked at the pure maiden face as it smiled to us
+delightfully.  We were accustomed and pleased to see her nose
+flattened against the window-pane, and the small, white teeth that
+flashed from under her pink lips, which were open with a smile.  We
+rush to open the door for her, pushing one another; she enters,
+cheerful and amiable, and holding out her apron.  She stands before
+us, leaning her head somewhat on one side and smiles all the time.  A
+thick, long braid of chestnut hair, falling across her shoulder, lies
+on her breast.  We, dirty, dark, deformed men, look up at her from
+below--the threshold was four steps higher than the floor--we look at
+her, lifting our heads upwards, we wish her a good morning.  We say
+to her some particular words, words we use for her alone.  Speaking
+to her our voices are somehow softer, and our jokes lighter.
+Everything is different for her.  The baker takes out a shovelful of
+the brownest and reddest biscuits and throws them cleverly into
+Tanya's apron.
+
+"Look out that the boss doesn't see you!" we always warn her.  She
+laughs roguishly and cries to us cheerfully:
+
+"Good-by, little prisoners!" and she disappears quickly, like a
+little mouse.  That's all.  But long after her departure we speak
+pleasantly of her to one another.  We say the very same thing we said
+yesterday and before, because she, as well as we and everything
+around us, is also the same as yesterday and before.  It is very hard
+and painful for one to live, when nothing changes around him, and if
+it does not kill his soul for good, the immobility of the
+surroundings becomes all the more painful the longer he lives.  We
+always spoke of women in such a manner that at times we were
+disgusted at our own rude and shameless words, and this is quite
+clear, for the women we had known, perhaps, never deserved any better
+words.  But of Tanya we never spoke ill.  Not only did none of us
+ever dare to touch her with his hand, she never even heard a free
+jest from us.  It may be that this was because she never stayed long
+with us; she flashed before our eyes like a star coming from the sky
+and then disappeared, or, perhaps, because she was small and very
+beautiful, and all that is beautiful commands the respect even of
+rude people.  And then, though our hard labor had turned us into dull
+oxen, we nevertheless remained human beings, and like all human
+beings, we could not live without worshipping something.  We had
+nobody better than she, and none, except her, paid any attention to
+us, the dwellers of the cellar; no one, though tens of people lived
+in the house.  And finally--this is probably the main reason--we all
+considered her as something of our own, as something that existed
+only because of our biscuits.  We considered it our duty to give her
+hot biscuits and this became our daily offering to the idol, it
+became almost a sacred custom which bound us to her the more every
+day.  Aside from the biscuits, we gave Tanya many advices--to dress
+more warmly, not to run fast on the staircase, nor to carry heavy
+loads of wood.  She listened to our advice with a smile, replied to
+us with laughter and never obeyed us, but we did not feel offended at
+this.  All we needed was to show that we cared for her.  She often
+turned to us with various requests.  She asked us, for instance, to
+open the heavy cellar door, to chop some wood.  We did whatever she
+wanted us to do with joy, and even with some kind of pride.
+
+But when one of us asked her to mend his only shirt, she declined,
+with a contemptuous sneer.
+
+We laughed heartily at the queer fellow, and never again asked her
+for anything.  We loved her; all is said in this.  A human being
+always wants to bestow his love upon some one, although he may
+sometime choke or slander him; he may poison the life of his neighbor
+with his love, because, loving, he does not respect the beloved.  We
+had to love Tanya, for there was no one else we could love.
+
+At times some one of us would suddenly begin to reason thus:
+
+"And why do we make so much of the girl?  What's in her?  Eh?  We
+have too much to do with her."  We quickly and rudely checked the man
+who dared to say such words.  We had to love something.  We found it
+out and loved it, and the something which the twenty-six of us loved
+had to be inaccessible to each of us as our sanctity, and any one
+coming out against us in this matter was our enemy.  We loved,
+perhaps, not what was really good, but then we were twenty-six, and
+therefore we always wanted the thing dear to us to be sacred in the
+eyes of others.  Our love is not less painful than hatred.  And
+perhaps this is why some haughty people claim that our hatred is more
+flattering than our love.  But why, then, don't they run from us, if
+that is true?
+
+Aside from the biscuit department our proprietor had also a shop for
+white bread; it was in the same house, separated from our ditch by a
+wall; the _bulochniks_ (white-bread bakers), there were four of them,
+kept aloof, considering their work cleaner than ours, and therefore
+considering themselves better than we were; they never came to our
+shop, laughed at us whenever they met us in the yard; nor did we go
+to them.  The proprietor had forbidden this for fear lest we might
+steal loaves of white bread.  We did not like the _bulochniks_,
+because we envied them.  Their work was easier than ours, they were
+better paid, they were given better meals, theirs was a spacious,
+light workshop, and they were all so clean and healthy--repulsive to
+us; while we were all yellow, and gray, and sickly.  During holidays
+and whenever they were free from work they put on nice coats and
+creaking boots; two of them had harmonicas, and they all went to the
+city park; while we had on dirty rags and burst shoes, and the city
+police did not admit us into the park--could we love the _bulochniks_?
+
+One day we learned that one of their bakers had taken to drink, that
+the proprietor had discharged him and hired another one in his place,
+and that the other one was a soldier, wearing a satin vest and a gold
+chain to his watch.  We were curious to see such a dandy, and in the
+hope of seeing him we, now and again, one by one, began to run out
+into the yard.
+
+But he came himself to our workshop.  Kicking the door open with his
+foot, and leaving it open, he stood on the threshold, and smiling,
+said to us:
+
+"God help you!  Hello, fellows!" The cold air, forcing itself in at
+the door in a thick, smoky cloud, was whirling around his feet; he
+stood on the threshold, looking down on us from above, and from under
+his fair, curled moustache, big, yellow teeth were flashing.  His
+waistcoat was blue, embroidered with flowers; it was beaming, and the
+buttons were of some red stones.  And there was a chain too.  He was
+handsome, this soldier, tall, strong, with red cheeks, and his big,
+light eyes looked good--kind and clear.  On his head was a white,
+stiffly-starched cap, and from under his clean apron peeped out sharp
+toes of stylish, brightly shining boots.
+
+Our baker respectfully requested him to close the door; he did it
+without haste, and began to question us about the proprietor.  Vieing
+with one another, we told him that our "boss" was a rogue, a rascal,
+a villain, a tyrant, everything that could and ought to be said of
+our proprietor, but which cannot be repeated here.  The soldier
+listened, stirred his moustache and examined us with a soft, light
+look.
+
+"And are there many girls here?" he asked, suddenly.
+
+Some of us began to laugh respectfully, others made soft grimaces;
+some one explained to the soldier that there were nine girls.
+
+"Do you take advantage?" . . . asked the soldier, winking his eye.
+
+Again we burst out laughing, not very loud, and with a confused
+laughter.  Many of us wished to appear before the soldier just as
+clever as he was, but not one was able to do it.  Some one confessed,
+saying in a low voice:
+
+"It is not for us." . . .
+
+"Yes, it is hard for you!" said the soldier with confidence,
+examining us fixedly.  "You haven't the bearing for it . . . the
+figure--you haven't the appearance, I mean!  And a woman likes a good
+appearance in a man.  To her it must be perfect, everything perfect!
+And then she respects strength. . . .  A hand should be like this!"
+The soldier pulled his right hand out of his pocket.  The shirt
+sleeve was rolled up to his elbow.  He showed his hand to us. . . .
+It was white, strong, covered with glossy, golden hair.
+
+"A leg, a chest, in everything there must be firmness.  And then,
+again, the man must be dressed according to style. . . .  As the
+beauty of things requires it.  I, for instance, I am loved by women.
+I don't call them, I don't lure them, they come to me of themselves."
+He seated himself on a bag of flour and told us how the women loved
+him and how he handled them boldly.  Then he went away, and when the
+door closed behind him with a creak, we were silent for a long time,
+thinking of him and of his stories.  And then suddenly we all began
+to speak, and it became clear at once that he pleased every one of
+us.  Such a kind and plain fellow.  He came, sat awhile and talked.
+Nobody came to us before, nobody ever spoke to us like this; so
+friendly. . . . And we all spoke of him and of his future successes
+with the embroidery girls, who either passed us by, closing their
+lips insultingly, when they met us in the yard, or went straight on
+as if we had not been in their way at all.  And we always admired
+them, meeting them in the yard, or when they went past our
+windows--in winter dressed in some particular hats and in fur coats,
+in summer in hats with flowers, with colored parasols in their hands.
+But thereafter among ourselves, we spoke of these girls so that had
+they heard it, they would have gone mad for shame and insult.
+
+"However, see that he doesn't spoil Tanushka, too!" said the baker,
+suddenly, with anxiety.
+
+We all became silent, dumb-founded by these words.  We had somehow
+forgotten Tanya; it looked as though the soldier's massive, handsome
+figure prevented us from seeing her.  Then began a noisy dispute.
+Some said that Tanya would not submit herself to this, others argued
+that she would not hold out against the soldier; still others said
+that they would break the soldier's bones in case he should annoy
+Tanya, and finally all decided to look after the soldier and Tanya,
+and to warn the girl to be on guard against him. . . .  This put an
+end to the dispute.
+
+About a month went by.  The soldier baked white bread, walked around
+with the embroidery girls, came quite often to our workshop, but
+never told us of his success with the girls; he only twisted his
+moustache and licked his lips with relish.
+
+Tanya came every morning for the biscuits and, as always, was
+cheerful, amiable, kind to us.  We attempted to start a conversation
+with her about the soldier, but she called him a "goggle-eyed calf,"
+and other funny names, and this calmed us.  We were proud of our
+little girl, seeing that the embroidery girls were making love to the
+soldier.  Tanya's relation toward him somehow uplifted all of us, and
+we, as if guided by her relation, began to regard the soldier with
+contempt.  And we began to love Tanya still more, and, meet her in
+the morning more cheerfully and kind-heartedly.
+
+But one day the soldier came to us a little intoxicated, seated
+himself and began to laugh, and when we asked him what he was
+laughing at he explained: "Two had a fight on account of me. . . .
+Lidka and Grushka. . . .  How they disfigured each other!  Ha, ha!
+One grabbed the other by the hair, and knocked her to the ground in
+the hallway, and sat on her. . . .  Ha, ha, ha!  They scratched each
+other's faces. . . .  It is laughable!  And why cannot women fight
+honestly?  Why do they scratch?  Eh?"
+
+He sat on the bench, strong and clean and jovial; talking and
+laughing all the time.  We were silent.  Somehow or other he seemed
+repulsive to us this time.
+
+"How lucky I am with women, Eh?  It is very funny!  Just a wink and I
+have them!"
+
+His white hands, covered with glossy hair, were lifted and thrown
+back to his knees with a loud noise.  And he stared at us with such a
+pleasantly surprised look, as though he really could not understand
+why he was so lucky in his affairs with women.  His stout, red face
+was radiant with happiness and self-satisfaction, and he kept on
+licking his lips with relish.
+
+Our baker scraped the shovel firmly and angrily against the hearth of
+the oven and suddenly said, sarcastically:
+
+"You need no great strength to fell little fir-trees, but try to
+throw down a pine." . . .
+
+"That is, do you refer to me?" asked the soldier.
+
+"To you. . . ."
+
+"What is it?"
+
+"Nothing. . . .  Too late!"
+
+"No, wait!  What's the matter?  Which pine?"
+
+Our baker did not reply, quickly working with his shovel at the oven.
+He would throw into the oven the biscuits from the boiling kettle,
+would take out the ready ones and throw them noisily to the floor, to
+the boys who put them on bast strings.  It looked as though he had
+forgotten all about the soldier and his conversation with him.  But
+suddenly the soldier became very restless.  He rose to his feet and
+walking up to the oven, risked striking his chest against the handle
+of the shovel, which was convulsively trembling in the air.
+
+"No, you tell me--who is she?  You have insulted me. . . .  I?  . . .
+Not a single one can wrench herself from me, never!  And you say to
+me such offensive words."  . . . And, indeed, he looked really
+offended.  Evidently there was nothing for which he might respect
+himself, except for his ability to lead women astray; it may be that
+aside from this ability there was no life in him, and only this
+ability permitted him to feel himself a living man.
+
+There are people to whom the best and dearest thing in life is some
+kind of a disease of either the body or the soul.  They make much of
+it during all their lives and live by it only; suffering from it,
+they are nourished by it, they always complain of it to others and
+thus attract the attention of their neighbors.  By this they gain
+people's compassion for themselves, and aside from this they have
+nothing.  Take away this disease from them, cure them, and they are
+rendered most unfortunate, because they thus lose their sole means of
+living, they then become empty.  Sometimes a man's life is so poor
+that he is involuntarily compelled to prize his defect and live by
+it.  It may frankly be said that people are often depraved out of
+mere weariness.  The soldier felt insulted, and besetting our baker,
+roared:
+
+"Tell me--who is it?"
+
+"Shall I tell you?" the baker suddenly turned to him.
+
+"Well?"
+
+"Do you know Tanya?"
+
+"Well?"
+
+"Well, try." . . .
+
+"I?"
+
+"You!"
+
+"Her?  That's easy enough!"
+
+"We'll see!"
+
+"You'll see!  Ha, ha!"
+
+"She'll. . . ."
+
+"A month's time!"
+
+"What a boaster you are, soldier!"
+
+"Two weeks!  I'll show you!  Who is it?  Tanya!  Tfoo!" . . .
+
+"Get away, I say."
+
+"Get away, . . .  you're bragging!"
+
+"Two weeks, that's all!"
+
+Suddenly our baker became enraged, and he raised the shovel against
+the soldier.  The soldier stepped back, surprised, kept silent for
+awhile, and, saying ominously, in a low voice: "Very well, then!" he
+left us.
+
+During the dispute we were all silent, interested in the result.  But
+when the soldier went out, a loud, animated talk and noise was
+started among us.
+
+Some one cried to the baker:
+
+"You contrived a bad thing, Pavel!"
+
+"Work!" replied the baker, enraged.
+
+We felt that the soldier was touched to the quick and that a danger
+was threatening Tanya.  We felt this, and at the same time we were
+seized with a burning, pleasant curiosity--what will happen?  Will
+she resist the soldier?  And almost all of us cried out with
+confidence:
+
+"Tanya?  She will resist!  You cannot take her with bare hands!"
+
+We were very desirous of testing the strength of our godling; we
+persistently proved to one another that our godling was a strong
+godling, and that Tanya would come out the victor in this combat.
+Then, finally, it appeared to us that we did not provoke the soldier
+enough, that he might forget about the dispute, and that we ought to
+irritate his self-love the more.  Since that day we began to live a
+particular, intensely nervous life--a life we had never lived before.
+We argued with one another all day long, as if we had grown wiser.
+We spoke more and better.  It seemed to us that we were playing a
+game with the devil, with Tanya as the stake on our side.  And when
+we had learned from the _bulochniks_ that the soldier began to court
+"our Tanya," we felt so dreadfully good and were so absorbed in our
+curiosity that we did not even notice that the proprietor, availing
+himself of our excitement, added to our work fourteen _poods_ (a
+_pood_ is a weight of forty Russian pounds) of dough a day.  We did
+not even get tired of working.  Tanya's name did not leave our lips
+all day long.  And each morning we expected her with especial
+impatience.  Sometimes we imagined that she might come to us--and
+that she would be no longer the same Tanya, but another one.
+
+However, we told her nothing about the dispute.  We asked her no
+questions and treated her as kindly as before.  But something new and
+foreign to our former feelings for Tanya crept in stealthily into our
+relation toward her, and this new _something_ was keen curiosity,
+sharp and cold like a steel knife.
+
+"Fellows!  Time is up to-day!" said the baker one morning, commencing
+to work.
+
+We knew this well without his calling our attention to it, but we
+gave a start, nevertheless.
+
+"Watch her! . . .  She'll come soon!" suggested the baker.  Some one
+exclaimed regretfully: "What can we see?"
+
+And again a lively, noisy dispute ensued.  To-day we were to learn at
+last how far pure and inaccessible to filth was the urn wherein we
+had placed all that was best in us.  This morning we felt for the
+first time that we were really playing a big game, that this test of
+our godling's purity might destroy our idol.  We had been told all
+these days that the soldier was following Tanya obstinately, but for
+some reason or other none of us asked how she treated him.  And she
+kept on coming to us regularly every morning for biscuits and was the
+same as before.  This day, too, we soon heard her voice:
+
+"Little prisoners!  I've come. . . ."
+
+We hastened to let her in, and when she entered we met her, against
+our habit, in silence.  Staring at her fixedly, we did not know what
+to say to her, what to ask her; and as we stood before her we formed
+a dark, silent crowd.  She was evidently surprised at our unusual
+reception, and suddenly we noticed that she turned pale, became
+restless, began to bustle about and asked in a choking voice:
+
+"Why are you . . . such?
+
+"And you?" asked the baker sternly, without taking his eyes off the
+girl.
+
+"What's the matter with me?"
+
+"Nothing. . . ."
+
+"Well, quicker, give me biscuits. . . ."
+
+She had never before hurried us on. . . .
+
+"There's plenty of time!" said the baker, his eyes fixed, on her face.
+
+Then she suddenly turned around and disappeared behind the door.
+
+The baker took up his shovel and said calmly, turning towards the
+oven:
+
+"It is done, it seems! . . .  The soldier! . . .  Rascal! . . .
+Scoundrel!" . . .
+
+Like a herd of sheep, pushing one another, we walked back to the
+table, seated ourselves in silence and began to work slowly.  Soon
+some one said:
+
+"And perhaps not yet." . . .
+
+"Go on! Talk about it!" cried the baker.
+
+We all knew that he was a clever man, cleverer than any of us, and we
+understood by his words that he was firmly convinced of the soldier's
+victory. . . .  We were sad and uneasy.  At twelve o'clock, during
+the dinner hour, the soldier came.  He was, as usual, clean and
+smart, and, as usual, looked straight into our eyes.  We felt awkward
+to look at him.
+
+"Well, honorable gentlemen, if you wish, I can show you a soldier's
+boldness," . . . said he, smiling proudly.  "You go out into the
+hallway and look through the clefts.  . . .  Understand?"
+
+We went out and, falling on one another, we stuck to the cleft, in
+the wooden walls of the hallway, leading to the yard.  We did not
+have to wait long. . . . . . . .  Soon Tanya passed with a quick
+pace, skipping over the plashes of melted snow and mud.  Her face
+looked troubled.  She disappeared behind the cellar door.  Then the
+soldier went there slowly and whistling.  His hands were thrust into
+his pockets, and his moustache was stirring.
+
+A rain was falling, and we saw the drops fall into plashes, and the
+plashes were wrinkling under their blows.  It was a damp, gray day--a
+very dreary day.  The snow still lay on the roofs, while on the
+ground, here and there, were dark spots of mud.  And the snow on the
+roofs, too, was covered with a brownish, muddy coating.  The rain
+trickled slowly, producing a mournful sound.  We felt cold and
+disagreeable.
+
+The soldier came first out of the cellar; he crossed the yard slowly,
+Stirring his moustache, his hands in his pockets--the same as always.
+
+Then Tanya came out.  Her eyes . . . her eyes were radiant with joy
+and happiness, and her lips were smiling.  And she walked as though
+in sleep, staggering, with uncertain steps.  We could not stand this
+calmly.  We all rushed toward the door, jumped out into the yard, and
+began to hiss and bawl at her angrily and wildly.  On noticing us she
+trembled and stopped short as if petrified in the mud under her feet.
+We surrounded her and malignantly abused her in the most obscene
+language.  We told her shameless things.
+
+We did this not loud but slowly, seeing that she could not get away,
+that she was surrounded by us and we could mock her as much as we
+pleased.  I don't know why, but we did not beat her.  She stood among
+us, turning her head one way and another, listening to our abuses.
+And we kept on throwing at her more of the mire and poison of our
+words.
+
+The color left her face.  Her blue eyes, so happy a moment ago,
+opened wide, her breast breathed heavily and her lips were trembling.
+
+And we, surrounding her, avenged ourselves upon her, for she had
+robbed us.  She had belonged to us, we had spent on her all that was
+best in us, though that best was the crusts of beggars, but we were
+twenty-six, while she was one, and therefore there was no suffering
+painful enough to punish her for her crime!  How we abused her!  She
+was silent, looked at us wild-eyed, and trembling in every limb.  We
+were laughing, roaring, growling.  Some more people ran up to us.
+Some one of us pulled Tanya by the sleeve of her waist. . . .
+
+Suddenly her eyes began to flash; slowly she lifted her hands to her
+head, and, adjusting her hair, said loudly, but calmly, looking
+straight into our eyes:
+
+"Miserable prisoners!"
+
+And she came directly toward us, she walked, too, as though we were
+not in front of her, as though we were not in her way.  Therefore
+none of us were in her way, and coming out of our circle, without
+turning to us, she said aloud, and with indescribable contempt:
+
+"Rascals! . . .  Rabble!" . . .
+
+Then she went away.
+
+We remained standing in the centre of the yard, in the mud, under the
+rain and the gray, sunless sky. . . .
+
+Then we all went back silently to our damp, stony ditch.  As before,
+the sun never peeped in through our windows, and Tanya never came
+there again! . . . .
+
+
+
+
+Tchelkache
+
+The sky is clouded by the dark smoke rising from the harbor.  The
+ardent sun gazes at the green sea through a thin veil.  It is unable to
+see its reflection in the water so agitated is the latter by the oars,
+the steamer screws and the sharp keels of the Turkish feluccas, or sail
+boats, that plough the narrow harbor in every direction.  The waves
+imprisoned by stone walls, crushed under the enormous weights that they
+carry, beat against the sides of the vessels and the quays; beat and
+murmur, foaming and muddy.
+
+The noise of chains, the rolling of wagons laden with merchandise, the
+metallic groan of iron falling on the pavements, the creaking of
+windlasses, the whistling of steamboats, now in piercing shrieks, now
+in muffled roars, the cries of haulers, sailors and custom-house
+officers--all these diverse sounds blend in a single tone, that of
+work, and vibrate and linger in the air as though they feared to rise
+and disappear.  And still the earth continues to give forth new sounds;
+heavy, rumbling, they set in motion everything about them, or,
+piercing, rend the hot and smoky air.
+
+Stone, iron, wood, vessels and men, all, breathe forth a furious and
+passionate hymn to the god of Traffic.  But the voices of the men,
+scarcely distinguishable, appear feeble and ridiculous, as do also the
+men, in the midst of all this tumult.  Covered with grimy rags, bent
+under their burdens, they move through clouds of dust in the hot and
+noisy atmosphere, dwarfed to insignificance beside the colossal iron
+structures, mountains of merchandise, noisy wagons and all the other
+things that they have themselves created.  Their own handiwork has
+reduced them to subjection and robbed them of their personality.
+
+The giant vessels, at anchor, shriek, or sigh deeply, and in each sound
+there is, as it were, an ironical contempt for the men who crawl over
+their decks and fill their sides with the products of a slaved toil.
+The long files of 'longshoremen are painfully absurd; they carry huge
+loads of corn on their shoulders and deposit them in the iron holds of
+the vessels so that they may earn a few pounds of bread to put in their
+famished stomachs.  The men, in rags, covered with perspiration, are
+stupefied by fatigue, noise and heat; the machines, shining, strong and
+impassive, made by the hands of these men, are not, however, moved by
+steam, but by the muscles and blood of their creators--cold and cruel
+irony!
+
+The noise weighs down, the dust irritates nostrils and eyes; the heat
+burns the body, the fatigue, everything seems strained to its utmost
+tension, and ready to break forth in a resounding explosion that will
+clear the air and bring peace and quiet to the earth again--when the
+town, sea and sky will be calm and beneficent.  But it is only an
+illusion, preserved by the untiring hope of man and his imperishable
+and illogical desire for liberty.
+
+Twelve strokes of a bell, sonorous and measured, rang out.  When the
+last one had died away upon the air, the rude tones of labor were
+already half softened.  At the end of a minute, they were transformed
+into a dull murmur.  Then, the voices of men and sea were more
+distinct.  The dinner hour had come.
+
+      *      *      *      *      *
+
+When the longshoremen, leaving their work, were dispersed in noisy
+groups over the wharf, buying food from the open-air merchants, and
+settling themselves on the pavement, in shady corners, to eat, Grichka
+Tchelkache, an old jail-bird, appeared among them.  He was game often
+hunted by the police, and the entire quay knew him for a hard drinker
+and a clever, daring thief.  He was bare-headed and bare-footed, and
+wore a worn pair of velvet trousers and a percale blouse torn at the
+neck, showing his sharp and angular bones covered with brown skin.  His
+touseled black hair, streaked with gray, and his sharp visage,
+resembling a bird of prey's, all rumpled, indicated that he had just
+awakened.  From his moustache hung a straw, another clung to his
+unshaved cheek, while behind his ear was a fresh linden leaf.  Tall,
+bony, a little bent, he walked slowly over the stones, and, turning his
+hooked nose from side to side, cast piercing glances about him,
+appearing to be seeking someone among the 'longshoremen.  His long,
+thick, brown moustache trembled like a cat's, and his hands, behind his
+back, rubbed each other, pressing closely   together  their twisted and
+knotty fingers.  Even here, among hundreds of his own kind, he
+attracted attention by his resemblance to a sparrow-hawk of the
+steppes, by his rapacious leanness, his easy stride, outwardly calm but
+alert and watchful as the flight of the bird that he recalled.
+
+When he reached a group of tatterdemalions, seated in the shade of some
+baskets of charcoal, a broad-shouldered and stupid looking boy rose to
+meet him.  His face was streaked with red and his neck was scratched;
+he bore the traces of a recent fight.  He walked along beside
+Tchelkache, and said under his breath:
+
+"The custom-house officers can't find two boxes of goods.  They are
+looking for them.  You understand, Grichka?"
+
+"What of it?" asked Tchelkache, measuring him calmly with his eyes.
+
+"What of it?  They are looking, that's all."
+
+"Have they inquired for me to help them in their search?"
+
+Tchelkache gazed at the warehouses with a meaning smile.
+
+"Go to the devil!"
+
+The other turned on his heel.
+
+"Hey! Wait!--Who has fixed you up in that fashion?  Your face is all
+bruised--Have you seen Michka around here?"
+
+"I haven't seen him for a long time!" cried the other, rejoining the
+'longshoremen.
+
+Tchelkache continued on his way, greeted in a friendly manner by all.
+But he, usually so ready with merry word or biting jest, was evidently
+out of sorts to-day, and answered all questions briefly.
+
+Behind a bale of merchandise appeared a custom-house officer, standing
+in his dark-green, dusty uniform with military erectness.  He barred
+Tchelkache's way, placing himself before him in an offensive attitude,
+his left hand on his sword, and reached out his right hand to take
+Tchelkache by the collar.
+
+"Stop, where are you going?"
+
+Tchelkache fell back a step, looked at the officer and smiled drily.
+
+The red, cunning and good-natured face of the custom-house officer was
+making an effort to appear terrible; with the result that swollen and
+purple, with wrinkling eyebrows and bulging eyes, it only succeeded in
+being funny.
+
+"You've been warned before: don't you dare to come upon the wharf, or
+I'll break every rib in your body!" fiercely exclaimed the officer.
+
+"How do you do, Semenitch!  I haven't seen you for a long time,"
+quietly replied Tchelkache, extending his hand.
+
+"I could get along without ever seeing you!  Go about your business!"
+
+However, Semenitch shook the hand that was extended to him.
+
+"You're just the one I want to see," pursued Tchelkache, without
+loosening the hold of his hooked fingers on Semenitch's hand, and
+shaking it familiarly.  "Have you seen Michka?"
+
+"What Michka?  I don't know any Michka!  Get along with you, friend, or
+the inspector'll see you; he--"
+
+"The red-haired fellow who used to work with me on board the
+'Kostroma,'" continued Tchelkache, unmoved.
+
+"Who stole with you would be nearer the truth!  Your Michka has been
+sent to the hospital: his leg was crushed under a bar of iron.  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.
+The last named looked at him calmly from under his heavy eyebrows,
+while a slight smile curved his lips, and without releasing his hold of
+the officer's hand, continued talking.
+
+"Don't hurry me.  When I'm through talking to you I'll go.  Tell me how
+you're getting on.  Are your wife and children well?"
+
+Accompanying his words with a terrible glance, and showing his teeth in
+a mocking grin, he added:
+
+"I'm always intending to make you a visit, but I never have the time:
+I'm always drunk--"
+
+"That'll do, that'll do, drop that--Stop joking, bony devil! If you
+don't, comrade, I--Or do you really intend to rob houses and streets?"
+
+"Why?  There's enough here for both of us.  My God, yes!--Semenitch!
+You've stolen two boxes of goods again?--Look out, Semenitch, be
+careful!  Or you'll be caught one of these days!"
+
+Semenitch trembled with anger at the impudence of Tchelkache; he spat
+upon the ground in a vain effort to speak.  Tchelkache let go his hand
+and turned back quietly and deliberately at the entrance to the wharf.
+The officer, swearing like a trooper, followed him.
+
+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.
+
+"Happy Grichka, what good care the authorities take of him!" cried
+someone in a group of 'longshoremen who had eaten their dinner and were
+lying, stretched out on the ground.
+
+"I have no shoes; Semenitch is afraid that I may hurt my feet," replied
+Tchelkache.
+
+They reached the gate.  Two soldiers searched Tchelkache and pushed him
+gently aside.
+
+"Don't let him come back again!" cried Semenitch, who had remained
+inside.
+
+Tchelkache crossed the road and seated himself on a stepping-block in
+front of the inn door.  From the wharf emerged an interminable stream
+of loaded wagons.  From the opposite direction arrived empty wagons at
+full speed, the drivers jolting up and down on the seats.  The quay
+emitted a rumbling as of thunder; accompanied by an acrid dust.  The
+ground seemed to shake.
+
+Accustomed to this mad turmoil, stimulated by his scene with Semenitch,
+Tchelkache felt at peace with all the world.  The future promised him
+substantial gain without great outlay of energy or skill on his part.
+He was sure that neither the one nor the other would fail him; screwing
+up his eyes, he thought of the next day's merry-making when, his work
+accomplished, he should have a roll of bills in his pocket.  Then his
+thoughts reverted to his friend Michka, who would have been of so much
+use to him that night, if he had not broken his leg.  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.  Near him lay a little bag and a scythe,
+without a handle, wrapped in hay carefully bound with string.  The boy
+was broad shouldered and fairhaired with a sun-burned and tanned face;
+his eyes were large and blue and gazed at Tchelkache confidingly and
+pleasantly.
+
+Tchelkache showed his teeth, stuck out his tongue, and, making a
+horrible grimace, stared at him persistently.
+
+The boy, surprised, winked, then suddenly burst out laughing and cried:
+
+"O! how funny he is!"
+
+Almost without rising from the ground, he rolled heavily along toward
+Tchelkache, dragging his bag in the dust and striking the stones with
+his scythe.
+
+"Eh! say, friend, you've been on a good spree!" said he to Tchelkache,
+pulling his trousers.
+
+"Just so, little one, just so!" frankly replied Tchelkache.  This
+robust and artless lad pleased him from the first.
+
+"Have you come from the hay-harvest?"
+
+"Yes.   I've mowed a verst and earned a kopek!  Business is bad!  There
+are so many hands!  The starving folks have come--have spoiled the
+prices.  They used to give sixty kopeks at Koubagne.  As much as that!
+And formerly, they say, three, four, even five rubles."
+
+"Formerly!--Formerly, they gave three rubles just for the sight of a
+real Russian.  Ten years ago, I made a business of that.  I would go to
+a village, and I would say: 'I am a Russian!'  At the words, everyone
+came flocking to look at me, feel of me, marvel at me--and I had three
+rubles in my pocket!  In addition, they gave me food and drink and
+invited me to stay as long as I liked."
+
+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.
+
+"What a funny fellow! . . .  You said that as though it was true, and I
+believed you.  But, truly, formerly, yonder. . . ."
+
+"And what did I say?  I said that formerly, yonder. . ."
+
+"Get along with you!" said the boy, accompanying his words with a
+gesture.  "Are you a shoemaker?  or a tailor?  Say?"
+
+"I?" asked Tchelkache; then after a moment's reflection, he added:
+
+"I'm a fisherman."
+
+"A fisherman?  Really!  What do you catch, fish?"
+
+"Why should I catch fish?  Around here the fishermen catch other things
+besides that.  Very often drowned men, old anchors, sunken
+boats--everything, in fact!  There are lines for that. . ."
+
+"Invent, keep on inventing!  Perhaps you're one of those fishermen who
+sing about themselves:
+
+  "We are those who throw our nets
+  Upon dry banks,
+  Upon barns and stables!"
+
+"Have you ever seen any of that kind?" asked Tchelkache, looking
+ironically at him, and thinking that this honest boy must be very
+stupid.
+
+"No, I've never seen any; but I've heard them spoken of."
+
+"Do you like them?"
+
+"Why not? They are fearless and free."
+
+"Do you feel the need of freedom?  Do you like freedom?"
+
+"How could I help liking it?  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.
+
+"Look at me, for instance," said the other, with sudden animation.
+"When my father died, he left little.  My mother was old, the land worn
+out, what could I do?  One must live.  But how?  I don't know.  A
+well-to-do family would take me in as a son-in-law, to be sure!  If the
+daughter only received her share!  But no!  The devil of a
+father-in-law never wants to divide the property.   So then, I must
+toil for him . . . a long time . . . years.  Do you see how it stands?
+While if I could put by a hundred and fifty rubles, I should feel
+independent and be able to talk to the old man.  'Will you give Marfa
+her share?' No!  'All right!  She's not the only girl in the village,
+thank God.'  And so I'd be perfectly free, my own master.  Yes!" The
+lad sighed.  "As it is, there's nothing for it but to go into a family.
+I've thought that if I were to go to Koubagne, I'd easily make two
+hundred rubles.  Then I should have a chance for myself.   But no,
+nothing has come my way, I've failed in everything!  So now it's
+necessary to enter a family, be a slave, because I can't get along with
+what I have--impossible!  Ehe! . . ."
+
+The lad detested the idea of becoming the husband of some rich girl who
+would remain at home.  His face grew dull and sad.  He moved restlessly
+about on the ground; this roused Tchelkache from the reflections in
+which his speech had plunged him.
+
+Tchelkache felt that he had no more desire to talk, but he nevertheless
+asked:
+
+"Where are you going, now?"
+
+"Where am I going?  Home, of course!"
+
+"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.
+
+A confused feeling was gradually growing up, a kind of vexation was
+stirring the depths of his being and preventing him from concentrating
+his thoughts upon what he had to do that night.
+
+The lad whom he had just insulted muttered something under his breath
+and looked askance at him.  His cheeks were comically puffed out, his
+lips pursed up, and he half closed his eyes in a laughable manner.
+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!  Are you often drunk?" he began; but at the same
+instant the fisherman turned quickly around and asked:
+
+"Listen, youngster!  Do you want to work with me to-night?  Eh?  Answer
+quick."
+
+"Work at what?" questioned the boy, distrustfully.
+
+"At what I shall tell you. . .  We'll go fishing.  You shall row. . ."
+
+"If that's it . . . why not?  All right!  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."
+
+He jumped up, pulling his moustache with his left hand and doubling his
+right fist all furrowed with knotted veins and hard as iron; his eyes
+flashed.
+
+The lad was afraid.  He glanced quickly around him and, blinking
+timidly, also jumped up on his feet.  They measured each other with
+their eyes in silence.
+
+"Well?" sternly demanded Tchelkache.
+
+He was boiling over with rage at being insulted by this young boy, whom
+he had despised even when talking with him, and whom he now began to
+hate on account of his pure blue eyes, his healthy and sun-burned face
+and his short, strong arms; because he had, somewhere yonder, a village
+and a home in that village; because it had been proposed to him to
+enter as son-in-law in a well-to-do family, and, above all, because
+this being, who was only a child in comparison with himself, should
+presume to like liberty, of which he did not know the worth and which
+was useless to him.  It is always disagreeable to see a person whom we
+consider our inferior like, or dislike, the same things that we do and
+to be compelled to admit that in that respect they are our equals.
+
+The lad gazed at Tchelkache and felt that he had found his master.
+
+"Why . . ." said he; "I consent.  I'm willing.  It's work that I'm
+looking for.  It's all the same to me whether I work with you or
+someone else.  I only said that because you don't seem like a man that
+works . . .  you are far too ragged.  However, I know very well that
+that may happen to anyone.  Have I never seen a drunkard?  Eh!  How
+many I've seen, and much worse than you!"
+
+"Good!  Then you consent?" asked Tchelkache, somewhat mollified.
+
+"I, why yes, with pleasure.  Name your price."
+
+"My price depends upon the work.  It's according to what we do and
+take.  You may perhaps receive five rubles.  Do you understand?"
+
+But now that it was a question of money, the peasant wanted a clear
+understanding and exacted perfect frankness on the part of his master.
+He again became distrustful and suspicious.
+
+"That's scarcely to my mind, friend.  I must have those five rubles in
+my hand how."
+
+Tchelkache humored him.
+
+"Enough said, wait a little.  Let us go to the tavern."
+
+They walked side by side along the street; Tchelkache twisting his
+moustache with the important air of an employer, the lad submissively,
+but at the same time filled with distrust and fear.
+
+"What's your name?" asked Tchelkache.
+
+"Gavrilo," replied the lad.
+
+When they had entered the dirty and smoky ale-house Tchelkache went up
+to the bar and ordered, in the familiar tone of a regular customer, a
+bottle of brandy, cabbage soup, roast beef and tea, and, after
+enumerating the order, said briefly: "to be charged!"  To which the boy
+responded by a silent nod.  At this, Gavrilo was filled with great
+respect for his master, who, despite his knavish exterior, was so well
+known and treated with so much confidence.
+
+"There, let us eat a bite, and talk afterward.  Wait for me an instant,
+I will be back directly."
+
+He went out.  Gavrilo looked around him.  The ale-house was in a
+basement; it was damp and dark and reeking with tobacco smoke, tar and
+a musty odor.  In front of Gavrilo, at another table, was a drunken
+sailor, with a red beard, all covered with charcoal and tar.  He was
+humming, interrupted by frequent hiccoughs, a fragment of a song very
+much out of tune.  He was evidently not a Russian.
+
+Behind him were two ragged women from Moldavia, black-haired and
+sun-burned; they were also grinding out a song.
+
+Further on, other faces started out from the darkness, all dishevelled,
+half drunk, writhing, restless. . .
+
+Gavrilo was afraid to remain alone.  He longed for his master's return.
+The divers noises of the ale-house blended in one single note: it
+seemed like the roaring of some enormous animal with a hundred voices,
+struggling blindly and furiously in this stone box and finding no
+issue.  Gavrilo felt himself growing heavy and dull as though his body
+had absorbed intoxication; his head swam and he could not see, in spite
+of his desire to satisfy his curiosity.
+
+Tchelkache returned; he ate and drank while he talked.  At the third
+glass Gavrilo was drunk.  He grew lively; he wanted to say something
+nice to his host, who, worthy man that he was, was treating him so
+well, before he had availed himself of his services.  But the words,
+which vaguely mounted to his throat, refused to leave his suddenly
+thick tongue.
+
+Tchelkache looked at him.   He said, smiling sarcastically.
+
+"So you're done for, already!  . . . it isn't possible!  Just for five
+small glasses!  How will you manage to work?"
+
+"Friend," stammered  Gavrilo, "don't be afraid!  I will serve you.  Ah,
+how I'll serve you!  Let me embrace you, come?"
+
+"That's  right, that's  right! . . . One more glass?"
+
+Gavrilo drank.  Everything swam before his eyes in unequal waves.  That
+was unpleasant and gave him nausea.  His face had a stupid expression.
+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.
+
+"Let us get out of here!" said Tchelkache rising.
+
+Gavrilo tried to rise, but not succeeding, uttered a formidable oath
+and burst out into an idiotic, drunken laugh.
+
+"See how fresh you are!" said Tchelkache, sitting down again.  Gavrilo
+continued to laugh, stupidly contemplating his master.  The other
+looked at him lucidly and penetratingly.  He saw before him a man whose
+life he held in his hands.  He knew that he had it in his power to do
+what he would with him.  He could bend him like a piece of cardboard,
+or help him to develop amid his staid, village environments.  Feeling
+himself the master and lord of another being, he enjoyed this thought
+and said to himself that this lad should never drink of the cup that
+destiny had made him, Tchelkache, empty.  He at once envied and pitied
+this young existence, derided it and was moved to compassion at the
+thought that it might again fall into hands like his own.  All these
+feelings were finally mingled in one--paternal and authoritative.  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.
+
+"In a moment! one of the thole-pins is loose; may I pound it down with
+an oar?"
+
+"No, no!  No noise!  Push it down with your hands, it will be firm."
+
+They noiselessly cut loose the boat fastened to the bow of a sailing
+vessel.  There was here a whole fleet of sailing vessels, loaded with
+oak bark, and Turkish feluccas still half full of palma, sandal-wood
+and great cypress logs.
+
+The night was dark; the sky was overspread with shreds of heavy clouds,
+and the sea was calm, black and thick as oil.  It exhaled a humid and
+salt aroma, and softly murmured as it beat against the sides of the
+vessels and the shore and gently rocked Tchelkache's boat.  Far out at
+sea rose the black forms of ships; their sharp masts, surmounted with
+colored lanterns, were outlined against the sky.  The sea reflected the
+lights and appeared to be sown with yellow spots, which trembled upon
+its soft velvety black bosom, rising and falling regularly.  The sea
+was sleeping the healthy sound sleep of the laborer after his day's
+work.
+
+"We're off!" said Gavrilo, dipping his oars.
+
+"Let us pull!"
+
+Tchelkache, with a strong stroke of the oar, drove the boat into an
+open space between two fishing-boats; he pulled rapidly over the
+shining water, which glowed, at the contact of the oars, with a blue
+phosphorescent fire.  A long trail of softly scintillating light
+followed the boat windingly.
+
+"Well! does your head ache very much?" asked Tchelkache, kindly.
+
+"Horribly! 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.
+
+The boat shot on again, noiselessly; it moved easily between the
+ships. . . .  All at once it cleared itself from the other craft, and
+the  immense shining sea lay before them.  It disappeared in the blue
+distance, where from its waters rose lilac-gray clouds to the sky;
+these were edged with down, now yellow, again green as the sea, or
+again slate-colored, casting those gloomy shadows that oppress soul and
+mind.  The clouds slowly crept over one another, sometimes melting in
+one, sometimes dispersing each other; they mingled their forms and
+colors, dissolving or reappearing with new contours, majestic and
+mournful.  This slow moving of inanimate masses had something fatal
+about it.  It seemed as though yonder at the confines of the sea, there
+was an innumerable quantity of them always crawling indifferently over
+the sky, with the wicked and stupid intention of never allowing it to
+illumine the sleeping sea with the million golden eyes of its
+many-colored stars, which awaken the noble desires of beings in
+adoration before their holy and pure light.
+
+"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.  His ardent temperament, greedy
+for impressions, never tired of contemplating its infinite, free and
+powerful immensity.  It offended him to receive such a reply to his
+question concerning the beauty of the sea that he loved.   Seated at
+the tiller, he cleaved the water with his oar and gazed tranquilly
+before him, filled with the desire to thus continue rowing forever over
+this velvet plain.
+
+On the sea, warm and generous impulses rose within him, filled his soul
+and in a measure purified it of the defilements of life.  He enjoyed
+this effect and liked to feel himself better, out here, amid the waves
+and air where the thoughts and occupations of life lose their interest
+and life itself sinks into insignificance.  In the night, the sound of
+its soft breathing is wafted over the slumbering sea, and this infinite
+murmur fills the soul with peace, checks all unworthy impulses and
+brings forth mighty dreams.
+
+"The nets, where are they, eh?" suddenly asked Gavrilo, inspecting the
+boat.
+
+Tchelkache shuddered.
+
+"There's the net, at the rudder."
+
+"What kind of a net's that?" asked Gavrilo, suspiciously.
+
+"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!  Don't meddle with what doesn't
+concern you.  You've been brought to row, now row.  And if you let your
+tongue wag, no good will come of it.  Do you understand?"
+
+For one minute, the boat wavered and stopped.  The oars stood still in
+the foaming water around them, and Gavrilo moved uneasily on his seat.
+
+"Row!"
+
+A fierce oath broke the stillness.  Gavrilo bent to the oars.  The
+boat, as though frightened, leaped ahead rapidly and nervously, noisily
+cutting the water.
+
+"Better than that!"
+
+Tchelkache had risen from the helm and, without letting go his oar, he
+fixed his cold eyes upon the pale face and trembling lips of Gavrilo.
+Sinuous and bending forward, he resembled a cat ready to jump.  A
+furious grinding of teeth and rattling of bones could be heard.
+
+"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.
+
+The boat turned, obedient to his touch; he pulled toward the harbor
+where the many-colored lanterns were grouped together and the tall
+masts were outlined against the sky.
+
+"Hey!  Who calls?" was again asked.  This time the voice was further
+away; Tchelkache felt relieved.
+
+"It's you, yourself, friend, who calls!" said he, in the direction of
+the voice.  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.  Set me down
+somewhere.  Oh dear! oh, dear!  I'm lost!  For God's sake, let me go.
+What do you want of me?  I can't do this, I've never done anything like
+it.  It's the first time, Lord!  I'm lost!  How did you manage,
+comrade, to get around me like this?  Say?  It's a sin, you make me
+lose my soul! . . . Ah! what a piece of business!"
+
+"What business?" sternly questioned Tchelkache.  "Speak, what business
+do you mean?"
+
+The lad's terror amused him; he also enjoyed the sensation of being
+able to provoke such fear.
+
+"Dark transactions, brother. . .  Let me go, for the love of Heaven.
+What am I to you?  Friend . . ."
+
+"Be quiet!  If I hadn't needed you, I shouldn't have brought you!  Do
+you understand?  Eh!  Well, be quiet!"
+
+"Oh, Lord!" sobbed Gavrilo.
+
+"Enough!"
+
+Gavrilo could no longer control himself and his breath came in broken
+and painful gasps; he wept and moved restlessly about on his seat, but
+rowed hard, in despair.  The boat sped ahead like an arrow.  Again the
+black hulls of the ships arose before them, and the boat, turning like
+a top in the narrow channels that separated them, was soon lost among
+them.
+
+"Hey! 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.  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!  Lean your hands against the wall!  Softly, devil!"
+
+Gavrilo caught hold of the slippery stone and guided the boat along the
+wall.  He advanced noiselessly, just grazing the slimy moss of the
+stone.
+
+"Stop, give me the oars!  Give them here!  And your passport, where
+have you put it?  In your bag!  Give me the bag!  Quicker!  . . . That,
+my friend, is so that you'll not run away. . .  Now I hold you.
+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!  He felt that the
+cursed weight and fear that he experienced in the presence of this
+moustached and lean bandit had, as it were, slipped off and rolled away
+from him.  Could he escape, now?  Breathing freely, he looked around
+him.  On the left rose a black hull without masts, like an immense
+empty, deserted coffin.  The waves beating against its sides awakened
+heavy echoes therein, resembling long-drawn sighs.  On the right,
+stretched the damp wall of the quay, like a cold heavy serpent.  Behind
+were visible black skeletons, and in front, in the space between the
+wall and the coffin, was the sea, silent and deserted, with black
+clouds hanging over it.  These clouds were slowly advancing, their
+enormous, heavy masses, terrifying in the darkness, ready to crush man
+with their weight.  All was cold, black and of evil omen.  Gavrilo was
+afraid.  This fear was greater than that imposed on him by Tchelkache;
+it clasped Gavrilo's breast in a tight embrace, squeezed him to a
+helpless mass and riveted him to the boat's bench.
+
+Perfect silence reigned.  Not a sound, save the sighs of the seas; it
+seemed as though this silence was about to be suddenly broken by some
+frightful, furious explosion of sound that would shake the sea to its
+depths, tear apart the dark masses of clouds floating over the sky and
+bury under the waves all those black craft.  The clouds crawled over
+the sky as slowly and as wearily as before, but the sea gradually
+emerged from under them, and one might fancy, looking at the sky, that
+it was also a sea, but an angry sea overhanging a peaceful, sleeping
+one.  The clouds resembled waves whose gray crests touched the earth;
+they resembled abysses hollowed by the wind between the waves and
+nascent billows not yet covered with the green foam of fury.
+
+Gavrilo was oppressed by this dark calm and beauty; he realized that he
+desired his master's return.  But he did not come!  The time passed
+slowly, more slowly than crawled the clouds up in the sky. . .  And the
+length of time augmented the agony of the silence.  But just now behind
+the wall, the plashing of water was heard, then a rustling, and
+something like a whisper.  Gavrilo was half dead from fright.
+
+"Hey, there!  Are you asleep?  Take this!  Softly!" said Tchelkache's
+hoarse voice.
+
+From the wall descended a solid, square, heavy object.  Gavrilo put it
+in the boat, then another one like it.  Across the wall stretched
+Tchelkache's long figure.  The oars reappeared mysteriously, then
+Gavrilo's bag fell at his feet and Tchelkache out of breath seated
+himself at the tiller.
+
+Gavrilo looked at him with a timid and glad smile.
+
+"Are you tired?" said he.
+
+"A little, naturally, simpleton!  Row firm, with all your might.  You
+have a pretty profit, brother!  The affair is half done, now there only
+remains to pass unseen under the eyes of those devils, and then you'll
+receive your money and fly to your Machka. . .  You have a Machka, say,
+little one?"
+
+"N-no!"
+
+Gavrilo did not spare himself; his breast worked like a bellows and his
+arms like steel springs.  The water foamed under the boat and the blue
+trail that followed in the wake of the stern had become wider.  Gavrilo
+was bathed in perspiration, but he continued to row with all his
+strength.  After twice experiencing the fright that he had on this
+night, he dreaded a repetition of it and had only one desire: to finish
+this accursed task as soon as possible, regain the land, and flee from
+this man before he should be killed by him or imprisoned on account of
+his misdeeds.  He resolved not to speak to him, not to contradict him
+in anything, to execute all his commands and if he succeeded in freeing
+himself from him unmolested, to sing a Te Deum to Saint Nicholas.  An
+earnest prayer was on his lips.  But he controlled himself, puffed like
+a steamboat, and in silence cast furtive glances at Tchelkache.
+
+The other, bending his long, lean body forward, like a bird poising for
+flight, gazed ahead into the darkness with his hawk's eyes.  Turning
+his fierce, aquiline nose from side to side, he held the tiller with
+one hand and with the other tugged at his moustache which by a constant
+trembling betrayed the quiet smile on the thin lips.  Tchelkache was
+pleased with his success, with himself and with this lad, whom he had
+terrified into becoming his slave.  He enjoyed in advance to-morrow's
+feast and now he rejoiced in his strength and the subjection of this
+young, untried boy.  He saw him toil; he took pity on him and tried to
+encourage him.
+
+"Hey!  Say there!" he asked softly.  "Were you very much afraid?"
+
+"It doesn't matter!" sighed Gavrilo, coughing.
+
+"You needn't keep on rowing so hard.  It's ended, now.  There's only
+one more bad place to pass. . .  Rest yourself."
+
+Gavrilo stopped docilely, wiped the perspiration from his face with the
+sleeve of his blouse and again dipped the oars in the water.
+
+"That's right, row more gently.  So that the water tells no tales.
+There's a channel to cross.  Softly, softly.  Here, brother, are
+serious people.  They are quite capable of amusing themselves with a
+gun, They could raise a fine lump on your forehead before you'd have
+time to cry out."
+
+The boat glided over the water almost without sound.  Blue drops fell
+from the oars and when they touched the sea there flamed up for an
+instant a little blue spot.  The night was growing darker and more
+silent.  The sky no longer resembled a rough sea; the clouds extended
+over its surface, forming a thick, even curtain, hanging motionless
+above the ocean.  The sea was calmer and blacker, its warm and salty
+odor was stronger and it did not appear as vast as before.
+
+"Oh! if it would only rain!" murmured Tchelkache; "we would be hidden
+by a curtain."
+
+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.
+
+From the moment that he had ordered Gavrilo to row slowly, the lad had
+again experienced a feeling of feverish expectation.  He leaned
+forward, toward the darkness and it seemed to him that he was growing
+larger; his bones and veins stretched painfully; his head, filled with
+one thought, ached; the skin on his back shivered and in his legs were
+pricking sensations as though small sharp, cold needles were being
+thrust into them.  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!" Gavrilo started: he was
+consumed by a sharp, burning thought; his nerves were wrought up to the
+highest pitch; he wanted to cry out, to call for help, he had already
+opened his mouth and straightened himself up on the seat.  He thrust
+forward his chest, drew a long breath, and again opened his mouth; but
+suddenly, overcome by sharp fear, he closed his eyes and fell from his
+seat.
+
+Ahead of the boat, far off on the horizon, an immense, flaming blue
+sword sprang up from the black water.  It rose, cleaved the darkness;
+its blade flashed across the clouds and illumined the surface of the
+sea with a broad blue hand.  In this luminous ray stood out the black,
+silent ships, hitherto invisible.  It seemed as though they had been
+waiting at the bottom of the sea, whither they had been dragged by an
+irresistible tempest, and that now they arose in obedience to the sword
+of fire to which the sea had given birth.  They had ascended to
+contemplate the sky and all that was above the water.  The rigging
+clinging to the mast seemed like seaweed that had left the water with
+these black giants, covering them with their meshes.  Then the
+wonderful blue sword again arose in the air, cleaved the night and
+descended in a different place.  Again, on the spot where it rested,
+appeared the skeletons of ships until then invisible.
+
+Tchelkache's boat stopped and rocked on the water as though hesitating.
+Gavrilo lay flat on the bottom of the boat, covering his face with his
+hands, and Tchelkache prodded him with his oar, hissing furiously, but
+quite low.
+
+"Idiot, that's the custom-house cruiser.  The electric lantern!  Get
+up, row with all your might!  They'll throw the light upon us!  You'll
+ruin us, devil, both of us!"
+
+When the sharp edge of the oar had been brought down once more, harder
+this time, on Gavrilo's back, he arose and, not daring to open his
+eyes, resumed his seat and feeling for the oars, sent the boat ahead.
+
+"Softly, or I'll kill you!  Softly!  Imbecile, may the devil take you!
+What are you afraid of?  Say?  A lantern and a mirror.  That's all!
+Softly with those oars, miserable wretch!  They incline the mirror at
+will and light the sea to find out if any folks like us are roving over
+it.  They're on the watch for smugglers.  We're out of reach; they're
+too far away, now.  Don't be afraid, boy, we're safe!  Now, we. . ."
+
+Tchelkache looked around him triumphantly.
+
+"Yes, we're safe.  Out!  You were  in  luck,  you worthless stick!"
+
+Gavrilo rowed in silence; breathing heavily, he cast sidelong glances
+at the spot where still rose and fell the sword of fire.  He could not
+believe that it was only, as Tchelkache said, a lantern with a
+reflector.  The cold, blue light, cutting the darkness, awoke silver
+reflections upon the sea; there seemed something mysterious about it,
+and Gavrilo again felt his faculties benumbed with fear.  The
+presentiment of some misfortune oppressed him a second time.  He rowed
+like a machine, bent his shoulders as though expecting a blow to
+descend and felt himself void of every desire, and without soul.  The
+emotions of that night had consumed all that was human in him.
+
+Tchelkache was more triumphant than ever: his success was complete!
+His nerves, accustomed to shocks, were already calmed.  His lips
+trembled and his eyes shone with an eager light.  He felt strong and
+well, whistled softly, inhaled long breaths of the salt sea air,
+glanced about from right to left and smiled good-naturedly when his
+eyes fell upon Gavrilo.
+
+A light breeze set a thousand little waves to dancing.  The clouds
+became thinner and more transparent although still covering the sky.
+The wind swept lightly and freely over the entire surface of the sea,
+but the clouds remained motionless, and seemed to be plunged in a dull,
+gray reverie.
+
+"Come, brother, wake up, it's time!  Your soul seems to have been
+shaken out of your skin; there's nothing left but a bag of bones.  My
+dear fellow!  We have hold of the good end, eh?"
+
+Gavrilo was glad to hear a human voice, even though it was that of
+Tchelkache.
+
+"I know it," said he, very low.
+
+"That's right, little man!  Take the tiller, I'll row; You're tired,
+aren't you?"
+
+Gavrilo mechanically changed places, and when Tchelkache saw that he
+staggered, he pitied him more still and patted him on the shoulder,
+
+"Don't be afraid!  You've made a good thing out of it.  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.  The foam as it melted sighed and the air
+was filled with harmonious sounds and the plashing of water.  The
+darkness seemed to be alive.
+
+"Well! tell me . . ." began Tchelkache.  "You'll return to the village,
+you'll marry, you'll set to work to plough and sow, your wife'll
+present you with many children, you'll not have enough bread and you'll
+just manage to keep soul and body together all your life!  So . . . is
+it such a pleasant prospect?"
+
+"What pleasure can there be in that?" timidly and shudderingly replied
+Gavrilo.  "What can one do?"
+
+Here and there, the clouds were rent by the wind and, through the
+spaces, the cold sky studded with a few stars looked down.  Reflected
+by the joyous sea, these stars leaped upon the waves, now disappearing,
+now shining brightly.
+
+"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?"
+
+"That's silk.  A very dear thing.  If it were to be sold for its real
+value, it would bring a thousand rubles.  But I don't raise the price
+. . . clever that, eh?"
+
+"Is it possible?" asked Gavrilo.  "If I only had as much!"
+
+He sighed at the thought of the country, of his miserable life, his
+toil, his mother and all those far-distant and dear things for which he
+had gone away to work, and for which he had suffered so much that
+night.  A wave of memory swept over him: he saw his village on a
+hill-side with the river at the bottom, hidden by birches, willows,
+mountain-ash and wild cherry trees.  The picture breathed some life in
+him and gave him a little strength.
+
+"Oh, Lord, how much good it would do!" he sighed, sadly.
+
+"Yes! I imagine that you'd very quickly board the train
+and--good-evening!  Oh, how the girls would love you, yonder, in the
+village!  You could have your pick.  You could have a new house built.
+But for a new house, there might not be enough . . ."
+
+"That's true.  A house, no; wood is very dear with us."
+
+"Never mind, you could have the one that you have repaired.  Do you own
+a horse?"
+
+"A horse?  Yes, there's one, but he's very old!"
+
+"Then a horse, a good horse!  A cow . . . sheep . . . poultry . . . eh?"
+
+"Why do you say that?  If only! . . . Ah! Lord, how I might enjoy life."
+
+"Yes, brother, life under those circumstances would not be bad . . .
+I, too, I know a little about such things.  I also have a nest
+belonging to me.  My father was one of the richest peasants of his
+village."
+
+Tchelkache rowed slowly.  The boat danced upon the waves which beat
+against its sides; it scarcely advanced over the somber sea, now
+disporting itself harder than ever.  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.  He at first spoke with a sceptical smile
+hidden under his moustache, but as he talked and recalled the joys of
+country life, in regard to which he himself had long since been
+disabused, and that he had forgotten until this moment, he became
+carried away, and instead of talking to the lad, he began unconsciously
+to harangue:
+
+"The essential part of the life of a peasant, brother, is liberty.  You
+must be your own master.  You own your house: it is not worth much, but
+it belongs to you.  You possess a piece of ground, a little corner,
+perhaps, but it is yours.  Your chickens, eggs, apples are yours.  You
+are a king upon the earth.  Then you must be methodical. . .  As soon
+as you are up in the morning, you must go to work.  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.
+
+Gavrilo looked at him with curiosity, and was also aroused to
+enthusiasm.  He had already had time in the course of this conversation
+to forget with whom he was dealing; he saw before him only a peasant
+like himself, attached to the earth by labor, by several generations of
+laborers, by memories of childhood, but who had voluntarily withdrawn
+from it and its cares and who was now suffering the punishment of his
+ill-advised act.
+
+"Yes, comrade, that's true!  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.
+
+"There he goes again!" he exclaimed fiercely.  "You imagine, I suppose
+that I'm speaking seriously.  I'm worth more than that, let me tell
+you!"
+
+"Why, you funny fellow!" replied Gavrilo, again intimidated, "am I
+speaking of you?  There are a great many like you!  My God, how many
+unfortunate  persons, vagabonds there are on the earth!"
+
+"Take the oars again, dolt!" commanded Tchelkache shortly, restraining
+himself from pouring forth a string of fierce oaths that rose in his
+throat.
+
+They  again  changed  places.  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.  He was lost in thoughts of the
+past and forgot to steer his boat; the waves had turned it and it was
+now going out to sea.  They seemed to understand that this boat had no
+aim, and they played with it and lightly tossed it, while their blue
+fires flamed up under the oars.  Before Tchelkache's inward vision, was
+rapidly unfolded a series of pictures of the past--that far distant
+past separated from the present by a wall of eleven years of vagrancy.
+He saw himself again a child, in the village, he saw his mother,
+red-cheeked, fat, with kind gray eyes,--his father, a giant with a
+tawny beard and stern countenance,--himself betrothed to Amphissa,
+black-eyed with a long braid down her back, plump, easy-going, gay. . .
+And then, himself, a handsome soldier of the guard; later, his father,
+gray and bent by work, and his mother, wrinkled and bowed.  What a
+merry-making there was at the village when he had returned after the
+expiration of his service!  How proud the father was of his Gregori,
+the moustached, broad-shouldered soldier, the cock of the village!
+Memory, that scourge of the unfortunate, brings to life even the stones
+of the past, and, even to the poison, drunk in former days, adds drops
+of honey; and all this only to kill man by the consciousness of his
+faults, and to destroy in his soul all faith in the future by causing
+him to love the past too well.
+
+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.
+
+"Hey!  Where are we going?" suddenly asked Gavrilo.
+
+Tchelkache started and turned around with the uneasy glance of a wild
+beast.
+
+"Oh! the devil!  Never mind. . . Row more cautiously. . . We're almost
+there."
+
+"Were you dreaming?" asked Gavrilo, smiling.
+
+Tchelkache looked searchingly at him.  The lad was entirely himself
+again; calm, gay, he even seemed complacent.  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!"
+
+"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.  He was a pitiful and dull object.  His likeness to a
+bird of prey had disappeared; self-abasement appeared in the very folds
+of his dirty blouse.
+
+"I'm tired, worn out!"
+
+"We are landing. . .  Here we are."
+
+Tchelkache abruptly turned the boat and guided it toward something
+black that arose from the water.
+
+The sky was covered with clouds, and a fine, drizzling rain began to
+fall, pattering joyously on the crests of the waves.
+
+"Stop! . . . Softly!" ordered Tchelkache.
+
+The bow of the boat hit the hull of a vessel.
+
+"Are  the  devils  sleeping?" growled Tchelkache, catching the ropes
+hanging over the side with his boat-hook.  "The ladder isn't lowered.
+In this rain, besides. . . It couldn't have rained before!  Eh!  You
+vermin, there! Eh!"
+
+"Is that you Selkache?" came softly from above.
+
+"Lower the ladder, will you!"
+
+"Good-day, Selkache."
+
+"Lower the ladder, smoky devil!" roared Tchelkache.
+
+"Oh! Isn't he ill-natured to-day. . . Eh! Oh!"
+
+"Go up, Gavrilo!" commanded Tchelkache to his companion.
+
+In a moment they were on the deck, where three dark and bearded
+individuals were looking over the side at Tchelkache's boat and talking
+animatedly in a strange and harsh language.  A fourth, clad in a long
+gown, advanced toward Tchelkache, shook his hand in silence and cast a
+suspicious glance at Gavrilo.
+
+"Get the money ready for to-morrow morning," briefly said Tchelkache.
+"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.  Then he lay down
+beside Gavrilo, without removing the boot from his foot, and putting
+his hands under the back of his neck he carefully examined the deck,
+working his lips the while.
+
+The boat rocked joyously on the water; the sound of wood creaking
+dismally was heard, the rain fell softly on the deck, the waves beat
+against the sides.  Everything resounded sadly like the lullaby of a
+mother who has lost all hope for the happiness of her son.
+
+Tchelkache, with parted lips, raised his head and gazed around him
+. . . and murmuring a few words, lay down again.
+
+      *      *      *      *      *
+
+He was the first to awaken, starting up uneasily; then suddenly
+quieting down he looked at Gavrilo, who was still sleeping.  The lad
+was smiling in his sleep, his round, sun-burned face irradiated with
+joy.
+
+Tchelkache sighed and climbed up a narrow rope ladder.  The opening of
+the trap-door framed a piece of leaden sky.  It was daylight, but the
+autumn weather was gray and gloomy.
+
+It was two hours before Tchelkache reappeared.  His face was red, his
+moustache curled fiercely upward; his eyes beamed with gaiety and
+good-nature.  He wore high, thick boots, a coat and leather trowsers;
+he looked like a hunter.  His costume, which, although a little worn,
+was still in good condition and fitted him well, made him appear
+broader, concealed his too angular lines and gave him a martial air.
+
+"Hey! 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!  How
+many times did you make up your mind to die last night, eh?  Say. . ."
+
+"But you see, it's the first time I've ever done anything like this!
+One might lose his soul for the rest of his days!"
+
+"Would you be willing to go again?"
+
+"Again?  I must know first what there would be in it for me."
+
+"Two hundred."
+
+"Two hundred, you say?  Yes I'd go."
+
+"Stop! . . . And your soul?"
+
+"Perhaps I shouldn't lose it!" said Gavrilo, smiling.  "And then one
+would be a man for the rest of his days!"
+
+Tchelkache burst out laughing.  "That's right, but we've joked long
+enough!  Let us row to the shore.  Get ready."
+
+"I?  Why I'm ready. . ."
+
+They again took their places in the boat.  Tchelkache at the helm,
+Gavrilo rowing.
+
+The gray sky was covered with clouds; the troubled, green sea, played
+with their craft, tossing it on its still tiny waves that broke over it
+in a shower of clear, salt drops.  Far off, before the prow of the
+boat, appeared the yellow line of the sandy beach; back of the stern
+was the free and joyous sea, all furrowed by the troops of waves that
+ran up and down, already decked in their superb fringe of foam.  In the
+far distance, ships were rocking on the bosom of the sea and, on the
+left, was a whole forest of masts mingled with the white masses of the
+houses of the town.  Prom there, a dull murmur is borne out to sea and
+blending with the sound of the waves swelled into rapturous music.
+Over all stretched a thin veil of mist, widening the distance between
+the different objects.
+
+"Eh!  It'll be rough to-night!" said Tchelkache, nodding his head in
+the direction of the sea.
+
+"A storm?" asked Gavrilo.  He was rowing hard.  He was drenched from
+head to foot by the drops blown by the wind.
+
+"Ehe!" affirmed Tchelkache.
+
+Gavrilo looked at him curiously.
+
+"How much did they give you?" he asked at last, seeing that Tchelkache
+was not disposed to talk.
+
+"See!" said Tchelkache.  He held out toward Gavrilo something that he
+drew from his pocket.
+
+Gavrilo saw the variegated banknotes, and they assumed in his eyes all
+the colors of the rainbow.
+
+"Oh! And I thought you were boasting!  How much?"
+
+"Five hundred and forty!  Isn't that a good haul?"
+
+"Certain!" murmured Gavrilo, following with greedy eyes the five
+hundred and forty roubles as they again disappeared in the pocket.
+"Ah! If it was only mine!"  He sighed dejectedly.
+
+"We'll have a lark, little one!" enthusiastically exclaimed Tchelkache!
+"Have no fear: I'll pay you, brother.  I'll give you forty rubles!  Eh?
+Are you pleased?  Do you want your money now?"
+
+"If you don't mind.  Yes, I'll accept it!"
+
+Gavrilo trembled with anticipation; a sharp, burning pain oppressed his
+breast.
+
+"Ha! ha! ha!  Little devil!  You'll accept it?  Take it, brother, I beg
+of you!  I implore you, take it!  I don't know where to put all this
+money; relieve me, here!"
+
+Tchelkache handed Gavrilo several ten ruble notes.  The other took them
+with a shaking hand, dropped the oars and proceeded to conceal his
+booty in his blouse, screwing up his eyes greedily, and breathing
+noisily as though he were drinking something hot.  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.  He began to talk brokenly and rapidly, as though
+pursuing an idea, and seizing the words on the wing, of life in the
+country with and without money.  "Respect, ease, liberty, gaiety. . ."
+
+Tchelkache listened attentively with a serious countenance and
+inscrutable eyes.  Occasionally, he smiled in a pleased manner.
+
+"Here we are!" he said at last.
+
+A wave seized hold of the boat and landed it high on the sand.
+
+"Ended, ended, quite ended! We must draw the boat up farther, so that
+it will be out of reach of the tide.  They will come after it.  And,
+now, good-bye.  The town is eight versts from here.  You'll return to
+town, eh?"
+
+Tchelkache's face still beamed with a slily good-natured smile; he
+seemed to be planning something pleasant for himself and a surprise for
+Gavrilo.  He put his hand in his pocket and rustled the bank-notes.
+
+"No, I'm not going. . .  I. . ."
+
+Gavrilo stifled and choked.  He was shaken by a storm of conflicting
+desires, words and feelings.  He burned as though on fire.
+
+Tchelkache gazed at him with astonishment.
+
+"What's the matter with you?" he asked.
+
+"Nothing."
+
+But Gavrilo's face grew red and then ashy pale.  The lad moved his feet
+restlessly as though he would have thrown himself upon Tchelkache, or
+as though he were torn by Borne secret desire difficult to realize.
+
+His suppressed excitement moved Tchelkache to some apprehension.  He
+wondered what form it would take in breaking out.
+
+Gavrilo gave a laugh, a strange laugh, like a sob.  His head was bent,
+so that Tchelkache could not see the expression of his face; he could
+only perceive Gavrilo's ears, by turns red and white.
+
+"Go to the devil!" exclaimed Tchelkache, motioning with his hand.  "Are
+you in love with me?  Say?  Look at you mincing like a young girl.  Are
+you distressed at leaving me?  Eh! youngster, speak, or else I'm going!"
+
+"You're going?" cried Gavrilo, in a sonorous voice.  The deserted and
+sandy beach trembled at this cry, and the waves of sand brought by the
+waves of the sea seemed to shudder.  Tchelkache also shuddered.
+Suddenly Gavrilo darted from his place, and throwing himself at
+Tchelkache's feet, entwined his legs with his arms and drew him toward
+him.  Tchelkache tottered, sat down heavily on the sand, and gritting
+his teeth, brandished his long arm and closed fist in the air.  But
+before he had time to strike, he was stopped by the troubled and
+suppliant look of Gavrilo.
+
+"Friend!  Give me . . . that money!  Give it to me, in the name of
+Heaven.  What need have you of it?  It is the earnings of one night
+. . .  a single night . . .  And it would take me years to get as much
+as that. . .  Give it to me. . .  I'll pray for you . . . all my life
+. . . in three churches . . . for the safety of your soul.  You'll
+throw it to the winds, and I'll give it to the earth.  Oh! give me that
+money.  What will you do with it, say?  Do you care about it as much as
+that?  One night . . . and you are rich!  Do a good deed!  You are
+lost, you! . . . You'll never come back again to the way, while I!
+. . . Ah! give it to me!"
+
+Tchelkache frightened, astonished and furious threw himself backward,
+still seated on the sand, and leaning on his two hands silently gazed
+at him, his eyes starting from their orbits; the lad leaned his head on
+his knees and gasped forth his supplications.  Tchelkache finally
+pushed him away, jumped to his feet, and thrusting his hand into his
+pocket threw the multi-colored bills at Gavrilo.
+
+"There, dog, swallow them!" he cried trembling with mingled feelings of
+anger, pity and hate for this greedy slave.  Now that he had thrown him
+the money, he felt himself a hero.  His eyes, his whole person, beamed
+with conscious pride.
+
+"I meant to have given you more.  I pitied you yesterday.  I thought of
+the village.  I said to myself: 'I'll help this boy.'  I was waiting to
+see what you'd do, whether you'd ask me or not.  And now, see!
+tatterdemalion, beggar, that you are! . . .  Is it right to work
+oneself up to such a state for money . . . to suffer like that?
+Imbeciles, greedy devils who forget . . . who would sell themselves for
+five kopeks, eh?"
+
+"Friend . . .  Christ's blessing on you!  What is this?  What?
+Thousands? . . . I'm a rich man, now!" screamed Gavrilo, in a frenzy of
+delight, hiding the money in his blouse.  "Ah! dear man! I shall, never
+forget this! never!  And I'll beg my wife and children to pray for you."
+
+Tchelkache listened to these cries of joy, gazed at this face,
+irradiated and disfigured by the passion of covetousness; he felt that
+he himself, the thief and vagabond, freed from all restraining
+influence, would never become so rapacious, so vile, so lost to all
+decency.  Never would he sink so low as that!  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!  We were rowing here . . .  I saw the
+money . . .  I said to myself:
+
+"Suppose I were to give him . . .  give you . . .  a blow with the oar
+. . . just one!  The money would be mine; as for him, I'd throw him in
+the sea . . . you, you understand?  Who would ever notice his
+disappearance?  And if you were found, no inquest would be made: who,
+how, why had you been killed?  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.
+
+Gavrilo struggled, once, twice . . . but Tchelkache's other arm
+entwined itself like a serpent around him . . . a noise of tearing
+linen,--and Gavrilo slipped to the ground with bulging eyes, catching
+at the air with his hands and waving his legs.  Tchelkache, erect,
+spare, like a wild beast, showed his teeth wickedly and laughed
+harshly, while his moustache worked nervously on his sharp, angular
+face.  Never, in his whole life, had he been so deeply wounded, and
+never had his anger been so great.
+
+"Well!  Are you happy, now?" asked he, still laughing, of Gavrilo, and
+turning his back to him, he walked away in the direction of the town.
+
+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.  At this, Gavrilo began to run, to run
+far away, yonder, to where the shadow of that ragged cloud overhung the
+misty steppe.  The murmuring waves, coursing over the sands, joined him
+and ran on and on, never stopping.  The foam hissed, the spray flew
+through the air.
+
+The rain fell.  Slight at first, it soon came down thickly, heavily and
+came from the sky in slender streams.  They crossed, forming a net that
+soon shut off the distance on land and water.  For a long time there
+was nothing to be seen but the rain and this long body lying on the
+sand beside the sea . . .  But suddenly, behold Gavrilo coming from out
+the rain, running; he flew like a bird.  He went up to Tchelkache, fell
+upon his knees before him, and tried to turn him over.  His hand sank
+into a sticky liquid, warm and red.  He trembled and drew back, pale
+and distracted.
+
+"Get up, brother!" he whispered amid the noise of the falling rain into
+the ear of Tchelkache.
+
+Tchelkache came to himself and, repulsing Gavrilo, said in a hoarse
+voice:
+
+"Go away!"
+
+"Forgive me, brother: I was tempted by the devil . . ." continued
+Gavrilo, trembling and kissing Tchelkache's hand.
+
+"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!"
+
+He tried to kick Gavrilo, prostrated by grief, but failed, and would
+have fallen if Gavrilo hadn't supported him with his shoulders.
+Tchelkache's face was now on a level with Gavrilo's.  Both were pale,
+wretched and terrifying.
+
+"Fie!"
+
+Tchelkache spat in the wide opened eyes of his employe.
+
+The other humbly wiped them with his sleeve, and murmured:
+
+"Do what you will . . .  I'll not say one word.  Pardon me, in the name
+of Heaven!"
+
+"Fool, you don't even know how to steal!" cried Tchelkache,
+contemptuously.  He tore his shirt under his waistcoat and, gritting
+his teeth in silence, began to bandage his head.
+
+"Have you taken the money?" he asked, at last.
+
+"I haven't taken it, brother; I don't want it!  It brings bad luck!"
+
+Tchelkache thrust his hand into his waistcoat pocket, withdrew the
+package of bills, put one of them in his pocket and threw all the rest
+at Gavrilo.
+
+"Take that and be off!"
+
+"I cannot take it . . . I cannot!  Forgive me!"
+
+"Take it, I tell you!" roared Tchelkache, rolling his eyes frightfully.
+
+"Pardon me!  When you have forgiven me I'll take it," timidly said
+Gavrilo, falling on the wet sand at Tchelkache's feet.
+
+"You lie, fool, you'll take it at once!" said Tchelkache, confidently,
+and raising his head, by a painful effort, he thrust the money before
+his face.  "Take it, take it!  You haven't worked for nothing!  Don't
+be ashamed of having failed to assassinate a man!  No one will claim
+anyone like me.  You'll be thanked, on the contrary, when it's learned
+what you've done.  There, take it!  No one'll know what you've done and
+yet it deserves some reward! Here it is!"
+
+Gavrilo saw that Tchelkache was laughing, and he felt relieved.  He
+held the money tightly in his hand.
+
+"Brother!  Will you forgive me?  Won't you do it?  Say?" he supplicated
+tearfully.
+
+"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.
+
+The rain fell in torrents.  The sea complained dully and the waves beat
+angrily against the beach.
+
+The two men were silent.
+
+"Good-bye!" said Tchelkache, with cold irony.
+
+He staggered, his legs trembled, and he carried his head oddly, as
+though he was afraid of losing it.
+
+"Pardon me, brother!" again repeated Gavrilo.
+
+"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.
+
+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.  The rain lashed the sea and land pitilessly; the
+wind roared.  All the air around was filled with plaints, cries and
+dull sounds.  The rain masked sea and sky. . .
+
+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
+
+BY MAXIME GORKY
+
+The sea laughed.
+
+It trembled at the warm and light breath of the wind and became covered
+with tiny wrinkles that reflected the sun in blinding fashion and
+laughed at the sky with its thousands of silvery lips.  In the deep
+space between sea and sky buzzed the deafening and joyous sound of the
+waves chasing each other on the flat beach of the sandy promontory.
+This noise and brilliancy of sunlight, reverberated a thousand times by
+the sea, mingled harmoniously in ceaseless and joyous agitation.  The
+sky was glad to shine; the sea was happy to reflect the glorious light.
+
+The wind caressed the powerful and satin-like breast of the sea, the sun
+heated it with its rays and it sighed as if fatigued by these ardent
+caresses; it filled the burning air with the salty aroma of its
+emanations.  The green waves, coursing up the yellow sand, threw on the
+beach the white foam of their luxurious crests which melted with a
+gentle murmur, and wet it.
+
+At intervals along the beach, scattered with shells and sea weed, were
+stakes of wood driven into the sand and on which hung fishing nets,
+drying and casting shadows as fine as cobwebs.  A few large boats and a
+small one were drawn up beyond high-water mark, and the waves as they
+ran up towards them seemed as if they were calling to them.  Gaffs,
+oars, coiled ropes, baskets and barrels lay about in disorder and amidst
+it all was a cabin built of yellow branches, bark and matting.  Above
+the general chaos floated a red rag at the extremity of a tall mast.
+
+Under the shade of a boat lay Vassili Legostev, the watchman at this
+outpost of the Grebentchikov fishing grounds.  Lying on his stomach, his
+head resting on his hands, he was gazing fixedly out to sea, where away
+in the distance danced a black spot.  Vassili saw with satisfaction that
+it grew larger and was drawing nearer.
+
+Screwing up his eyes on account of the glare caused by the reflection on
+the water, he grunted with pleasure and content.  Malva was coming.  A
+few minutes more and she would be there, laughing so heartily as to
+strain every stitch of her well-filled bodice.  She would throw her
+robust and gentle arms around him and kiss him, and in that rich
+sonorous voice that startles the sea gulls would give him the news of
+what was going on yonder.  They would make a good fish soup together,
+and drink brandy as they chatted and caressed each other.  That is how
+they spent every Sunday and holiday.  And at daylight he would row her
+back over the sea in the sharp morning air.  Malva, still nodding with
+sleep, would hold the tiller and he would watch her as he pulled.  She
+was amusing at those times, funny and charming both, like a cat which
+had eaten well.  Sometimes she would slip from her seat and roll herself
+up at the bottom of the boat like a ball.
+
+As Vassili watched the little black spot grow larger it seemed to him
+that Malva was not alone in the boat.  Could Serejka have come along
+with her?  Vassili moved heavily on the sand, sat up, shaded his eyes
+with his hands, and with a show of ill humor began to strain his eyes to
+see who was coming.  No, the man rowing was not Serejka.  He rows strong
+but clumsily.  If Serejka were rowing Malva would not take the trouble
+to hold the rudder.
+
+"Hey there!" cried Vassili impatiently.
+
+The sea gulls halted in their flight and listened.
+
+"Hallo! Hallo!" came back from the boat.  It was Malva's sonorous voice.
+
+"Who's with you?"
+
+A laugh replied to him.
+
+"Jade!" swore Vassili under his breath.
+
+He spat on the ground with vexation.
+
+He was puzzled.  While he rolled a cigarette he examined the neck and
+back of the rower who was rapidly drawing nearer.  The sound of the
+water when the oars struck it resounded in the still air, and the sand
+crunched under the watchman's bare feet as he stamped about in his
+impatience.
+
+"Who's with you?" he cried, when he could discern the familiar smile on
+Malva's pretty plump face.
+
+"Wait.  You'll know him all right," she replied laughing.
+
+The rower turned on his seat and, also laughing, looked at Vassili.
+
+The watchman frowned.  It seemed to him that he knew the fellow.
+
+"Pull harder!" commanded Malva.
+
+The stroke was so vigorous that the boat was carried up the beach on a
+wave, fell over on one side and then righted itself while the wave
+rolled back laughing into the sea.  The rower jumped out on the beach,
+and going up to Vassili said:
+
+"How are you, father?"
+
+"Iakov!" cried Vassili, more surprised than pleased.
+
+They embraced three times.  Afterwards Vassili's stupor became mingled
+with both joy and uneasiness.  The watchman stroked his blond beard with
+one hand and with the other gesticulated:
+
+"I knew something was up; my heart told me so.  So it was you!  I kept
+asking myself if it was Serejka.  But I saw it was not Serejka.  How did
+you come here?"
+
+Vassili would have liked to look at Malva, but his son's rollicking eyes
+were upon him and he did not dare.  The pride he felt at having a son so
+strong and handsome struggled in him with the embarrassment caused by
+the presence of Malva.  He shuffled about and kept asking Iakov one
+question after another, often without waiting for a reply.  His head
+felt awhirl, and he felt particularly uneasy when he heard Malva say in
+a mocking tone.
+
+"Don't skip about--for joy.  Take him to the cabin and give him
+something to eat."
+
+The father examined his son from head to foot.  On the latter's lips
+hovered that cunning smile Vassili knew so well.  Malva turned her green
+eyes from the father to the son and munched melon seeds between her
+small white teeth.  Iakov smiled and for a few seconds, which were
+painful to Vassili, all three were silent.
+
+"I'll come back in a moment," said Vassili suddenly going towards the
+cabin.  "Don't stay there in the sun, I'm going to fetch some water.
+We'll make some soup.  I'll give you some fish soup, Iakov."
+
+He seized a saucepan that was lying on the ground and disappeared behind
+the fishing nets.
+
+Malva and the peasant followed him.
+
+"Well, my fine young fellow, I brought you to your father, didn't I?"
+said Malva, brushing up against Iakov's robust figure.
+
+He turned towards her his face framed in its curled blond beard, and
+with a brilliant gleam in his eyes said:
+
+"Yes, here we are--It's fine here, isn't it?  What a stretch of sea!"
+
+"The sea is great.  Has the old man changed much?"
+
+"No, not much.  I expected to find him more grey.  He's still pretty
+solid."
+
+"How long is it since you saw him?"
+
+"About five years.  I was nearly seventeen when he left the village."
+
+They entered the cabin, the air of which was suffocating from the heat
+and the odor of cooking fish.  They sat down.  Between them there was a
+roughly-hewn oak table.  They looked at each other for a long time
+without speaking.
+
+"So you want to work here?" said Malva at last.
+
+"I don't know.  If I find something, I'll work."
+
+"You'll find work," replied Malva with assurance, examining him
+critically with her green eyes.
+
+He paid no attention to her, and with his sleeve wiped away the
+perspiration that covered his face.
+
+She suddenly began to laugh.
+
+"Your mother probably sent messages for your father by you?"
+
+Iakov gave a shrug of ill humor and replied:
+
+"Of course.  What if she did?"
+
+"Oh, nothing."
+
+And she laughed the louder.
+
+Her laugh displeased Iakov.  He paid no attention to her and thought of
+his mother's instructions.  When she accompanied him to the end of the
+village she had said quickly, blinking her eyes:
+
+"In Christ's name, Iakov say to him: 'Father, mother is alone yonder.
+Five years have gone by and she is always alone.  She is getting old.'
+Tell him that, Iakov, my little Iakov, for the love of God.  Mother will
+soon be an old woman.  She's always alone, always at work.  In Christ's
+name, tell him that."
+
+And she had wept silently, hiding her face in her apron.
+
+Iakov had not pitied her then, but he did now.  And his face took on a
+hard expression before Malva, as if he were about to abuse her.
+
+"Here I am!" cried Vassili, bursting in on them with a wriggling fish in
+one hand and a knife in the other.
+
+He had not got over his uneasiness, but had succeeded in dissimulating
+it deep within him.  Now he looked at his guests with serenity and good
+nature; only his manner was more agitated than usual.
+
+"I'll make a bit of a fire in a minute, and we'll talk.  Why, Iakov,
+what a fine fellow you've grown!"
+
+Again he disappeared.
+
+Malva went on munching her melon seeds.  She stared familiarly at Iakov.
+He tried not to meet her eyes, although he would have liked to, and he
+thought to himself:
+
+"Life must come easy here.  People seem to eat as much as they want to.
+How strong she is and father, too!"
+
+Then intimidated by the silence, he said aloud:
+
+"I forgot my bag in the boat.  I'll go and get it."
+
+Iakov rose leisurely and went out.  Vassili appeared a moment later.  He
+bent down towards Malva and said rapidly with anger:
+
+"What did you want to bring him for?  What shall I tell him about you?"
+
+"What's that to me?  Am I afraid of him?  Or of you?" she asked, closing
+her green eyes with disdain.  Then she laughed: "How you went on when
+you saw him.  It was so funny!"
+
+"Funny, eh?"
+
+The sand crunched under Iakov's steps and they had to suspend their
+conversation.  Iakov had brought a bag which he threw into a corner.  He
+cast a hostile look at the young woman.
+
+She went on munching her seeds.  Vassili, seating himself on the
+woodbin, said with a forced smile:
+
+"What made you think of coming?"
+
+"Why, I just came.  We wrote you."
+
+"When?  I haven't received any letter."
+
+"Really?  We wrote often."
+
+"The letter must have got lost," said Vassili regretfully.  "It always
+does when it's important."
+
+"So you don't know how things are at home?" asked Iakov, suspiciously.
+
+"How should I know?  I received no letter."
+
+Then Iakov told him that the horse was dead, that all the corn had been
+eaten before the beginning of February, and that he himself had been
+unable to find any work.  Hay was also short, and the cow had almost
+perished from hunger.  They had managed as best they could until April
+and then they decided that Iakov should join the father far away and
+work three months with him.  That is what they had written.  Then they
+sold three sheep, bought flour and hay and Iakov had started.
+
+"How is that possible?" cried Vassali.  "I sent you some money."
+
+"Your money didn't go far.  We repaired the cottage, we had to marry
+sister off and I bought a plough.  You know five years is a long time."
+
+"Hum," said Vassili, "wasn't it enough?  What a tale of woe!  Ah,
+there's my soup boiling over!"
+
+He rose and stooping before the fire on which was the saucepan, Vassili
+meditated while throwing the scum into the flame.  Nothing in his son's
+recital had touched him particularly, and he felt irritated against his
+wife and Iakov.  He had sent them a great deal of money during the last
+five years, and yet they had not been able to manage.  If Malva had not
+been present he would have told his son what he thought about it.  Iakov
+was smart enough to leave the village on his own responsibility and
+without the father's permission, but he had not been able to get a
+living out of the soil.  Vassili sighed as he stirred the soup, and as
+he watched the blue flames he thought of his son and Malva.
+Henceforward, he thought, his life would be less agreeable, less free.
+Iakov had surely guessed what Malva was.
+
+Meanwhile Malva, in the cabin, was trying to arouse the rustic with her
+bold eyes.
+
+"Perhaps you left a girl in the village?" she asked suddenly.
+
+"Perhaps," he responded surlily.
+
+Inwardly he was abusing Malva.
+
+"Is she pretty?" she asked with indifference.
+
+Iakov made no reply.
+
+"Why don't you answer?  Is she better looking than I, or no?"
+
+He looked at her in spite of himself.  Her cheeks were sunburnt and
+plump, her lips red and tempting and now, parted in a malicious smile,
+showing the white even teeth, they seemed to tremble.  Her bust was full
+and firm under a pink cotton waist that set off to advantage her trim
+waist and well-rounded arms.  But he did not like her green and cynical
+eyes.
+
+"Why do you talk like that?" he asked.
+
+He sighed without reason and spoke in a beseeching tone, yet he wanted
+to speak brutally to her.
+
+"How shall I talk?" she asked laughing.
+
+"There you are, laughing--at what?"
+
+"At you--."
+
+"What have I done to you?" he said with irritation.  And once more he
+lowered his eyes under her gaze.
+
+She made no reply.
+
+Iakov understood her relations towards his father perfectly well and
+that prevented him from expressing himself freely.  He was not
+surprised.  It would have been difficult for a man like his father to
+have been long without a companion.
+
+"The soup is ready," announced Vassili, at the threshold of the cabin.
+"Get the spoons, Malva."
+
+When she found the spoons she said she must go down to the sea to wash
+them.
+
+The father and son watched her as she ran down the sands and both were
+silent.
+
+"Where did you meet her?" asked Vassili, finally.
+
+"I went to get news of you at the office.  She was there.  She said to
+me: 'Why go on foot along the sand?  Come in the boat.  I'm going
+there.'  And so we started."
+
+"And--what do you think of her?"
+
+"Not bad," said Iakov, vaguely, blinking his eyes.
+
+"What could I do?" asked Vassili.  "I tried at first.  But it was
+impossible.  She mends my clothes and so on.  Besides it's as easy to
+escape from death as from a woman when once she's after you."
+
+"What's it to me?" said Iakov.  "It's your affair.  I'm not your judge."
+
+Malva now returned with the spoons, and they sat down to dinner.  They
+ate without talking, sucking the bones noisily and spitting them out on
+the sand, near the door.  Iakov literally devoured his food, which
+seemed to please Malva vastly; she watched with tender interest his
+sunburnt cheeks extend and his thick humid lips moving quickly.  Vassili
+was not hungry.  He tried, however, to appear absorbed in the meal so as
+to be able to watch Malva and Iakov at his ease.
+
+After awhile, when Iakov had eaten his fill he said he was sleepy.
+
+"Lie down here," said Vassili.  "We'll wake you up."
+
+"I'm willing," said Iakov, sinking down on a coil of rope.  "And what
+will you do?"
+
+Embarrassed by his son's smile, Vassili left the cabin hastily, Malva
+frowned and replied to Iakov:
+
+"What's that to you?  Learn to mind your own business, my lad."
+
+Then she went out.
+
+Iakov turned over and went to sleep.
+
+Vassili had fixed three stakes in the sand, and with a piece of matting
+had rigged up a shelter from the sun.  Then he lay down flat on his back
+and contemplated the sky.  When Malva came up and dropped on the sand by
+his side he turned towards her with vexation plainly written on his face.
+
+"Well, old man," she said laughing, "you don't seem pleased to see your
+son."
+
+"He mocks me.  And why?  Because of you," replied Vassili testily.
+
+"Oh, I am sorry.  What can we do?  I mustn't come here again, eh?  All
+right.  I'll not come again."
+
+"Siren that you are!  Ah, you women!  He mocks me and you too--and yet
+you are what I have dearest to me."
+
+He moved away from her and was silent.  Squatting on the sand, with her
+legs drawn up to her chin, Malva balanced herself gently to and fro,
+idly gazing with her green eyes over the dazzling joyous sea, and she
+smiled with triumph as all women do when they understand the power of
+their beauty.
+
+"Why don't you speak?" asked Vassili.
+
+"I'm thinking," said Malva.  Then after a pause she added:
+
+"Your son's a fine fellow."
+
+"What's that to you?" cried Vassili, jealously.
+
+"Who knows?"
+
+He glanced at her suspiciously.  "Take care," he said, menacingly.
+"Don't play the imbecile.  I'm a patient man, but I mustn't be crossed."
+
+He ground his teeth and clenched his fists.
+
+"Don't frighten me, Vassili," she said indifferently, without looking up
+at him.
+
+"Well, stop your joking."
+
+"Don't try to frighten me."
+
+"I'll soon make you dance if you begin any foolishness."
+
+"Would you beat me?"
+
+She went up to him and gazed with curiosity at his frowning face.
+
+"One would think you were a countess.  Yes, I would beat you."
+
+"Yet I'm not your wife," said Malva, calmly.  "You have been accustomed
+to beat your wife for nothing, and you imagine that you can do the same
+with me.  No, I am free.  I belong only to myself, and I am afraid of no
+one.  But you are afraid of your son, and now you dare threaten me."
+
+She shook her head with disdain.  Her careless manner cooled Vassili's
+anger.  He had never seen her look so beautiful.
+
+"I have something else to tell you," she went on.  "You boasted to
+Serejka that I could no more get along without you than without bread,
+and that I cannot live without you.  You are mistaken.  Perhaps it is
+not you that I love and not for you that I come.  Perhaps I love the
+peace of this deserted beach.  (Here she made a wide gesture with her
+arms.)  Perhaps I love these lonely sands, with their vast stretch of
+sea and sky, and to be away from vile beings.  Because you are here is
+nothing to me.  If this were Serejka's place I should come here.  If
+your son lived here, I should come too.  It would be better still if no
+one were here, for I am disgusted with you all.  But if I take it into
+my head one day--beautiful as I am--I can always choose a man, and one
+who'll please me better than you."
+
+"So, so!" hissed Vassili, furiously, and he seized her by the throat.
+"So that's your game, is it?"
+
+He shook her, and she did not strive to get away from his grasp,
+although her face was congested and her eyes bloodshot.  She merely
+placed her two hands on the rough hands that were around her throat.
+
+"Ah, now I know you!" Vassili was hoarse with rage.  "And yet you said
+you loved me, and you kissed me and caressed me?  Ah, I'll show you!"
+
+Holding her down to the ground, he struck her repeatedly with his
+clenched fist.  Finally, fatigued with the exertion, he pushed her away
+from him crying:
+
+"There, serpent.  Now you've got what you deserved."
+
+Without a complaint, silent and calm, Malva fell back on her back, all
+crumpled, red and still beautiful.  Her green eyes watched him furtively
+under the lashes, and burned with a cold flame full of hatred, but he,
+gasping with excitement and satisfied with the punishment he had
+inflicted, did not notice the look, and when he stooped down towards her
+to see if she was crying, she smiled up at him gently.
+
+He looked at her, not understanding and not knowing what to do next.
+Should he beat her again?  But his fury was appeased, and he had no
+desire to recommence.
+
+"How you love me!" she whispered.
+
+Vassili felt hot all over.
+
+"All right! all right! the devil take you," he said gloomily.  "Are you
+satisfied now?"
+
+"Was I not foolish, Vassili?  I thought you no longer loved me!  I said
+to myself, 'now his son is here he will neglect me for him.'"
+
+And she burst out laughing, a strange forced laugh.
+
+"Foolish girl!" said Vassili, smiling in spite of himself.
+
+He felt himself at fault, and was sorry for her, but remembering what
+she had said, he went on crossly:
+
+"My son has nothing to do with it.  If I beat you it was your own fault.
+Why did you cross me?"
+
+"I did it on purpose to try you."
+
+And purring like a cat she rubbed herself against his shoulder.
+
+He glanced furtively towards the cabin and bending down embraced the
+young woman.
+
+"To try me?" he repeated.  "As if you wanted to do that?  You see the
+result?"
+
+"Oh, that's nothing!" said Malva, half closing her eyes.  "I'm not
+angry.  You beat me only because you loved me.  You'll make it up to me."
+
+She gave him a long look, trembled and lowering her voice repeated:
+
+"Oh, yes, you'll make it up to me."
+
+Vassili interpreted her words in a sense agreeable to him.
+
+"How?" he asked.
+
+"You'll see," replied Malva calmly, very calmly, but her lips trembled.
+
+"Ah, my darling!" cried Vassili, clasping her close in his arms.  "Do
+you know that since I have beaten you I love you better."  Her head fell
+back on his shoulders and he placed his lips on her trembling mouth.
+
+The sea gulls whirled about over their heads uttering hoarse cries.
+From the distance came the regular and gentle splash of the tiny waves
+breaking on the sand.
+
+When, at last, they broke from their long embrace, Malva sat up on
+Vassili's knee.  The peasant's face, tanned by wind and sun, was bent
+close to hers and his great blond beard tickled her neck.  The young
+woman was motionless; only the gradual and regular rise and fall of her
+bosom showed her to be alive.  Vassili's eyes wandered in turn from the
+sea to this woman by his side.  He told Malva how tired he was of living
+alone and how painful were his sleepless nights filled with gloomy
+thoughts.  Then he kissed her again on the mouth with the same sound
+that he might have made in chewing a hot piece of meat.
+
+They stayed there three hours in this way, and finally, when he saw the
+sun setting, Vassili said with a bored look:
+
+"I must go and make some tea.  Our guest will soon he awake."
+
+Malva rose with the indolent gesture of a languorous cat, and with a
+gesture of regret he started towards the cabin.  Through her half-open
+lids the young woman watched him as he moved away, and sighed as people
+sigh when they have borne too heavy a burden.
+
+      *      *      *      *      *
+
+Fifteen days later it was again Sunday and again Vassili Legostev,
+stretched out on the sand near his hut, was gazing out to sea, waiting
+for Malva.  And the deserted sea laughed, playing with the reflections
+of the sun, and legions of waves were born to run on the sand, deposit
+the foam of their crests and return to the sea, where they melted.
+
+All was as before.  Only Vassili, who the last time awaited her coming
+with peaceful security, was now filled with impatience.  Last Sunday she
+had not come; to-day she would surely come.  He did not doubt it for a
+moment, but he wanted to see her as soon as possible.  Iakov, at least,
+would not be there to embarrass them.  The day before yesterday, as he
+passed with the other fishermen, he said he would go to town on Sunday
+to buy a blouse.  He had found work at fifteen roubles a month.
+
+Except for the gulls, the sea was still deserted.  The familiar little
+black spot did not appear,
+
+"Ah, you're not coming!" said Vassili, with ill humor.  "All right,
+don't.  I don't want you."
+
+And he spat with disdain in the direction of the water.
+
+The sea laughed.
+
+"If, at least, Serejka would come," he thought.  And he tried to think
+only of Serejka.  "What a good-for-nothing the fellow is!  Robust, able
+to read, seen the world--but what a drunkard!  Yet good company.  One
+can't feel dull in his company.  The women are mad for him; all run
+after him.  Malva's the only one that keeps aloof.  No, no sign of her!
+What a cursed woman!  Perhaps she's angry because I beat her."
+
+Thus, thinking of his son, of Serejka, but more often of Malva, Vassili
+paced up and down the sandy beach, turning every now and then to look
+anxiously out to sea.  But Malva did not come.
+
+This is what had happened.
+
+Iakov rose early, and on going down to the beach as usual to wash
+himself, he saw Malva.  She was seated on the bow of a large fishing
+boat anchored in the surf and letting her bare feet hang, sat combing
+her damp hair.
+
+Iakov stopped to watch her.
+
+"Have you had a bath?" he cried.
+
+She turned to look at him, and glanced down at her feet: then,
+continuing to comb herself, she replied:
+
+"Yes, I took a bath.  Why are you up so early?"
+
+"Aren't you up early?"
+
+"I am not an example for you.  If you did all I do, you'd be in all
+kinds of trouble."
+
+"Why do you always wish to frighten me?" he asked.
+
+"And you, why do you make eyes at me?"
+
+Iakov had no recollection of having looked at her more than at the other
+women on the fishing grounds, but now he said to her suddenly:
+
+"Because you are so--appetizing."
+
+"If your father heard you, he'd give you an appetite!  No, my lad, don't
+run after me, because I don't want to be between you and Vassili.  You
+understand?"
+
+"What have I done?" asked Iakov.  "I haven't touched you."
+
+"You daren't touch me," retorted Malva.
+
+There was such a contemptuous tone in her voice that he resented this.
+
+"So I dare not?" he replied, climbing up on the boat and seating himself
+at her side.
+
+"No, you dare not."
+
+"And if I touch you?"
+
+"Try!"
+
+"What would you do?"
+
+"I'd give you such a box on the ear that you would fall into the water."
+
+"Let's see you do it"
+
+"Touch me if you dare!"
+
+Throwing his arm around her waist, he pressed her to his breast.
+
+"Here I am.  Now box my ears."
+
+"Let me be, Iakov," she said, quickly, trying to disengage herself from
+his arms which trembled.
+
+"Where is the punishment you promised me?"
+
+"Let go or take care!"
+
+"Oh, stop your threats--luscious strawberry that you are!"
+
+He drew her to him and pressed his thick lips into her sunburnt cheek.
+
+She gave a wild laugh of defiance, seized Iakov's arms and suddenly,
+with a quick movement of her whole body threw herself forward.  They
+fell into the water enlaced, forming a single heavy mass, and
+disappeared under the splashing foam.  Then from beneath the agitated
+water Iakov appeared, looking half drowned.  Malva, at his side swimming
+like a fish, eluded his grasp, and tried to prevent him regaining the
+boat.  Iakov struggled desperately, striking the water and roaring like
+a walrus, while Malva, screaming with laughter, swam round and round
+him, throwing the salt water in his face, and then diving to avoid his
+vigorous blows.
+
+At last he caught her and pulled her under the water, and the waves
+passed over both their heads.  Then they came to the surface again both
+panting with the exertion.  Thus they played like two big fish until,
+finally, tired out and full of salt water, they climbed up the beach and
+sat down in the sun to dry.
+
+Malva laughed and twisted her hair to get the water out.
+
+The day was growing.  The fishermen, after their night of heavy slumber,
+were emerging from their huts, one by one.  From the distance all looked
+alike.  One began to strike blows on an empty barrel at regular
+intervals.  Two women were heard quarrelling.  Dogs barked.
+
+"They are getting up," said Iakov.  "And I wanted to start to town
+early.  I've lost time with you."
+
+"One does nothing good in my company," she said, half in jest, half
+seriously.
+
+"What a habit you have of scaring people," replied Iakov.
+
+"You'll see when your father--."
+
+This allusion to his father angered him.
+
+"What about my father?  I'm not a boy.  And I'm not blind, either.  He's
+not a saint, either; he deprives himself of nothing.  If you don't mind
+I'll steal you from my father."
+
+"You?"
+
+"Do you think I wouldn't dare?"
+
+"Really?"
+
+"Now, look you," he began furiously, "don't defy me.  I--."
+
+"What now?" she asked with indifference.
+
+"Nothing."
+
+He turned away with a determined look on his face.
+
+"How brave you are," she said, tauntingly.  "You remind me of the
+inspector's little dog.  At a distance he barks and threatens to bite,
+but when you get near him he puts his tail between his legs and runs
+away."
+
+"All right," cried Iakov, angrily.  "Wait! you'll see what I am."
+
+Advancing towards them came a sunburnt, tattered and muscular-looking
+individual.  He wore a ragged red shirt, his trousers were full of
+holes, and his feet were bare.  His face was covered with freckles and
+he had big saucy blue eyes and an impertinent turned-up nose.  When he
+came up he stopped and made a grimace.
+
+"Serejka drank yesterday, and today Serejka's pocket is empty.  Lend me
+twenty kopeks.  I'll not return them."
+
+Iakov burst out laughing; Malva smiled.
+
+"Give me the money," went on the tramp.  "I'll marry you for twenty
+kopeks if you like."
+
+"You're an odd fellow," said Iakov, "are you a priest?"
+
+"Imbecile question," replied Serejka.  "Wasn't I servant to a priest at
+Ouglitch?"
+
+"I don't want to get married," said Iakov.
+
+"Give the money all the same, and I won't tell your father you're paying
+court to his queen," replied Serejka, passing his tongue over his dry
+and cracked lips.
+
+Iakov did not want to give twenty kopeks, but they had warned him to be
+on his guard when dealing with Serejka, and to put up with his whims.
+The tramp never demanded much, but if he was refused he spread evil
+tales about you or else he would beat you.  So Iakov, sighing, put his
+hand in his pocket.
+
+"That's right," said Serejka, with a tone of encouragement, and he sat
+down beside them on the sand.  "Always do what I tell you and you'll be
+happy.  And you," he went on, turning to Malva--"when are you going to
+marry me?  Better be quick.  I don't like to wait long."
+
+"You are too ragged.  Begin by sewing up your holes and then we'll see,"
+replied Malva.
+
+Serejka regarded his rents with a reproachful air and shook his head.
+
+"Give me one of your skirts, that'll be better."
+
+"Yes, I can," said Malva, laughing.
+
+"I'm serious.  You must have an old one you don't want."
+
+"You'd do better to buy yourself a pair of trousers."
+
+"I prefer to drink the money."
+
+Serejka rose and, jingling his twenty kopeks, shuffled off, followed by
+a strange smile from Malva.
+
+When he was some distance away, Iakov said:
+
+"In our village such a braggart would goon have been put in his place.
+Here, every one seems afraid of him."
+
+Malva looked at Iakov and replied, disdainfully:
+
+"You don't know his worth."
+
+"There's nothing to know.  He's worth five kopeks a hundred."
+
+She did not reply, but watched the play of the waves as they chased one
+after the other, swaying the fishing boat.  The mast inclined now to
+right, now to left, and the bow rose and then fell suddenly, striking
+the water with a loud splash.
+
+"Why don't you go?" asked Malva.
+
+"Where?" he asked.
+
+"You wanted to go to town."
+
+"I shan't go now."
+
+"Well, go to your father's."
+
+"And you?"
+
+"What?"
+
+"Shall you go, too?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Then I shan't either."
+
+"Are you going to stay round me all day?"
+
+"I don't want your company so much as that," replied Iakov, offended.
+
+He rose and moved away.  But he was mistaken in saying that he did not
+need her, for when away from her he felt lonely.  A strange feeling had
+come to him after their conversation, a secret desire to protest against
+the father.  Only yesterday this feeling had not existed, nor even
+to-day, before he saw Malva.  Now it seemed to him that his father
+embarrassed him and stood in his way, although he was far away over the
+sea yonder, on a narrow tongue of sand almost invisible to the eye.
+Then it seemed to him, too, that Malva was afraid of the father; if she
+were not afraid she would talk differently.  Now she was missing in his
+life while only that morning he had not thought of her.
+
+And so he wandered for several hours along the beach, stopping here and
+there to chat with fishermen he knew.  At noon he took a siesta under
+the shade of an upturned boat.  When he awoke he took another stroll and
+came across Malva far from the fishing ground, reading a tattered book
+under the shade of the willows.
+
+She looked up at Iakov and smiled.
+
+"Ah, there you are," he said, sitting down beside her.
+
+"Have you been looking for me long?" she asked, demurely.
+
+"Looking for you?  What an idea?" replied Iakov, who was only just
+beginning to realize that it was the truth.
+
+"Do you know how to read?" she asked.
+
+"Yes--I used to, but I've forgotten everything."
+
+"So have I."
+
+"Why didn't you go to the headland to-day?" asked Iakov, suddenly.
+
+"What's that to you?"
+
+Iakov plucked a leaf and chewed it.
+
+"Listen," he said in a low tone and drawing near her.  "Listen to what
+I'm going to say.  I'm young and I love you."
+
+"You're a silly lad, very silly," said Malva, shaking her head.
+
+"I may be a fool," cried Iakov, passionately.  "But I love you, I love
+you."
+
+"Be silent! Go away!"
+
+"Why?"
+
+"Because."
+
+"Don't be obstinate."  He took her gently by the shoulders.  "Can't you
+understand?"
+
+"Go away, Iakov," she cried, severely.  "Go away!"
+
+"Oh, if that's the tone you take I don't care a rap.  You're not the
+only woman here.  You imagine that you are better than the others."
+
+She made no reply, rose and brushed the dust off her skirt.
+
+"Come," she said.
+
+And they went back to the fishing grounds side by side.
+
+They walked slowly on account of the soft sand.  Suddenly, as they were
+nearing the boats, Iakov stopped short and seized Malva by the arms.
+
+"Are you driving me desperate on purpose?  Why do you play with me like
+this?" he demanded.
+
+"Leave me alone, I tell you," she said, calmly disengaging herself from
+his grasp.
+
+Serejka appeared from behind a boat.  He shook his fist at the couple,
+and said, threateningly:
+
+"So, that's how you go off together.  Vassili shall know of this."
+
+"Go to the devil, all of you!" cried Malva.  And she left them,
+disappearing among the boats.
+
+Iakov stood facing Serejka, and looked him square in the face.  Serejka
+boldly returned the stare and so they remained for a minute or two, like
+two rams ready to charge on each other.  Then without a word each turned
+away and went off in a different direction.
+
+The sea was calm and crimson with the rays of the setting sun.  A
+confused sound hovered over the fishing ground.  The voice of a drunken
+woman sang hysterically words devoid of sense.
+
+      *      *      *      *      *
+
+In the dawn's pure light the sea still slumbered, reflecting the
+pearl-like clouds.  On the headland a party of fishermen still only half
+awake moved slowly about, getting ready the rigging of their boat.
+
+Serejka, bareheaded and tattered as usual, stood in the bow hurrying the
+men on with a hoarse voice, the result of his drunken orgy of the
+previous night.
+
+"Where are the oars, Vassili?"
+
+Vassili, moody as a dark autumn day, was arranging the net at the bottom
+of the boat.  Serejka watched him and, when he looked his way, smacked
+his lips, signifying that he wanted to drink.
+
+"Have you any brandy," he asked.
+
+"Yes," growled Vassili.
+
+"Good.  I'll take a nip when they've gone."
+
+"Is all ready?" cried the fishermen.
+
+"Let go!" commanded Serejka, jumping to the ground.  "Be careful.  Go
+far out so as not to entangle the net."
+
+The big boat slid down the greased planks to the water, and the
+fishermen, jumping in as it went, seized the oars, ready to strike the
+water directly she was afloat.  Then with a big splash the graceful bark
+forged ahead through the great plain of luminous water.
+
+"Why didn't you come Sunday?" said Vassili, as the two men went back to
+the cabin.
+
+"I couldn't."
+
+"You were drunk?"
+
+"No, I was watching your son and his step-mother,"  said  Serejka,
+phlegmatically.
+
+"A new worry on your shoulders," said Vassili, sarcastically and with a
+forced smile.  "They are only children."  He was tempted to learn where
+and how Serejka had seen Malva and Iakov the day before, but he was
+ashamed.
+
+"Why don't you ask news of Malva?" asked Serejka, as he gulped down a
+glass of brandy.
+
+"What do I care what she does?" replied Vassili, with indifference,
+although he trembled with a secret presentiment.
+
+"As she didn't come Sunday, you should ask what she was doing.  I know
+you are jealous, you old dog!"
+
+"Oh, there are many like her," said Vassili, carelessly.
+
+"Are there?" said Serejka, imitating him.  "Ah, you peasants, you're all
+alike.  As long as you gather your honey, it's all one to you."
+
+"What's she to you?" broke in Vassili with irritation.  "Have you come
+to ask her hand in marriage?"
+
+"I know she's yours," said Serejka.  "Have I ever bothered you?  But now
+Iakov, your son, is all the time dancing around her, it's different.
+Beat him, do you hear?  If not, I will.  You've got a strong fist if you
+are a fool."
+
+Vassili did not reply, but watched the boat as it turned about and made
+toward the beach again.
+
+"You are right," he said finally.  "Iakov will hear from me."
+
+"I don't like him.  He smells too much of the village," said Serejka.
+
+In the distance, on the sea, was opening out the pink fan formed by the
+rays of the rising sun.  The glowing orb was already emerging from the
+water.  Amid the noise of the waves was heard from the boat the distant
+cry:
+
+"Draw in!"
+
+"Come, boys!" cried Serejka, to the other fishermen on the beach.
+"Let's pull together."
+
+"When you see Iakov tell him to come here to-morrow," said Vassili.
+
+The boat grounded on the beach and the fishermen, jumping out, pulled
+their end of the net so that the two groups gradually met, the cork
+floats bobbing up and down on the water forming a perfect semi-circle.
+
+      *      *      *      *      *
+
+Very late on the evening of the same day, when the fishermen had
+finished their dinner, Malva, tired and thoughtful, had seated herself
+on an old boat turned upside down and was watching the sea, already
+screened in twilight.  In the distance a fire was burning, and Malva
+knew that Vassili had lighted it.  Solitary and as if lost in the
+darkening shadows, the flame leaped high at times and then fell back as
+if broken.  And Malva felt a certain sadness as she watched that red dot
+abandoned in the desert of ocean, and palpitating feebly among the
+indefatigable and incomprehensible murmur of the waves.
+
+"What are you doing there?" asked Serejka's voice behind her.
+
+"What's that to you?" she replied dryly, without stirring.
+
+He lighted a cigarette, was silent a moment and then said in a friendly
+tone:
+
+"What a funny woman you are!  First you run away from everybody, and
+then you throw yourself round everyone's neck."
+
+"Not round yours," said Malva, carelessly.
+
+"Not mine, perhaps, but round Iakov's."
+
+"It makes you envious."
+
+"Hum! do you want me to speak frankly?"
+
+"Speak."
+
+"Have yon broken off with Vassili?"
+
+"I don't know," she replied, after a silence.  "I am vexed with him."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"He beat me."
+
+"Really?  And you let him?"
+
+Serejka could not understand it.  He tried to catch a glimpse of Malva's
+face, and made an ironical grimace.
+
+"I need not have let him beat me," she said.  "I did not want to defend
+myself."
+
+"So you love the old grey cat as much as that?" grinned Serejka, puffing
+out a cloud of smoke.  "I thought better of you than that."
+
+"I love none of you," she said, again indifferent and wafting the smoke
+away with her hand.
+
+"But if you don't love him, why did you let him beat you?"
+
+"Do you suppose I know?  Leave me alone."
+
+"It's funny," said Serejka, shaking his head.
+
+Both remained silent.
+
+Night was falling.  The shadows came down from the slow-moving clouds to
+the seas beneath.  The waves murmured.
+
+Vassili's fire had gone out on the distant headland, but Malva continued
+to gaze in that direction.
+
+      *      *      *      *      *
+
+The father and son were seated in the cabin facing each other, and
+drinking brandy which the youth had brought with him to conciliate the
+old man and so as not to be weary in his company.
+
+Serejka had told Iakov that his father was angry with him on account of
+Malva, and that he had threatened to beat Malva until she was half dead.
+He also said that was the reason she resisted Iakov's advances.
+
+This story had excited Iakov's resentment against his father.  He now
+looked upon him as an obstacle in his road that he could neither remove
+nor get around.
+
+But feeling himself of equal strength as his adversary, Iakov regarded
+his father boldly, with a look that meant: "Touch me if you dare!"
+
+They had both drunk two glasses without exchanging a word, except a few
+commonplace remarks about the fisheries.  Alone amidst the deserted
+waters each nursed his hatred, and both knew that this hate would soon
+burst forth into flame.
+
+"How's Serejka?" at last Vassili blurted out.
+
+"Drunk as usual," replied Iakov, pouring our some more brandy for his
+father.
+
+"He'll end badly--and if you don't take care you'll do the same."
+
+"I shall never become like him," replied Iakov, surlily.
+
+"No?" said Vassili, frowning.  "I know what I'm talking about.  How long
+are you here already?  Two months.  You must soon think of going back.
+How much money have you saved?"
+
+"In so little time I've not been able to save any," replied Iakov.
+
+"Then you don't want to stay here any longer, my lad, go back to the
+village."
+
+Iakov smiled.
+
+"Why these grimaces?" cried Vassili threateningly, and impatient at his
+son's coolness.  "Your father's advising you and you mock him.  You're
+in too much of a hurry to play the independent.  You want to be put in
+the traces again."
+
+Iakov poured out some more brandy and drank it.  These coarse reproaches
+offended him, but he mastered himself, not wanting to arouse his
+father's anger.
+
+Seeing that his son had drunk again, alone, without filling his glass,
+made Vassili more angry than ever.
+
+"Your father says to you, 'Go home,' and you laugh at him.  Very well,
+I'll speak differently.  You'll get your pay Saturday and trot--home to
+the village--do you understand?"
+
+"I won't go," said Iakov, firmly.
+
+"What!" cried Vassili, and leaning his two hands on the edge of the
+table he rose to his feet.  "Have I spoken, yes or no?  You dog, barking
+at your father!  Do you forget that I can do what I please with you?"
+
+His mouth trembled with passion, his face was convulsed, and two swollen
+veins stood out on his temples.
+
+"I forget nothing," said Iakov, in a low tone and not looking at his
+father.  "And you--have you forgotten nothing?"
+
+"It's not your place to preach to me.  I'll break every bone in your
+body."
+
+Iakov avoided the hand that his father raised over his head and a
+feeling of savage hatred arose in him.  He said, between his clenched
+teeth:
+
+"Don't touch me.  We're not in the village now."
+
+"Be silent.  I'm your father everywhere."
+
+They stood facing each other, Vassili, his eyes bloodshot, his neck
+outstretched, his fists clenched, panted his brandy-smelling breath in
+his son's face.  Iakov stepped back.  He was watching his father's
+movements, ready to ward off blows, peaceful outwardly, but steaming
+with perspiration.  Between them was the table.
+
+"Perhaps I won't give you a good beating?" cried Vassili hoarsely, and
+bending his back like a cat about to make a spring.
+
+"Here we are equal," said Iakov, watching him warily.  "You are a
+fisherman, I too.  Why do you attack me like this?  Do you think I do
+not understand?  You began."
+
+Vassili howled with passion, and raised his arm to strike so rapidly
+that Iakov had no time to avoid it.  The blow fell on his head.  He
+staggered and ground his teeth in his father's face.
+
+"Wait!" cried the latter, clenching his fists and again threatening him.
+
+They were now at close quarters, and their feet were entangled in the
+empty sacks and cordage on the floor.  Iakov, protecting himself as best
+he could against his father's blows, pale and bathed in perspiration,
+his teeth clenched, his eyes brilliant as a wolf's, slowly retreated,
+and as his father charged upon him, gesticulating with ferocity and
+blind with rage, like a wild boar, he turned and ran out of the cabin,
+down towards the sea.
+
+Vassili started in pursuit, his head bent, his arms extended, but his
+foot caught in some rope, and he fell all his length on the sand.  He
+tried to rise, but the fall had taken all the fight out of him and he
+sank back on the beach, shaking his fist at Iakov, who remained grinning
+at a safe distance.  He shouted:
+
+"Be cursed!  I curse you forever!"
+
+Bitterness came into Vassili's soul as he realized his own position.  He
+sighed heavily.  His head bent low as if an immense weight had crushed
+him.  For an abandoned woman he had deserted his wife, with whom he had
+lived faithfully for fifteen years, and the Lord had punished him by
+this rebellion of his son.  His son had mocked him and trampled on his
+heart.  Yes, he was punished for the past.  He made the sign of the
+cross and remained seated, blinking his eyes to free them from the tears
+that were blinding them.
+
+And the sun went down into the sea, and the crimson twilight faded away
+in the sky.  A warm wind caressed the face of the weeping peasant.  Deep
+in his resolutions of repentance he stayed there until he fell asleep
+shortly before dawn.
+
+      *      *      *      *      *
+
+The day following the quarrel, Iakov went off with a party to fish
+thirty miles out at sea.  He returned alone five days later for
+provisions.  It was midday when he arrived, and everyone was resting
+after dinner.  It was unbearably hot.  The sand burned his feet and the
+shells and fish bones pricked them.  As Iakov carefully picked his way
+along the beach he regretted he had no boots on.  He did not want to
+return to the bark as he was in a hurry to eat and to see Malva.  Many a
+time had he thought of her during the long lonely hours on the sea.  He
+wondered if she and his father had seen each other again and what they
+had said.  Perhaps the old man had beaten her.
+
+The deserted fisheries were slumbering, as if overcome by the heat.  In
+the inspector's office a child was crying.  From behind a heap of
+barrels came the sound of voices.
+
+Iakov turned his steps in that direction.  He thought he recognised
+Malva's voice, but when he arrived at the barrels he recoiled a step and
+stopped.
+
+In the shade, lying on his back, with his arms under his head, was
+Serejka.  Near him were, on one side, Vassili and, on the other, Malva.
+
+Iakov thought to himself: "Why is father here.  Has he left his post so
+as to be nearer Malva and to watch her?  Should he go up to them or not."
+
+"So, you've decided!" said Serejka to Vassili.  "It's goodbye to us all?
+Well, go your way and scratch the soil."
+
+A thrill went through Iakov and he made a joyous grimace.
+
+"Yes, I'm going;" said Vassili.
+
+Then Iakov advanced boldly.
+
+"Good-day, all!"
+
+The father gave him a rapid glance and then turned away his eyes.  Malva
+did not stir.  Serejka moved his leg and raising his voice said:
+
+"Here's our dearly beloved son, Iakov, back from a distant shore."
+
+Then he added in his ordinary voice:
+
+"You should flay him alive and make drums with his skin."
+
+Malva laughed.
+
+"It's hot," said Iakov, sitting beside them.
+
+"I've been waiting for you since this morning, Iakov.  The inspector
+told me you were coming."
+
+The young man thought his voice seemed weaker than usual and his face
+seemed changed.  He asked Serejka for a cigarette.
+
+"I have no tobacco for an imbecile like you," replied the latter,
+without stirring.
+
+"I'm going back home, Iakov," said Vassili, gravely digging into the
+sand with his fingers.
+
+"Why," asked the son, innocently.
+
+"Never mind why, shall you stay?"
+
+"Yes.  I'll remain.  What should we both do at home?"
+
+"Very well.  I have nothing to say.  Do as you please.  You are no
+longer a child.  Only remember that I shall not get about long.  I shall
+live, perhaps, but I do not know how long I shall work.  I have lost the
+habit of the soil.  Remember, too, that your mother is there."
+
+Evidently it was difficult for him to talk.  The words stuck between his
+teeth.  He stroked his beard and his hand trembled.
+
+Malva eyed him.  Serejka had half closed one eye and with the other
+watched Iakov.  Iakov was jubilant, but afraid of betraying himself; he
+was silent and lowered his head.
+
+"Don't forget your mother, Iakov.  Remember, you are all she has."
+
+"I know," said Iakov, shrugging his shoulders.
+
+"It is well if you know," said the father, with a look of distrust.  "I
+only warn you not to forget it."
+
+Vassili sighed deeply.  For a few minutes all were silent.
+
+Then Malva said:
+
+"The work bell will soon ring."
+
+"I'm going," said Vassili, rising.
+
+And all rose.
+
+"Goodbye, Serejka.  If you happen to be on the Volga, maybe you'll drop
+in to see me."
+
+"I'll not fail," said Serejka.
+
+"Goodbye."
+
+"Goodbye, dear friend."
+
+"Goodbye, Malva," said Vassili, not raising his eyes.
+
+She slowly wiped her lips with her sleeve, threw her two white arms
+round his neck and kissed him three times on the lips and cheeks.
+
+He was overcome with emotion and uttered some indistinct words.  Iakov
+lowered his head, dissimulating a smile.  Serejka was impassible, and he
+even yawned a little, at the same time gazing at the sky.
+
+"You'll find it hot walking," he said.
+
+"No matter.  Goodbye, you too, Iakov."
+
+"Goodbye!"
+
+They stood facing each other, not knowing what to do.  The sad word
+"goodbye" aroused in Iakov a feeling of tenderness for his father, but
+he did not know how to express it.  Should he embrace his father as
+Malva had done or shake his hand like Serejka?  And Vassili felt hurt at
+this hesitation, which was visible in his son's attitude.
+
+"Remember your mother," said Vassili, finally.
+
+"Yes, yes," replied Iakov, cordially.  "Don't worry.  I know."
+
+"That's all.  Be happy.  God protect you.  Don't think badly of me.  The
+kettle, Serejka, is buried in the sand near the bow of the green boat."
+
+"What does he want with the kettle?" asked Iakov.
+
+"He has taken my place yonder on the headland," explained Vassili.
+
+Iakov looked enviously at Serejka, then at Malva.
+
+"Farewell, all!  I'm going."
+
+Vassili waved his hand to them and moved away.  Malva followed him.
+
+"I'll accompany you a bit of the road."
+
+Serejka sat down on the ground and seized the leg of Iakov, who was
+preparing to accompany Malva.
+
+"Stop! where are you going?"
+
+"Let me alone," said Iakov, making a forward movement.  But Serejka had
+seized his other leg.
+
+"Sit down by my side."
+
+"Why?  What new folly is this?"
+
+"It is not folly.  Sit down."
+
+Iakov obeyed, grinding his teeth.
+
+"What do you want?"
+
+"Wait.  Be silent, and I'll think, and then I'll talk."
+
+He began staring at Iakov, who gave way.
+
+Malva and Vassili walked for a few minutes in silence.  Malva's eyes
+shone strangely.  Vassili was gloomy and preoccupied.  Their feet sank
+in the sand and they advanced slowly.
+
+"Vassili!"
+
+"What?"
+
+He turned and looked at her.
+
+"I made you quarrel with Iakov on purpose.  You might both have lived
+here without quarrelling," she said in a calm tone.
+
+There was not a shade of repentance in her words.
+
+"Why did you do that?" asked Vassili, after a silence.
+
+"I do not know--for nothing."
+
+She shrugged her shoulders and smiled.
+
+"What you have done was noble!" he said, with irritation.
+
+She was silent.
+
+"You will ruin my boy, ruin him entirely.  You do not fear God, you have
+no shame!  What are you going to do?"
+
+"What should I do?" she said.
+
+There was a ring of anguish, or vexation, in her voice.
+
+"What you ought to do!" cried Vassili, seized suddenly with a fierce
+rage.
+
+He felt a passionate desire to strike her, to knock her down and bury
+her in the sand, to kick her in the face, in the breast.  He clenched
+his fists and looked back.
+
+Yonder, near the barrels, he saw Iakov and Serejka.  Their faces were
+turned in his direction.
+
+"Get away with you!  I could crush you!"
+
+He stopped and hissed insults in her face.  His eyes were bloodshot, his
+beard trembled and his hands seemed to advance involuntarily towards
+Malva's hair, which emerged from beneath her shawl.
+
+She fixed her green eyes on him.
+
+"You deserve killing," he said.  "Wait, some one will break your head
+yet."
+
+She smiled, still silent.  Then she sighed deeply and said:
+
+"That's enough! now farewell!"
+
+And suddenly turning on her heels she left him and came back.
+
+Vassili shouted after her and shook his fists.  Malva, as she walked,
+took pains to place each foot in the deep impressions of Vassili's feet,
+and when she succeeded she carefully effaced the traces.  Thus she
+continued on until she came to the barrels where Serejka greeted her
+with this question:
+
+"Well, have you seen the last of him?"
+
+She gave an affirmative sign, and sat down beside him.  Iakov looked at
+her and smiled, gently moving his lips as if he were saying things that
+he alone heard.
+
+"When will you go to the headland?" she asked Serejka, indicating the
+sea with a movement of her head.
+
+"This evening."
+
+"I will go with you."
+
+"Bravo, that suits me."
+
+"And I, too--I'll go," cried Iakov.
+
+"Who invited you?" asked Serejka, screwing up his eyes.
+
+The sound of a cracked bell called the men to work.
+
+"She will invite me," said Iakov.
+
+He looked defiantly at Malva.
+
+"I? what need have I of you?" she replied, surprised.
+
+"Let us he frank, Iakov," said Serejka.  "If you annoy her, I'll beat
+you to a jelly.  And if you as much as touch her with a finger, I'll
+kill you like a fly.  I am a simple man."
+
+His face, all his person, his knotty and muscular arms proved eloquently
+that killing a man would be a very simple thing for him.
+
+Iakov recoiled a step and said, in a choking voice:
+
+"Wait!  That is for Malva to--"
+
+"Keep quiet, that's all.  You are not the dog that will eat the lamb.
+If you get the bones you may be thankful."
+
+Iakov looked at Malva.  Her green eyes laughed in a humiliating way at
+him and she fondled Serejka so that Iakov felt himself grow hot and cold.
+
+Then they went away side by side and both burst out laughing.  Iakov dug
+his foot deep in the sand and remained glued to the spot, his body
+stretched forward, his face red, his heart beating wildly.
+
+In the distance, on the dead waves of sand, was a small dark human
+figure moving slowly away; on his right beamed the sun and the powerful
+sea, and on the left, to the horizon, there was sand, nothing but sand,
+uniform, deserted,--gloomy.  Iakov watched the receding figure of the
+lonely man and blinked his eyes, filled with tears--tears of humiliation
+and painful uncertainty.
+
+On the fishing grounds everyone was busy at work.  Iakov heard Malva's
+sonorous voice ask, angrily:
+
+"Who has taken my knife?"
+
+The waves murmured, the sun shone and the sea laughed.
+
+
+
+***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TWENTY-SIX AND ONE AND OTHER
+STORIES***
+
+
+******* This file should be named 14480.txt or 14480.zip *******
+
+
+This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:
+https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/4/4/8/14480
+
+
+
+Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions
+will be renamed.
+
+Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no
+one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation
+(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without
+permission and without paying copyright royalties.  Special rules,
+set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to
+copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to
+protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark.  Project
+Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you
+charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission.  If you
+do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the
+rules is very easy.  You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose
+such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and
+research.  They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do
+practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks.  Redistribution is
+subject to the trademark license, especially commercial
+redistribution.
+
+
+
+*** START: FULL LICENSE ***
+
+THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE
+PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK
+
+To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free
+distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work
+(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project
+Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project
+Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at
+https://gutenberg.org/license).
+
+
+Section 1.  General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic works
+
+1.A.  By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to
+and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property
+(trademark/copyright) agreement.  If you do not agree to abide by all
+the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy
+all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession.
+If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the
+terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or
+entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8.
+
+1.B.  "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark.  It may only be
+used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who
+agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement.  There are a few
+things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works
+even without complying with the full terms of this agreement.  See
+paragraph 1.C below.  There are a lot of things you can do with Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement
+and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works.  See paragraph 1.E below.
+
+1.C.  The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation"
+or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic works.  Nearly all the individual works in the
+collection are in the public domain in the United States.  If an
+individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are
+located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from
+copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative
+works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg
+are removed.  Of course, we hope that you will support the Project
+Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by
+freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of
+this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with
+the work.  You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by
+keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project
+Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others.
+
+1.D.  The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern
+what you can do with this work.  Copyright laws in most countries are in
+a constant state of change.  If you are outside the United States, check
+the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement
+before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or
+creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project
+Gutenberg-tm work.  The Foundation makes no representations concerning
+the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United
+States.
+
+1.E.  Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:
+
+1.E.1.  The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate
+access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently
+whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the
+phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project
+Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed,
+copied or distributed:
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+1.E.2.  If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived
+from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is
+posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied
+and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees
+or charges.  If you are redistributing or providing access to a work
+with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the
+work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1
+through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the
+Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or
+1.E.9.
+
+1.E.3.  If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted
+with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution
+must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional
+terms imposed by the copyright holder.  Additional terms will be linked
+to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the
+permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work.
+
+1.E.4.  Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this
+work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm.
+
+1.E.5.  Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this
+electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without
+prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with
+active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project
+Gutenberg-tm License.
+
+1.E.6.  You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary,
+compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any
+word processing or hypertext form.  However, if you provide access to or
+distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than
+"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version
+posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org),
+you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a
+copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon
+request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other
+form.  Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.
+
+1.E.7.  Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying,
+performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works
+unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.
+
+1.E.8.  You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing
+access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided
+that
+
+- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from
+     the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method
+     you already use to calculate your applicable taxes.  The fee is
+     owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he
+     has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the
+     Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation.  Royalty payments
+     must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you
+     prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax
+     returns.  Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and
+     sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the
+     address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to
+     the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation."
+
+- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies
+     you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he
+     does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+     License.  You must require such a user to return or
+     destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium
+     and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of
+     Project Gutenberg-tm works.
+
+- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any
+     money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the
+     electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days
+     of receipt of the work.
+
+- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free
+     distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works.
+
+1.E.9.  If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set
+forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from
+both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael
+Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark.  Contact the
+Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below.
+
+1.F.
+
+1.F.1.  Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable
+effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread
+public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm
+collection.  Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain
+"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or
+corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual
+property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a
+computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by
+your equipment.
+
+1.F.2.  LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right
+of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project
+Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project
+Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all
+liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal
+fees.  YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT
+LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE
+PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3.  YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE
+TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE
+LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR
+INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH
+DAMAGE.
+
+1.F.3.  LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a
+defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can
+receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a
+written explanation to the person you received the work from.  If you
+received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with
+your written explanation.  The person or entity that provided you with
+the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a
+refund.  If you received the work electronically, the person or entity
+providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to
+receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund.  If the second copy
+is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further
+opportunities to fix the problem.
+
+1.F.4.  Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth
+in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO OTHER
+WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO
+WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.
+
+1.F.5.  Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied
+warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages.
+If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the
+law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be
+interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by
+the applicable state law.  The invalidity or unenforceability of any
+provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions.
+
+1.F.6.  INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the
+trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone
+providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance
+with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production,
+promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works,
+harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees,
+that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do
+or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm
+work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any
+Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause.
+
+
+Section  2.  Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of
+electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers
+including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers.  It exists
+because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from
+people in all walks of life.
+
+Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the
+assistance they need, is critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's
+goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will
+remain freely available for generations to come.  In 2001, the Project
+Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure
+and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations.
+To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
+and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4
+and the Foundation web page at https://www.gutenberg.org/fundraising/pglaf.
+
+
+Section 3.  Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive
+Foundation
+
+The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit
+501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the
+state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal
+Revenue Service.  The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification
+number is 64-6221541.  Contributions to the Project Gutenberg
+Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent
+permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws.
+
+The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S.
+Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered
+throughout numerous locations.  Its business office is located at
+809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email
+business@pglaf.org.  Email contact links and up to date contact
+information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official
+page at https://www.gutenberg.org/about/contact
+
+For additional contact information:
+     Dr. Gregory B. Newby
+     Chief Executive and Director
+     gbnewby@pglaf.org
+
+Section 4.  Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg
+Literary Archive Foundation
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide
+spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of
+increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be
+freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest
+array of equipment including outdated equipment.  Many small donations
+($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt
+status with the IRS.
+
+The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating
+charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United
+States.  Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a
+considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up
+with these requirements.  We do not solicit donations in locations
+where we have not received written confirmation of compliance.  To
+SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any
+particular state visit https://www.gutenberg.org/fundraising/donate
+
+While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we
+have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition
+against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who
+approach us with offers to donate.
+
+International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make
+any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from
+outside the United States.  U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.
+
+Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation
+methods and addresses.  Donations are accepted in a number of other
+ways including including checks, online payments and credit card
+donations.  To donate, please visit:
+https://www.gutenberg.org/fundraising/donate
+
+
+Section 5.  General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works.
+
+Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm
+concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared
+with anyone.  For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project
+Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support.
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed
+editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S.
+unless a copyright notice is included.  Thus, we do not necessarily
+keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition.
+
+Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility:
+
+     https://www.gutenberg.org
+
+This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm,
+including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary
+Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to
+subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.
+
diff --git a/old/14480.zip b/old/14480.zip
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..d495ae0
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/14480.zip