III

He was the first to wake up. He glanced anxiously about him, was instantly reassured, and looked down at Gavrilla, who was snoring happily, a smile spread all over his wholesome, sunburnt, boyish face. Chelkash gave a sigh and climbed up a narrow rope-ladder. A patch of lead-coloured sky peered down the hatchway. It was light, but the day was dull and dreary, as is often so in autumn.

Chelkash came back in a couple of hours. His face was red and his whiskers had been given a rakish twist. He was wearing a sturdy pair of high-boots, a leather hunting jacket and breeches as a hunter wears. The outfit was not new, but in good condition and very becoming to him, since it filled out his figure, rounded off the edges and gave him a certain military air.

“Get up, puppy,” said he, giving Gavrilla a little kick.

Gavrilla jumped up only half-awake and gazed at Chelkash with frightened eyes, not recognizing him. Chelkash burst out laughing.

“Don’t you look grand!” said Gavrilla with a broad grin at last. “Quite the gentleman.”

“That don’t take us long. But you’re a lily-livered fellow if there ever was one. How many times were you about to pass out last night?”

“You can’t blame me; I’d never been on a job like that before. I might have lost my soul.”

“Would you do it again, eh?”

“Again? Only if – how shall I put it? What would I get for it?”

“If you got, let’s say, two smackers?”

“You mean two hundred roubles? Not bad. I might.”

“And what about losing your soul?”

“Maybe I wouldn’t lose it after all,” grinned Gavril-la.

“You wouldn’t lose it, and you’d be made for the rest of your life.”

Chelkash laughed gaily, “Well, enough of joking; let’s go ashore.”

And so they found themselves in the boat again, Chelkash steering, Gavrilla rowing. Above them stretched a solid canopy of grey clouds; the sea was a dull green and it played joyfully with the boat, tossing it up on waves that had not yet grown to any size, and throwing handfuls of pale spray against its sides. Far up ahead could be glimpsed a strip of yellow sand, while behind them stretched the sea, chopped up into coveys of white-caps. Behind them, too, were the ships – a whole forest of masts back there to the left, with the white buildings of the port as a background. A dull rumble came pouring out of the port over the sea, mingling with the roar of the waves to form fine strong music. And over everything hung a thin veil of fog that made all objects seem remote.

“Ekh, it’ll be something to see by nightfall!” exclaimed Chelkash, nodding out to sea.

“A storm?” asked Gavrilla as he ploughed powerfully through the waves with his oars. His clothes were soaked with wind-blown spray.

“Uh-huh,” said Chelkash.

Gavrilla looked at him inquisitively.

“Well, how much did they give you?” he asked at last, seeing that Chelkash had no intention of broaching the subject.

“Look,” and Chelkash pulled something out of his pocket and held it out.

Gavrilla’s eyes were dazzled by the sight of so many crisp bright bank-notes.

“And here I was thinking you had lied to me! How much is it?”

“Five hundred and forty.”

“Phe-e-w!” gasped Gavrilla, following the course of the notes back to the pocket with greedy eyes. “God! If only I had that much money!” and he gave a doleful sigh.

“You and me’ll go on a big spree, mate,” cried Chelkash ecstatically. “We’ll paint the town red. You’ll get your share, never fear. I’ll give you forty. That enough, eh? Give it straight away if you want me to.”

“All right, I’ll take it if you don’t mind.”

Gavrilla was shaking with anticipation.

“Ekh, you scarecrow, you! ‘I’ll take it!’ Here, go ahead and take it. Take it, damn it all. I don’t know what to do with so much money. Do me a favour and take some of it off my hands.”

Chelkash held out several notes to Gavrilla, who let go of the oars to clutch them in trembling fingers and thrust them inside his shirt, screwing up his eyes as he did so and taking in great gulps of air as if he had just scalded his throat. Chelkash watched him, a squeamish smile on his lips. Once more Gavrilla picked up the oars and began to row nervously, hurriedly, with his eyes cast down, like a man who has just had a bad fright. His shoulders and ears were twitching.

“You’re a greedy bloke. That’s no good. But what’s to be expected? – you’re a peasant,” mused Chelkash.

“A man can do anything with money!” exclaimed Gavrilla in a sudden flare of excitement. And then hurriedly, incoherently chasing his thoughts and catching his words on the fly, he drew the contrast between life in the village with money and without it. Honour, comfort, pleasure!

Chelkash followed him attentively, his face grave, his eyes narrowed thoughtfully. From time to time he would give a pleased smile.

“Here we are!” he interrupted Gavrilla’s tirade.

The boat was caught on a wave that drove it into the sand.

“Well, this is the end. But we’ve got to pull the boat up good and high so that it don’t get washed away. Some people will come for it. And now it’s good-bye. We’re about ten versts from town. You going back to town?”

Chelkash’s face was beaming with a sly and good-natured smile, as if he were contemplating something very pleasant for himself and very unexpected for Gavrilla. He thrust his hand into his pocket and rustled the notes there.

“No – I’m not going. I’m – I’m —” Gavrilla stammered as if choking.

Chelkash looked at him.

“What’s eating you?” he said.

“Nothing.” But Gavrilla’s face turned first red, then grey, and he kept shifting on his feet as if he wanted to throw himself at Chelkash or do something else of insuperable difficulty.

Chelkash was nonplussed by the boy’s agitation. He waited to see what would come of it.

Gavrilla broke into laughter that sounded more like sobbing. His head was hanging, so that Chelkash could not see the expression of his face, but he could see his ears going from red to white.

“To hell with you,” said Chelkash with a disgusted wave of his hand. “Are you in love with me, or what? Squirming like a girl. Or maybe you can’t bear to part with me? Speak up, spineless, or I’ll just walk off.”

“You’ll walk off?” shrieked Gavrilla.

The deserted beach trembled at the shriek, and the ripples of yellow sand made up by the washing of the waves seemed to heave. Chelkash himself started. All of a sudden Gavrilla rushed towards Chelkash, threw himself at his feet, seized him round the knees and gave him a tug. Chelkash staggered and sat down heavily in the sand; clenching his teeth, he swung up his long arm with the hand closed in a tight fist. But the blow was intercepted by Gavrilla’s pleadings, uttered in a cringing whisper:

“Give me that money, there’s a good fellow! For the love of Christ give it to me. What do you need with it? Look, in just one night – in one single night! And it would take me years and years. Give it to me. I’ll pray for you. All my life. In three churches. For the salvation of your soul. You’ll only throw it to the winds, while I? I’ll put it in the land. Give it to me! What is it to you? It comes so easy. One night, and you’re a rich man. Do a good deed once in your life. After all, you’re a lost soul; there’s nothing ahead of you. And I’d – oh what wouldn’t I do with it! Give it to me!”

Chelkash – frightened, dumbfounded, infuriated – sat in the sand leaning back on his elbows; sat without a word, his eyes boring into this boy whose head was pressed against his knees as he gasped out his plea.

At last Chelkash jumped to his feet, thrust his hand into his pocket and threw the notes at Gavrilla.

“Here, lick it up!” he cried, trembling with excitement, with pity and loathing for this greedy slave. He felt heroic when he had tossed him the money.

“I was going to give you more anyway. Went soft last night thinking of my own village. Thought to myself: I’ll help the lad. But I waited to see if you’d ask for it. And you did, you milksop, you beggar, you. Is it worth tormenting yourself like that for money? Fool. Greedy devils. No pride. They’d sell themselves for five kopeks.”

“May Christ watch over you! What’s this I’ve got? Why, I’m a rich man now!” squealed Gavrilla, twitching all over in ecstasy and hiding the money inside his shirt. “Bless you, my friend. I’ll never forget you. Never. And I’ll have my wife and children say prayers for you, too.”

As Chelkash heard his joyful squeals and looked at his beaming face distorted by this paroxysm of greed, he realized that, thief and drunk that he was, he would never stoop so low, would never be so grasping, so lacking in self-pride. Never, never! And this thought and this feeling, filling him with a sense of his own freedom, made him linger there beside Gavrilla on the shore of the sea.

“You’ve made me a present of happiness,” cried Gavrilla, snatching Chelkash’s hand and pressing it against his own face.

Chelkash bared his teeth like a wolf but said nothing.

“And just to think what I almost did!” went on Gavrilla. “On the way here I thought – to myself – I’ll hit him – you, that is – over the head – with an oar – bang! – take the money – and throw him – you, that is – overboard. Who’d ever miss him? And if they found his body – nobody’d bother to find out who did it and how. He’s not worth making a fuss over. Nobody needs him. Nobody’d go to the trouble.”

“Hand over that money!” roared Chelkash, seizing Gavrilla by the throat.

Gavrilla wrenched away once, twice, but Chelkash’s arm wound about him like a snake. The sound of a shirt ripping, and – there was Gavrilla flat on his back in the sand, his eyes popping out of his head, his fingers clutching the air, his feet kicking helplessly. Chelkash stood over him lean, erect, hawk-like, his teeth bared as he gave a hard dry laugh, his whiskers twitching nervously on his sharp bony face. Never in all his life had he been wounded so cruelly, and never had he been so furious.

“Well, are you happy now?” he laughed, then turned on his heel and set off in the direction of the town. Before he had gone five steps Gavrilla arched himself like a cat, sprang to his feet, swung out with his arm and hurled a big stone at him.

“Take that!”

Chelkash let out a grunt, put his hands to his head, staggered forward, turned round to Gavrilla, and fell on his face in the sand. Gavrilla was frozen with fear. Chelkash moved one leg, tried to lift his head, stretched out, trembling like a harp string. Then Gavrilla ran for all he was worth, ran out into the dark space where a shaggy black cloud was hanging over the fog-enshrouded steppe. The waves rustled as they scurried up the sand, mingled with the sand for a brief moment, scurried back again. The foam hissed and the air was filled with spray.

It began to rain. At first it came down in single drops, but soon turned into a torrent that came pouring out of the sky in thin streams. These streams wove a net of watery threads that enveloped the whole expanse of the steppe, the whole expanse of the sea. Gavrilla was swallowed up in it. For a long time nothing was to be seen but the rain and the long figure of the man laying in the sand at the edge of the sea. Then Gavrilla came swooping like a bird out of the darkness. When he reached Chelkash he fell on his knees beside him and tried to lift him up. His hand came in contact with something warm and red and sticky. He shuddered and started back, with a wild expression on his white face.

“Get up, brother, get up!” he whispered in Chelkash’s ear above the noise of the rain.

Chelkash opened his eyes and gave Gavrilla a little push.

“Go away,” he whispered hoarsely.

“Brother! Forgive me! It was the devil’s doings,” whispered Gavrilla trembling as he kissed Chelkash’s hand.

“Go away. Leave me.”

“Take this sin off my soul. Forgive me, brother.”

“Away! Go away! Go to hell!” Chelkash suddenly cried out and sat up in the sand. His face was white and angry, his eyes were hazy and kept closing as if he were sleepy. “What else do you want? You’ve done what you wanted to do. Go away. Get out!” He tried to give the grief-stricken Gavrilla a kick, but he could not and would have collapsed again had not Gavrilla put an arm round his shoulders. Chelkash’s face was on a level with Gavrilla’s. Both faces were white and dreadful to see.

“Bah!” And Chelkash spat into the wide-open eyes of his assistant.

Gavrilla humbly wiped his face on his sleeve.

“Do what you want to me,” he whispered. “I won’t say a word. Forgive me, in the name of Christ.”

“Scum. Can’t even do your dirty work like a man,” cried Chelkash scathingly as he slipped his hand inside his jacket and ripped off a piece of shirt with which he silently bound his head, grinding his teeth from time to time. “Have you taken the money?” he asked through his teeth.

“I haven’t, brother. And I won’t. I don’t want it. Nothing but bad luck comes of it.”

Chelkash thrust his hand into a pocket of his jacket, pulled out the pile of notes, peeled off a hundred-rouble one, put it back into his pocket, and threw the rest at Gavrilla.

“Take it and go away.”

“I won’t, brother. I can’t. Forgive me what I’ve done.”

“Take it, I say,” roared Chelkash, rolling his eyes fearfully.

“Forgive me. I can’t take it if you don’t,” said Gavrilla humbly, falling at Chelkash’s feet in the rain-drenched sand.

“That’s a lie. You will take it, you scum,” said Chelkash with conviction. Pulling up his companion’s head by the hair, he thrust the money under his nose.

“Take it. Take it. You didn’t work for nothing. Don’t be afraid, take it. And don’t be ashamed that you almost killed a man. Nobody would hunt you down for killing a man like me. They’d even say thank you if they found out. Here, take it.”

Seeing that Chelkash was laughing, Gavrilla’s heart grew lighter. He clutched the money.

“And do you forgive me, brother? Don’t you want to do that for me?” he begged tearfully.

“My beloved friend,” replied Chelkash in the same vein, as he got up and stood swaying on his feet. “What’s there to forgive? Nothing to forgive. Today you get me; tomorrow I get you.”

“Ah brother, brother,” sighed Gavrilla disconsolately, shaking his head.

Chelkash stood in front of him with an odd smile on his face. The rag on his head, which had gradually been getting redder, resembled a Turkish fez.

The rain had become a downpour. The sea gave a low roar, the waves hurled themselves savagely at the shore.

The two men were silent.

“Well, good-bye,” said Chelkash mockingly as he turned to go.

He staggered, his legs were shaking, and he held his head as if afraid of losing it.

“Forgive me, brother,” pleaded Gavrilla once more.

“That’s all right,” said Chelkash coldly, setting off.

He stumbled away, holding his head with his left hand, pulling gently at his dark moustache with his right.

Gavrilla stood watching him until he disappeared in the rain which kept coming down in fine endless streams, enveloping the steppe in impenetrable steel-grey gloom.

Then he took off his wet cap, crossed himself, looked at the money in his hand, heaved a deep sigh of relief, hid the money in his shirt, and strode off firmly down the shore in the opposite direction to that taken by Chelkash.

The sea growled as it hurled its huge waves on the sand, smashing them to foam and spray. The rain lashed at the water and the land. The wind howled. The air was filled with a roar, a howl, a murmur. The rain cut off sight of sea and sky.

Soon the rain and the spray washed away the red spot on the sand where Chelkash had lain, washed away the footsteps of Chelkash, washed away the footsteps of the youth who had walked so bravely down the beach. And not a sign was left on this deserted shore to testify to the little drama enacted here by these two men.

1894