Twenty-six and One and Other Stories Part 9

"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 sh.o.r.e. 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, s.h.i.+ps were rocking on the bosom of the sea and, on the left, was a whole forest of masts mingled with the white ma.s.ses 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 a.s.sumed 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 antic.i.p.ation; 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, s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g 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 G.o.d, how greedy you are! That's bad. Besides, for a peasant. . ."

"Just think of what one can do with money!" exclaimed Gavrilo, pa.s.sionately. 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.