Twenty-six and One and Other Stories

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."