Old Izergil and other stories / Старуха Изергиль и другие рассказы. Книга для чтения на английском языке

“Time to go,” said Chelkash, getting up.

Gavrilla tried to follow him but could not; he let out an oath and laughed idiotically, as drunks do.

“What a wash-out!” muttered Chelkash, sitting down again.

Gavrilla kept on laughing and looking at his boss with bleary eyes, while Chelkash turned a sharp and thoughtful eye on him. He saw before him a man whose fate he held in his wolfish paw. Chelkash sensed that he could do what he pleased with him. He could crush him in his hand like a playing-card, or he could help him get back to the solid peasant way of life. Conscious of his power over him, he reflected that this lad would never have to drink the cup it had been the fate of him, Chelkash, to drink. He envied and pitied the boy; he despised him, and yet he was sorry to think that he might fall into other hands, no better than his own. In the end, Chelkash’s various emotions combined to form a single one that was both fatherly and practical. He pitied the boy and he needed him. And so he took Gavrilla under the arms and lifted him up, giving him little pushes with his knee as he led him out into the tavern yard where he laid him down in the shade of a wood-pile, he himself sitting beside him and smoking his pipe. Gavrilla tossed about awhile, gave a few grunts and fell asleep.

II

“Ready?” whispered Chelkash to Gavrilla, who was fussing with the oars.

“In a minute. The rowlock’s loose. Can I give it a bang with the oar?”

“No! Not a sound! Push it down with your hands; it’ll slip into place.”

Both of them were noiselessly busy with a boat tied to the stern of one of a whole fleet of barges-loaded with oaken staves and of Turkish feluccas carrying palm and sandal wood and thick Cyprus logs.

The night was dark, heavy banks of tattered clouds floated across the sky, the sea was calm and black and as heavy as oil. It gave off a moist saline odour and made tender little noises as it lapped at the shore and the sides of ships, causing Chelkash’s boat to rock gently. At some distance from shore could be seen the dark outlines of ships against the sky, their masts tipped by varicoloured lights. The sea reflected these lights and was strewn with innumerable yellow spots that looked very beautiful quivering upon the background of black velvet. The sea was sleeping as soundly as a workman who has been worn out by the day’s labour.

“Let’s go,” said Gavrilla, dipping an oar into the water.

“Let’s.” Chelkash pushed off hard with the steering oar, sending the boat into the lanes between the barges. It glided swiftly over the water, which gave off a blue phosphorescent glow wherever the oars struck it and formed a glowing ribbon in the wake of the boat.

“How’s your head? Ache?” asked Chelkash solicitously.

“Something fierce. And it’s heavy as lead. Here, I’ll wet it.”

“What for? Wet your insides; that’ll bring you round quicker,” said Chelkash, holding out a bottle.

“Ah, God be thanked.”

There was a gurgling sound.

“Hey! That’s enough!” interrupted Chelkash.

Once more the boat darted forward, weaving its way among the other craft swiftly and soundlessly. Suddenly it was beyond them, and the sea – the mighty boundless sea – stretched far away to the dark-blue horizon, from which sprang billowing clouds: grey-and-mauve with fluffy yellow edges; greenish, the colour of sea water; leaden-hued, throwing dark and dreary shadows. Slowly moved the clouds across the sky, now overtaking each other, merging in colour and form, annihilating each other only to appear again in new aspects, grimly magnificent. There was something fatal in the slow movement of these inanimate forms. It seemed as if there were endless numbers of them at the rim of the sea, and as if they would go on crawling across the sky for ever, impelled by a vicious desire to keep the sky from gazing down upon the slumbering sea with its millions of golden orbs, the many-hued stars, that hung there alive and pensively radiant, inspiring lofty aspirations in the hearts of men to whom their pure shine was a precious thing.

“Nice, the sea, isn’t it?” asked Chelkash.

“I suppose so, but it makes me afraid,” said Gavrilla as he pulled hard and evenly on the oars. The water let out a faint ring and splash as the oars struck it, and it still gave off that blue phosphorescent glow.

“Afraid! You are a boob,” grunted Chelkash.

He, a thief, loved the sea. His nervous, restive nature, always thirsting for new impressions, never had enough of contemplating its dark expanses, so free, so powerful, so boundless. And he resented such a tepid response to his question about the beauty of the thing he loved. As he sat there in the stern of the boat letting his steering oar cut through the water while he gazed calmly ahead, he was filled with the one desire to travel as long and as far as he could over that velvety surface.

He always had a warm expansive feeling when he was on the sea. It filled his whole being, purging it of the dross of daily life. He appreciated this and liked to see himself a better man hero among the waves and in the open air, where thoughts about life lose their poignancy and life itself loses its value. At night the soft breathing of the slumbering sea is wafted gently over the waters, and this unencompassing sound fills the heart of man with peace, crams away its evil impulses, and gives birth to great dreams.

“Where’s the fishing tackle?” asked Gavrilla suddenly, glancing anxiously about the boat.

Chelkash gave a start.

“The tackle? I’ve got it here in the stern.”

He did not wish to lie to this green youth and he regretted having his thoughts and feelings dispelled in this abrupt way. It made him angry. Again ho had that burning sensation in his throat and chest and said to Gavrilla in a hard and impressive voice:

“Listen, sit where you are and mind your own business. I hired you to row, so you row; and if you start wagging your tongue it will go hard with you. Understand?”

The boat gave a little jerk and came to a halt, the oars dragging and stirring up the water. Gavrilla shifted uneasily on his seat.

“Row!”

A fierce oath shook the air. Gavrilla lifted the oars and the boat, as if frightened, leaped ahead in quick nervous spurts that made the water splash.

“Steady!”

Chelkash half rose without letting go of the steering oar and fastened cold eyes on Gavrilla’s white face. He was like a cat about to spring as he stood there bent forward. The grinding of his teeth could be heard, as could the chattering of Gavrilla’s teeth.

“Who’s shouting there?” came a stern cry from out at sea.

“Row, you bastard! Row! Shhh! I’ll kill you, damn your hide! Row, I tell you! One, two! Just you dare to make a sound! I’ll rip you to pieces!” hissed Chelkash.

“Holy Virgin, Mother of God!” murmured Gavrilla, trembling with fear and exertion.

The boat swung round and went back to the harbour where the ships’ lanterns formed clusters of coloured lights and their masts stood out distinctly.

“Hi! Who’s shouting?” came the cry again.

But it came from a distance now. Chelkash was reassured.

“It’s you who’s shouting!” he called back, then turned to Gavrilla who was still muttering a prayer.

“Luck’s with you this time, lad. If those devils had chased us it would have been all over with you. I’d have fed you to the fishes first thing.”

Seeing that Chelkash had calmed down and was in a good humour, the trembling Gavrilla pleaded with him:

“Let me go; for the love of Christ, let me go. Set me down somewheres. Oi, oi, oi, I’ve been trapped! For God’s sake, let me go. What do you want of me? I can’t do this. I’ve never been mixed up in such business. It’s the first time. God, I’m lost for sure. Why have you done this to me? It’s a sin. You’ll pay for it with your soul. Oh, what a business!”

“Business?” asked Chelkash sharply. “What business? “

He was amused by the boy’s terror; he took pleasure in contemplating it and in thinking what a ferocious fellow he himself was.

“Bad business, brother. Let me go, for the love of God. What do you need me for? Come, be a good chap —“

“Hold your tongue! If I didn’t need you I wouldn’t have brought you, understand? So shut up!”

“Dear God,” murmured Gavrilla.

“Stop blubbering,” Chelkash cut him off sharply.