Twenty-six and One and Other Stories Part 11

"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 fas.h.i.+on and laughed at the sky with its thousands of silvery lips. In the deep s.p.a.ce 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 s.h.i.+ne; 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 sh.e.l.ls and sea weed, were stakes of wood driven into the sand and on which hung fis.h.i.+ng 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 Va.s.sili Legostev, the watchman at this outpost of the Grebentchikov fis.h.i.+ng 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. Va.s.sili saw with satisfaction that it grew larger and was drawing nearer.

s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g 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 st.i.tch 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 Va.s.sili 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? Va.s.sili 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 Va.s.sili 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 Va.s.sili 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 Va.s.sili.

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 Va.s.sili said:

"How are you, father?"

"Iakov!" cried Va.s.sili, more surprised than pleased.

They embraced three times. Afterwards Va.s.sili'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?"

Va.s.sili 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 embarra.s.sment 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 Va.s.sili 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 Va.s.sili, all three were silent.

"I'll come back in a moment," said Va.s.sili 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 fis.h.i.+ng nets.

Malva and the peasant followed him.