Fiction; Short stories, Russian -- Translations into English
The sandy waste of the shore seemed to start at his cry, and the
yellow ridges of sand washed by the sea-waves seemed quivering.
Chelkash started too. All at once Gavrilo tore himself
from where he stood, flung himself at Chelkash's feet,
threw his arms round them, and drew them toward him.
Chelkash staggered; he sat heavily down on the sand, and grinding
his teeth, brandished his long arm and clenched fist in the air.
But before he had time to strike he was pulled up by Gavrilo's
shame-faced and supplicating whisper:
"Friend! Give me--that money! Give it me, for Christ's sake!
What is it to you? Why in one night--in only one night--
while it would take me a year--Give it me--I will pray for you!
Continually--in three churches--for the salvation of your soul!
Why you'd cast it to the winds--while I'd put it into the land.
O, give it me! Why, what does it mean to you? Did it cost
you much? One night--and you're rich! Do a deed of mercy!
You're a lost man, you see--you couldn't make your way--
while I--oh, give it to me!"
Chelkash, dismayed, amazed, and wrathful, sat on the sand,
thrown backward with his hands supporting him; he sat there in silence,
rolling his eyes frightfully at the young peasant, who, ducking his
head down at his knees, whispered his prayer to him in gasps.
He shoved him away at last, jumped up to his feet, and thrusting
his hands into his pockets, flung the rainbow notes at Gavrilo.
"There, cur! Swallow them!" he roared, shaking with excitement,
with intense pity and hatred of this greedy slave.
And as he flung him the money, he felt himself a hero.
There was a reckless gleam in his eyes, an heroic air about
his whole person.
"I'd meant to give you more, of myself. I felt sorry for you yesterday.
I thought of the village. I thought: come, I'll help the lad.
I was waiting to see what you'd do, whether you'd beg or not.
While you!--Ah, you rag! you beggar! To be able to torment oneself so--
for money! You fool. Greedy devils! They're beside themselves--
sell themselves for five kopecks! eh?"
"Dear friend! Christ have mercy on you! Why, what have I now!
thousands!! I'm a rich man!" Gavrilo shrilled in ecstasy,
all trembling, as he stowed away the notes in his bosom.
"Ah, you good man! Never will I forget you! Never! And my
wife and my children--I'll bid them pray for you!"
Chelkash listened to his shrieks and wails of ecstasy, looked at his
radiant face that was contorted by greedy joy, and felt that he,
thief and rake as he was, cast out from everything in life,
would never be so covetous, so base, would never so forget himself.
Never would he be like that! And this thought and feeling,
filling him with a sense of his own independence and reckless daring,
kept him beside Gavrilo on the desolate sea shore.
"You've made me happy!" shrieked Gavrilo, and snatching Chelkash's hand,
he pressed it to his face.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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