"Eh! What for?" cried the receiver in a sickly, loud voice, tearing his spectacles from his eyes. "You do not understand the motive.""I do understand it!" said Foma, with an obstinate shake of his head.
"But what could he do? It came to his mind."
"How can one allow himself to sell a human being?""Ah! It is brutal, I agree with you."
"And a girl at that! I would have given him the ten roubles!"The receiver waved his hand hopelessly and became silent. His gesture confused Foma. He arose from his seat, walked off to the railing and looked down at the deck of the barge, which was covered with an industriously working crowd of people. The noise intoxicated him, and the uneasy something, which was rambling in his soul, was now defined into a powerful desire to work, to have the strength of a giant, to possess enormous shoulders and put on them at one time a hundred bags of rye, that every one looking at him might be astonished.
"Come now, hurry up there!" he shouted down in a ringing voice. Afew heads were raised to him, some faces appeared before him, and one of them--the face of a dark-eyed woman--smiled at him a gentle and enticing smile. Something flared up in his breast at this smile and began to spread over his veins in a hot wave. He drew back from the railing and walked up to the table again, feeling that his cheeks were burning.
"Listen!" said the receiver, addressing him, "wire to your father asking him to allow some grain for waste! Just see how much is lost here. And here every pound is precious! You should have understood this! What a fine father you have," he concluded with a biting grimace.
"How much shall I allow?" asked Foma, boldly and disdainfully. "Do you want a hundred puds? [A pud is a weight of 40 Russian pounds.]
Two hundred?"
"I--I thank you!" exclaimed the receiver, overjoyed and confused, "if you have the right to do it.""I am the master!" said Foma, firmly. "And you must not speak that way about my father--nor make such faces.""Pardon me! I--I do not doubt that you have full power. I thank you heartily. And your father, too--in behalf of all these men--in behalf of the people!"
Yefim looked cautiously at the young master, spreading out and smacking his lips, while the master with an air of pride on his face listened to the quick-witted speech of the receiver, who was pressing his hand firmly.
"Two hundred puds! That is Russian-like, young man! I shall directly notify the peasants of your gift. You'll see how grateful they will be--how glad." And he shouted down:
"Eh, boys! The master is giving away two hundred puds.""Three hundred!" interposed Foma.
"Three hundred puds. Oh! Thank you! Three hundred puds of grain, boys!"But their response was weak. The peasants lifted up their heads and mutely lowered them again, resuming their work. A few voices said irresolutely and as though unwillingly:
"Thanks. May God give you. We thank you very humbly."And some cried out gaily and disdainfully:
"What's the use of that? If they had given each of us a glass of vodka instead--that would be a just favour. For the grain is not for us--but for the country Council.""Eh! They do not understand!" exclaimed the receiver, confused.
"I'll go down and explain it to them."
And he disappeared. But the peasants' regard for his gift did not interest Foma. He saw that the black eyes of the rosy-cheeked woman were looking at him so strangely and pleasingly. They seemed to thank him and caressingly beckoned him, and besides those eyes he saw nothing. The woman was dressed like the city women. She wore shoes, a calico waist, and over her black hair she had a peculiar kerchief. Tall and supple, seated on a pile of wood, she repaired sacks, quickly moving her hands, which were bare up to the elbows, and she smiled at Foma all the time.
"Foma Ignatyich!" he heard Yefim's reproachful voice, "you've showed off too much. Well, if it were only about fifty puds! But why so much? Look out that we don't get a good scolding for this.""Leave me alone!" said Foma, shortly.
"What is it to me? I'll keep quiet. But as you are so young, and as I was told to keep an eye on you, I may get a rap on the snout for being heedless.""I'll tell my father all about it. Keep quiet!" said Foma.
"As for me--let it be so--so that you are master here.""Very well."
"I have said this, Foma Ignatyich, for your own sake--because you are so young and ******-minded.""Leave me alone, Yefim!"
Yefim heaved a sigh and became silent, while Foma stared at the woman and thought:
"I wish they would bring such a woman for sale to me."His heart beat rapidly. Though as yet physically pure, he already knew from conversations the mysteries of intimate relations between men and women. He knew by rude and shameful names, and these names kindled in him an unpleasant, burning curiosity and shame; his imagination worked obstinately, for he could not picture it to himself in intelligible images. And in his soul he did not believe that those relations were really so ****** and rude, as he had been told. When they had laughed at him and assured him that they were such, and, indeed, could not be otherwise, he smiled stupidly and confusedly, but thought nevertheless that the relations with women did not have to be in such a shameful form for everyone, and that, in all probability, there was something purer, less rude and abusive to a human being.
Now looking at the dark-eyed working woman with admiration, Foma distinctly felt just that rude inclination toward her, and he was ashamed and afraid of something. And Yefim, standing beside him, said admonitively:
"There you are staring at the woman, so that I cannot keep silence any longer. You do not know her, but when she winks at you, you may, because of your youth--and with a nature like yours--you may do such a thing that we'll have to go home on foot by the shore. And we'll have to thank God if our trousers at least remain with us.""What do you want?" asked Foma, red with confusion.
