Sereja had told Jakoff that his father was angry with him because of Malva, and that he had threatened to beat Malva till she was half dead. The young woman had been told of this threat, and that was why she had not yielded to Jakoff. Sereja had mischievously misled him.
"He'll punish you for your larks. He'll pull your ears till they are half-a-yard long. You had better not get in his way!"
This red-headed, disagreeable fellow's chaff provoked in Jakoff a sharp feeling of resentment against his father ... and against Malva, with whom he could not get a bit further. Sometimes her eyes seemed to lead him on, sometimes they looked sad, and then the desire within him pained him to an extent that became exasperation.
Jakoff went to see his father. He looked upon him as an obstacle in his path, which it was impossible to get over, or to push on one side. But feeling himself as strong as his adversary, Jakoff met his eyes with a look which seemed to say—"Touch me if you dare!"
They had each already taken two glasses, without having exchanged a word, excepting some ordinary remarks about the life at the fisheries. Alone, in the midst of the sea, they were accumulating within themselves hatred, and both of them knew that very soon this hatred would burst out and flame forth.
The matting of the hut swayed in the wind, the bark of which it was built creaked, the red rag at the top of the mast was murmuring something. All these sounds were like a timid, endless, and uncertain lisping of a prayer. But the waves murmured—free and unmoved.
"And Sereja, does he still get drunk?" asked Vassili in a harsh voice.
"He is drunk every evening," replied Jakoff, pouring out some more vodka for his father.
"He'll come to no good! This is what a free and easy life leads to.... And you also, you will become like him."
Jakoff did not like Sereja, and he replied there-fore—
"I shall never become like him."
"No?" said Vassili, frowning. "I know what I am talking about ... How long have you been here? Already two months! You must soon be thinking of going back. And how much money have you saved?"
He swallowed with a look of discontent the vodka which his son had poured out for him, and taking his beard in his hand he tugged at it so hard that his head shook.
"I have not been able to save money in such a short time!" Jakoff argued with reason.
"If that's the case, you had better not stay here; go back to the village!"
Jakoff smiled.
"Why these grimaces?" cried Vassili in a threatening voice, vexed with the calmness shown by his son. "Your father is talking to you, and you laugh. You are in too much of a hurry to think yourself free! You will have to get back into harness."
Jakoff poured himself out some vodka, and drank it These coarse remarks of his father offended him; but he kept his temper, hiding his thought and not wishing to drive his father to fury. He began to feel frightened before this harsh, severe presence.
And Vassili, noticing that his son had drunk alone without filling his father's glass, grew angrier still, though he retained an appearance of calmness.
"Your father tells you to go home, and you laugh in his face! All right!... I'll speak to you in a different tone.... Ask for your money on Saturday and ... be off ... back to the village! Do you hear?"
"I shall not go," said Jakoff firmly.
"What?" howled Vassili; and leaning his two hands on the barrel, he got up. "Am I talking to you, or not? Dog that you are I howling against your father!... You have forgotten that I can do what I like with you; you have forgotten that? Eh?"
His lips trembled, his face was convulsed; two great veins swelled out on his temples. "I have forgotten nothing," said Jakoff in a low voice, without looking at his father. "And you, have you forgotten nothing?"
"It's not your place to preach morality to me; I will break you in pieces!..."
Jakoff dodged his father's threatening hand, and feeling a savage hatred rising within him, he said with clinched teeth—
"Don't touch me! We are not in the village...."
"Silence! I am your father, wherever you are...."
"Here you can't have me beaten with birch-rods. Here it is different!" Jakoff spoke sneeringly, his face close to his father's.
And he rose slowly.
They stood there opposite each other. Vassili with bloodshot eyes, his head stretched forward, his hands clinched, breathed heavily into his son's face his vodka-laden breath; and Jakoff crouched back, was watching his father's movements, ready to parry his blows, apparently calm, but inwardly raging and sweating. Between them was the barrel which served as table.
"You think I won't strike you?" cried Vassili in a hoarse voice, arching his back like a cat prepared to spring.
"Here we are all equals; you are a workman, and so am I."
"That's all you know."
"Yes, that's what I know. Why do you attack me? You think that I don't understand?... It's you who began...."
Vassili shouted and raised his arm so rapidly that Jakoff had not time to fall back. The blow fell on his head; he staggered, ground his teeth in the furious face of his father, who was again threatening him.
"Wait a moment!" he cried, clinching his fists.
"Wait yourself!"
"Leave me alone, I tell you."
"Ah! that's the way you speak to your father? ... your father?... your father?..."
They were close together, and their legs were entangled in the empty bags, the log, and the overturned barrel Protecting himself as best he could against his father's blows, Jakoff, pale and sweating, his face darkened, his teeth set firm, his eyes flashing like a wolfs, retired slowly, whilst his father pressed forward towards him, gesticulating ferociously, blind with rage, wildly distorted; in his anger his hair stood up like that of a wild boar.
"Stop now ... That's enough ... leave off," cried Jakoff, cold and terrible, as he emerged from the hut.
His father yelled and came on again, but his blows only met Jakoff's fists.
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