“Well, my fine young fellow, I brought you to your father, didn’t I?” said Malva, brushing up against Iakov’s robust figure.

He turned towards her his face framed in its curled blond beard, and with a brilliant gleam in his eyes said: 

“Yes, here we are—­It’s fine here, isn’t it?  What a stretch of sea!”

“The sea is great.  Has the old man changed much?”

“No, not much.  I expected to find him more grey.  He’s still pretty solid.”

“How long is it since you saw him?”

“About five years.  I was nearly seventeen when he left the village.”

They entered the cabin, the air of which was suffocating from the heat and the odor of cooking fish.  They sat down.  Between them there was a roughly-hewn oak table.  They looked at each other for a long time without speaking.

“So you want to work here?” said Malva at last.

“I don’t know.  If I find something, I’ll work.”

“You’ll find work,” replied Malva with assurance, examining him critically with her green eyes.

He paid no attention to her, and with his sleeve wiped away the perspiration that covered his face.

She suddenly began to laugh.

“Your mother probably sent messages for your father by you?”

Iakov gave a shrug of ill humor and replied: 

“Of course.  What if she did?”

“Oh, nothing.”

And she laughed the louder.

Her laugh displeased Iakov.  He paid no attention to her and thought of his mother’s instructions.  When she accompanied him to the end of the village she had said quickly, blinking her eyes: 

“In Christ’s name, Iakov say to him:  ’Father, mother is alone yonder.  Five years have gone by and she is always alone.  She is getting old.’  Tell him that, Iakov, my little Iakov, for the love of God.  Mother will soon be an old woman.  She’s always alone, always at work.  In Christ’s name, tell him that.”

And she had wept silently, hiding her face in her apron.

Iakov had not pitied her then, but he did now.  And his face took on a hard expression before Malva, as if he were about to abuse her.

“Here I am!” cried Vassili, bursting in on them with a wriggling fish in one hand and a knife in the other.

He had not got over his uneasiness, but had succeeded in dissimulating it deep within him.  Now he looked at his guests with serenity and good nature; only his manner was more agitated than usual.

“I’ll make a bit of a fire in a minute, and we’ll talk.  Why, Iakov, what a fine fellow you’ve grown!”

Again he disappeared.

Malva went on munching her melon seeds.  She stared familiarly at Iakov.  He tried not to meet her eyes, although he would have liked to, and he thought to himself: 

“Life must come easy here.  People seem to eat as much as they want to.  How strong she is and father, too!”