And endless toil

Chapter VIII
"Why are you laughing?" I asked.
The old shepherd and his ethics of life had charmed and delighted me. I felt refreshed by the pure air of
early morning, blowing straight into my face. I rejoiced, as I watched the sky gradually clearing, and felt
that daylight was not far off. Before long the morning sun would rise in a clear sky, and we could look
forward to a brilliantly fine day.
Shakro winked slyly at me, and burst out into a fresh fit of laughter. The hearty, buoyant ring in his laugh
made me smile also. The few hours rest we had taken by the side of the shepherd's fire, and their excellent
bread and bacon, had helped us to forget our exhausting voyage. Our bones still ached a little, but that
would pass off with walking.
"Well, what are you laughing at? Are you glad that you are alive? Alive and not even hungry?"
Shakro shook his head, nudged me in the ribs, made a grimace, burst out laughing again, and at last said in
his broken Russian: "You don't see what it is that makes me laugh? Well, I'll tell you in a minute. Do you
know what I should have done if we had been taken before the ataman? You don't know? I'd have told him
that you had tried to drown me, and I should have begun to cry. Then they would have been sorry for me,
and wouldn't have put me in prison! Do you see?"
At first I tried to make myself believe that it was a joke; but, alas! he succeeded in convincing me he meant
it seriously. So clearly and completely did he convince me of it, that, instead of being furious with him for
such naive cynicism, I was filled with deep pity for him and incidentally for myself as well.
What else but pity can one feel for a man who tells one in all sincerity, with the brightest of smiles, of his
intention to murder one? What is to be done with him if he looks upon such an action as a clever and
delightful joke?
I began to argue warmly with him, trying to show him all the immorality of his scheme. He retorted very
candidly that I did not see where his interests lay, and had forgotten he had a false passport and might get
into trouble in consequence. Suddenly a cruel thought flashed through my mind.
"Stay," said I, "do you really believe that I wanted to drown you?"
"No! When you were pushing me into the water I did think so; but when you got in as well, then I didn't!"
"Thank God!" I exclaimed. "Well, thanks for that, anyway!"
"Oh! no, you needn't say thank you. I am the one to say thank you. Were we not both cold when we were
sitting round the fire? The overcoat was yours, but you didn't take it yourself. You dried it, and gave it to
me. And took nothing for yourself. Thank you for that! You are a good fellow; I can see that. When we get to
Tiflis, I will reward you. I shall take you to my father. I shall say to him: 'Here is a man whom you must feed
and care for, while I deserve only to be kept in the stable with the mules.' You shall live with us, and be our
gardener, and we will give you wine in plenty, and anything you like to eat. Ah! you will have a capital time!
You will share my wine and food!"
He continued for some time, describing in detail the attractions of the new life he was going to arrange for
me in his home in Tiflis.
And as he talked, I mused on the great unhappiness of men equipped with new morality and new aspirations
— they tread the paths of life lonely and astray; and the fellow-travelers they meet on the way are aliens to

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them, unable to understand them. Life is a heavy burden for these lonely souls. Helplessly they drift hither
and thither. They are like the good seed, wafted in the air, and dropping but rarely onto fruitful soil.
Daylight had broken. The sea far away shone with rosy gold.
"I am sleepy," said Shakro.
We halted. He lay down in a trench, which the fierce gusts of wind had dug out in the dry sand, near the
shore. He wrapped himself, head and all, in the overcoat, and was soon sound asleep. I sat beside him,
gazing dreamily over the sea.
It was living its vast life, full of mighty movement.
The flocks of waves broke noisily on the shore and rippled over the sand, that faintly hissed as it soaked up
the water. The foremost waves, crested with white foam, flung themselves with a loud boom on the shore,
and retreated, driven back to meet the waves that were pushing forward to support them. Intermingling in
the foam and spray, they rolled once more toward the shore, and beat upon it, struggling to enlarge the
bounds of their realm. From the horizon to the shore, across the whole expanse of waters, these supple,
mighty waves rose up, moving, ever moving, in a compact mass, bound together by the oneness of their aim.
The sun shone more and more brightly on the crests of the breakers, which, in the distance on the horizon,
looked blood-red. Not a drop went astray in the titanic heavings of the watery mass, impelled, it seemed, by
some conscious aim, which it would soon attain by its vast rhythmic blows. Enchanting was the bold beauty
of the foremost waves, as they dashed stubbornly upon the silent shore, and fine it was to see the whole sea,
calm and united, the mighty sea, pressing on and ever on. The sea glittered now with all the colors of the
rainbow, and seemed to take a proud, conscious delight in its own power and beauty.
A large steamer glided quietly round a point of land, cleaving the waters. Swaying majestically over the
troubled sea, it dashed aside the threatening crests of the waves. At any other time this splendid, strong,
flashing steamer would have set me thinking of the creative genius of man, who could thus enslave the
elements. But now, beside me lay an untamed element in the shape of a man.