Gusev Page #4

"Gusev" is a poignant short story by Anton Pavlovich Chekhov, centered around the character of Gusev, a Russian soldier who is aboard a ship taking him back to his homeland after the Russo-Japanese War. The narrative explores themes of mortality, the futility of war, and the human condition as Gusev reflects on his life, desires, and the nature of existence while grappling with his impending death. Through rich characterizations and introspective dialogue, Chekhov delves into the complexities of human emotions and the search for meaning in a chaotic world.

								

Their prayers will save him."

The soldier with the sling sat down on a hammock near Gusev and said in
an undertone:

"And you, Gusev, are not long for this world. You will never get to
Russia."

"Did the doctor or his assistant say so?" asked Gusev.

"It isn't that they said so, but one can see it.... One can see directly
when a man's going to die. You don't eat, you don't drink; it's dreadful
to see how thin you've got. It's consumption, in fact. I say it, not to
upset you, but because maybe you would like to have the sacrament and
extreme unction. And if you have any money you had better give it to the
senior officer."

"I haven't written home..." Gusev sighed. "I shall die and they won't
know."

"They'll hear of it," the sick sailor brought out in a bass voice. "When
you die they will put it down in the Gazette, at Odessa they will send
in a report to the commanding officer there and he will send it to the
parish or somewhere...."

Gusev began to be uneasy after such a conversation and to feel a vague
yearning. He drank water--it was not that; he dragged himself to the
window and breathed the hot, moist air--it was not that; he tried to
think of home, of the frost--it was not that.... At last it seemed to him
one minute longer in the ward and he would certainly expire.

"It's stifling, mates..." he said. "I'll go on deck. Help me up, for
Christ's sake."

"All right," assented the soldier with the sling. "I'll carry you, you
can't walk, hold on to my neck."

Gusev put his arm round the soldier's neck, the latter put his unhurt
arm round him and carried him up. On the deck sailors and time-expired
soldiers were lying asleep side by side; there were so many of them it
was difficult to pass.

"Stand down," the soldier with the sling said softly. "Follow me
quietly, hold on to my shirt...."

It was dark. There was no light on deck, nor on the masts, nor anywhere
on the sea around. At the furthest end of the ship the man on watch was
standing perfectly still like a statue, and it looked as though he were
asleep. It seemed as though the steamer were abandoned to itself and
were going at its own will.

"Now they will throw Pavel Ivanitch into the sea," said the soldier with
the sling. "In a sack and then into the water."

"Yes, that's the rule."

"But it's better to lie at home in the earth. Anyway, your mother comes
to the grave and weeps."

"Of course."

There was a smell of hay and of dung. There were oxen standing with
drooping heads by the ship's rail. One, two, three; eight of them! And
there was a little horse. Gusev put out his hand to stroke it, but it
shook its head, showed its teeth, and tried to bite his sleeve.

"Damned brute..." said Gusev angrily.

The two of them, he and the soldier, threaded their way to the head of
the ship, then stood at the rail and looked up and down. Overhead deep
sky, bright stars, peace and stillness, exactly as at home in the
village, below darkness and disorder. The tall waves were resounding, no
one could tell why. Whichever wave you looked at each one was trying to
rise higher than all the rest and to chase and crush the next one; after
it a third as fierce and hideous flew noisily, with a glint of light on
its white crest.

The sea has no sense and no pity. If the steamer had been smaller and
not made of thick iron, the waves would have crushed it to pieces
without the slightest compunction, and would have devoured all the
people in it with no distinction of saints or sinners. The steamer had
the same cruel and meaningless expression. This monster with its huge
beak was dashing onwards, cutting millions of waves in its path; it had
no fear of the darkness nor the wind, nor of space, nor of solitude,
caring for nothing, and if the ocean had its people, this monster would
have crushed them, too, without distinction of saints or sinners.

"Where are we now?" asked Gusev.

"I don't know. We must be in the ocean."

"There is no sight of land..."

"No indeed! They say we shan't see it for seven days."

The two soldiers watched the white foam with the phosphorus light on it
and were silent, thinking. Gusev was the first to break the silence.

"There is nothing to be afraid of," he said, "only one is full of dread
as though one were sitting in a dark forest; but if, for instance, they
let a boat down on to the water this minute and an officer ordered me to
go a hundred miles over the sea to catch fish, I'd go. Or, let's say, if
a Christian were to fall into the water this minute, I'd go in after
him. A German or a Chinaman I wouldn't save, but I'd go in after a
Christian."

"And are you afraid to die?"

"Yes. I am sorry for the folks at home. My brother at home, you know,
isn't steady; he drinks, he beats his wife for nothing, he does not
honour his parents. Everything will go to ruin without me, and father
and my old mother will be begging their bread, I shouldn't wonder. But
my legs won't bear me, brother, and it's hot here. Let's go to sleep."

V

Gusev went back to the ward and got into his hammock. He was again
tormented by a vague craving, and he could not make out what he wanted.
There was an oppression on his chest, a throbbing in his head, his mouth
was so dry that it was difficult for him to move his tongue. He dozed,
and murmured in his sleep, and, worn out with nightmares, his cough, and
the stifling heat, towards morning he fell into a sound sleep. He
dreamed that they were just taking the bread out of the oven in the
barracks and he climbed into the stove and had a steam bath in it,
lashing himself with a bunch of birch twigs. He slept for two days, and
at midday on the third two sailors came down and carried him out.

He was sewn up in sailcloth and to make him heavier they put with him
two iron weights. Sewn up in the sailcloth he looked like a carrot or a
radish: broad at the head and narrow at the feet.... Before sunset they
brought him up to the deck and put him on a plank; one end of the plank
lay on the side of the ship, the other on a box, placed on a stool.
Round him stood the soldiers and the officers with their caps off.

"Blessed be the Name of the Lord..." the priest began. "As it was in the
beginning, is now, and ever shall be."

"Amen," chanted three sailors.

The soldiers and the officers crossed themselves and looked away at the
waves. It was strange that a man should be sewn up in sailcloth and
should soon be flying into the sea. Was it possible that such a thing
might happen to anyone?

The priest strewed earth upon Gusev and bowed down. They sang "Eternal
Memory."

The man on watch duty tilted up the end of the plank, Gusev slid off and
flew head foremost, turned a somersault in the air and splashed into the
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