The Cattle-dealers Page #2

"The Cattle-dealers" is a short story by Anton Pavlovich Chekhov that explores the lives of a group of cattle merchants in rural Russia. The narrative delves into the mundane yet revealing interactions among the characters, highlighting themes of greed, social dynamics, and the moral dilemmas faced in business dealings. Chekhov's keen observation of human behavior and his use of irony illuminate the complexities of rural life, making the story a poignant reflection on the economic and emotional connections that bind people in their daily existence.

								

of a mustache; his full white face with its broad cheek-bones is
childishly dreamy; his eyes have a melancholy and tranquil look unlike
that of a grown-up person, but he is broad, strong, heavy and rough like
the old man; he does not stir nor shift his position, as though he is
not equal to moving his big body. It seems as though any movement he
made would tear his clothes and be so noisy as to frighten both him and
the cattle. From under his big fat fingers that clumsily pick out the
stops and keys of the accordion comes a steady flow of thin, tinkling
sounds which blend into a simple, monotonous little tune; he listens to
it, and is evidently much pleased with his performance.

A bell rings, but with such a muffled note that it seems to come from
far away. A hurried second bell soon follows, then a third and the
guard's whistle. A minute passes in profound silence; the van does not
move, it stands still, but vague sounds begin to come from beneath it,
like the crunch of snow under sledge-runners; the van begins to shake
and the sounds cease. Silence reigns again. But now comes the clank of
buffers, the violent shock makes the van start and, as it were, give a
lurch forward, and all the cattle fall against one another.

"May you be served the same in the world to come," grumbles the old man,
setting straight his cap, which had slipped on the back of his head from
the jolt. "He'll maim all my cattle like this!"

Yasha gets up without a word and, taking one of the fallen beasts by the
horns, helps it to get on to its legs.... The jolt is followed by a
stillness again. The sounds of crunching snow come from under the van
again, and it seems as though the train had moved back a little.

"There will be another jolt in a minute," says the old man. And the
convulsive quiver does, in fact, run along the train, there is a
crashing sound and the bullocks fall on one another again.

"It's a job!" says Yasha, listening. "The train must be heavy. It seems
it won't move."

"It was not heavy before, but now it has suddenly got heavy. No, my lad,
the guard has not gone shares with him, I expect. Go and take him
something, or he will be jolting us till morning."

Yasha takes a three-rouble note from the old man and jumps out of the
van. The dull thud of his heavy footsteps resounds outside the van and
gradually dies away. Stillness.... In the next van a bullock utters a
prolonged subdued "moo," as though it were singing.

Yasha comes back. A cold damp wind darts into the van.

"Shut the door, Yasha, and we will go to bed," says the old man. "Why
burn a candle for nothing?"

Yasha moves the heavy door; there is a sound of a whistle, the engine
and the train set off.

"It's cold," mutters the old man, stretching himself on the cape and
laying his head on a bundle. "It is very different at home! It's warm
and clean and soft, and there is room to say your prayers, but here we
are worse off than any pigs. It's four days and nights since I have
taken off my boots."

Yasha, staggering from the jolting of the train, opens the lantern and
snuffs out the wick with his wet fingers. The light flares up, hisses
like a frying pan and goes out.

"Yes, my lad," Malahin goes on, as he feels Yasha lie down beside him
and the young man's huge back huddle against his own, "it's cold. There
is a draught from every crack. If your mother or your sister were to
sleep here for one night they would be dead by morning. There it is, my
lad, you wouldn't study and go to the high school like your brothers, so
you must take the cattle with your father. It's your own fault, you have
only yourself to blame.... Your brothers are asleep in their beds now,
they are snug under the bedclothes, but you, the careless and lazy one,
are in the same box as the cattle.... Yes.... "

The old man's words are inaudible in the noise of the train, but for a
long time he goes on muttering, sighing and clearing his throat.... The
cold air in the railway van grows thicker and more stifling. The pungent
odor of fresh dung and smoldering candle makes it so repulsive and acrid
that it irritates Yasha's throat and chest as he falls asleep. He coughs
and sneezes, while the old man, being accustomed to it, breathes with
his whole chest as though nothing were amiss, and merely clears his
throat.

To judge from the swaying of the van and the rattle of the wheels the
train is moving rapidly and unevenly. The engine breathes heavily,
snorting out of time with the pulsation of the train, and altogether
there is a medley of sounds. The bullocks huddle together uneasily and
knock their horns against the walls.

When the old man wakes up, the deep blue sky of early morning is peeping
in at the cracks and at the little uncovered window. He feels unbearably
cold, especially in the back and the feet. The train is standing still;
Yasha, sleepy and morose, is busy with the cattle.

The old man wakes up out of humor. Frowning and gloomy, he clears his
throat angrily and looks from under his brows at Yasha who, supporting a
bullock with his powerful shoulder and slightly lifting it, is trying to
disentangle its leg.

"I told you last night that the cords were too long," mutters the old
man; "but no, 'It's not too long, Daddy.' There's no making you do
anything, you will have everything your own way.... Blockhead!"

He angrily moves the door open and the light rushes into the van. A
passenger train is standing exactly opposite the door, and behind it a
red building with a roofed-in platform--a big station with a refreshment
bar. The roofs and bridges of the trains, the earth, the sleepers, all
are covered with a thin coating of fluffy, freshly fallen snow. In the
spaces between the carriages of the passenger train the passengers can
be seen moving to and fro, and a red-haired, red-faced gendarme walking
up and down; a waiter in a frock-coat and a snow-white shirt-front,
looking cold and sleepy, and probably very much dissatisfied with his
fate, is running along the platform carrying a glass of tea and two
rusks on a tray.

The old man gets up and begins saying his prayers towards the east.
Yasha, having finished with the bullock and put down the spade in the
corner, stands beside him and says his prayers also. He merely moves his
lips and crosses himself; the father prays in a loud whisper and
pronounces the end of each prayer aloud and distinctly.

"... And the life of the world to come. Amen," the old man says aloud,
draws in a breath, and at once whispers another prayer, rapping out
clearly and firmly at the end: "... and lay calves upon Thy altar!"

After saying his prayers, Yasha hurriedly crosses himself and says:
"Five kopecks, please."

And on being given the five-kopeck piece, he takes a red copper teapot
and runs to the station for boiling water. Taking long jumps over the
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