"Yefim," he said in a lowered voice, "you go over to him, and tell
him to come here in the evening."
Yefim went into the shack to get his cap; then silently, without
looking at anybody, he walked off at a leisurely pace and
disappeared in the woods. Rybin nodded his bead in the direction he
was going, saying dully:
"He's suffering torments. He's stubborn. He has to go into the
army, he and Yakob, here. Yakob simply says, 'I can't.' And that
fellow can't either; but he wants to; he has an object in view. He
thinks he can stir the soldiers. My opinion is, you can't break
through a wall with your forehead. Bayonets in their hands, off
they go--where? They don't see--they're going against themselves.
Yes, he's suffering. And Ignaty worries him uselessly."
"No, not at all!" said Ignaty. He knit his eyebrows, and kept his
eyes turned away from Rybin. "They'll change him, and he'll become
just like all the other soldiers."
"No, hardly," Rybin answered meditatively. "But, of course, it's
better to run away from the army. Russia is large. Where will you
find the fellow? He gets himself a passport, and goes from village
to village."
"That's what I'm going to do, too," remarked Yakob, tapping his foot
with a chip of wood.
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