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The prince began to reproach me with want of enterprise and
laziness--with "gaping about," as he expressed it.
Altogether, he was beginning to bore me; but what most tried
my patience were his fabulous accounts of his appetite.
According to these accounts, after a hearty breakfast at noon
of roast lamb, and three bottles of wine, he could easily, at
his two o'clock dinner, dispose of three plates of soup, a pot
of pilave, a dish of shasleek, and various other Caucasian
dishes, washed down abundantly with wine. For whole days he
would talk of nothing but his gastronomic tastes and knowledge:
and while thus talking, he would smack his lips, his eyes would
glow, he would show his teeth, and grind them together; would
suck in and swallow the saliva that came dripping from his
eloquent lips. Watching him at these moments, I conceived for
him a deep feeling of disgust, which I found difficult to
conceal.
Near Jalta I obtained a job at clearing away the dead branches
in an orchard. I was paid fifty kopecks in advance, and laid
out the whole of this money on bread and meat. No sooner had
I returned with my purchase, than the gardener called me away
to my work. I had to leave my store of food with Shakro, who,
under the pretext of a headache, had declined to work. When I
returned in an hour's time, I had to acknowledge that Shakro's
stories of his appetite were all too true. Not a crumb was
left of all the food I had bought! His action was anything
but a friendly one, but I let it pass. Later on I had to
acknowledge to myself the mistake I then made.
My silence did not pass unnoticed by Shakro, who profited by
it in his own fashion. His behavior toward me from that time
grew more and more shameless. I worked, while he ate and
drank and urged me on, refusing, on various pretexts, to do
any work himself. I am no follower of Tolstoi. I felt amused
and sad as I saw this strong healthy lad watching me with
greedy eyes when I returned from a hard day's labor, and found
him waiting for me in some shady nook. But it was even more
mortifying to see that he was sneering at me for working. He
sneered at me because he had learned to beg, and because he
looked on me as a lifeless dummy. When he first started
begging, he was ashamed for me to see him, but he soon got
over this; and as soon as we came to some Tartar village, he
would openly prepare for business. Leaning heavily on his
stick, he would drag one foot after him, as though he were
lame. He knew quite well that the Tartars were mean, and never
give alms to anyone who is strong and well.
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