"Well, my fine young fellow, I brought you to your father, didn't I?" said Malva, brushing up against Iakov's robust figure.
He turned towards her his face framed in its curled blond beard, and with a brilliant gleam in his eyes said:
"Yes, here we are—It's fine here, isn't it? What a stretch of sea!"
"The sea is great. Has the old man changed much?"
"No, not much. I expected to find him more grey. He's still pretty solid."
"How long is it since you saw him?"
"About five years. I was nearly seventeen when he left the village."
They entered the cabin, the air of which was suffocating from the heat and the odor of cooking fish. They sat down. Between them there was a roughly-hewn oak table. They looked at each other for a long time without speaking.
"So you want to work here?" said Malva at last.
"I don't know. If I find something, I'll work."