"I forget nothing," said Iakov, in a low tone and not looking at his father. "And you—have you forgotten nothing?"
"It's not your place to preach to me. I'll break every bone in your body."
Iakov avoided the hand that his father raised over his head and a feeling of savage hatred arose in him. He said, between his clenched teeth:
"Don't touch me. We're not in the village now."
"Be silent. I'm your father everywhere."
They stood facing each other, Vassili, his eyes bloodshot, his neck outstretched, his fists clenched, panted his brandy-smelling breath in his son's face. Iakov stepped back. He was watching his father's movements, ready to ward off blows, peaceful outwardly, but steaming with perspiration. Between them was the table.
"Perhaps I won't give you a good beating?" cried Vassili hoarsely, and bending his back like a cat about to make a spring.
"Here we are equal," said Iakov, watching him warily. "You are a fisherman, I too. Why do you attack me like this? Do you think I do not understand? You began."
Vassili howled with passion, and raised his arm to strike so rapidly that Iakov had no time to avoid it. The blow fell on his head. He staggered and ground his teeth in his father's face.
"Wait!" cried the latter, clenching his fists and again threatening him.