The smith thrust himself away from the sill

Clearing his throat, the smith thrust himself away from the sill with his shoulders the villagers opened a path for him, and with a deliberate rolling gate he went up to the chairman’s table, saying as he went.
‘I haven’t joined so far, it’s true, but I’ll join now. Seeing that you’re not joining. Yakov Lurich. I’ve got to join. But if you’d put in an application today I’d have mine back. There isn’t room for you and me in the one party. You and I belong to different parties…
Ostronov made no comment , an uncertain smile hovered on his lips. But Shaly went up to the table, met Davidod’s beaming welcoming gaze and, holding out application scribbled on a small sheet of old paper, said.
I’ve got no one to recommend me. I’ll have to get myself out of that somehow. Which of you will support, me lads? Write it down for me.
But Davidod was already writing his recommendation in a hurried ,sprawling hand. Then Nagulnov took over the pen..
So Ippolit Shaly also was accepted unanimously as a candidate for party membership. After the vote had been taken the members of the Gremyachy Communist Group stood up and clapped, and everybody in the meeting also stood up and clapped raggedly, awkwardly, with their work worn calloused hands.
Shaly stood blinking, struggling with his feelings. But when Ramiotznov whispered into his ear.: ‘You ought to say something, something that move the people, Ippolit,’ the old man obstinately shook his head.
‘There is no point in wasting words. And besides, I haven’t any words of that kind inmy pocket. Look how they’re clapping. It strikes me they understand already without any words from me.
From the book “Harvest on the Don” by Mikhail Sholokhov (translated from the Russian by H.C.Stevens)