Chap­ter XVIII opens on a vil­lage brim­ming with unspo­ken frus­tra­tion, where the ten­sion between the res­i­dents and the engi­neer, Mr. Kutcherov, con­tin­ues to inten­si­fy. What began as a cau­tious rela­tion­ship has now turned brit­tle, weighed down by the engineer’s increas­ing dis­trust. He no longer sees his neigh­bors as col­lab­o­ra­tors in rur­al life but as poten­tial threats to his order and belong­ings. Each pre­cau­tion he takes—bolting his gates, hir­ing night guards, and shun­ning local help—further deep­ens the divide. His sus­pi­cion becomes pal­pa­ble, turn­ing minor inci­dents into per­son­al affronts. The vil­lagers, sens­ing this shift, respond not with con­fronta­tion but with sub­tle with­draw­al. They con­tin­ue their rou­tines, though now marked by cau­tion, their pre­vi­ous open­ness replaced with wary dis­tance.

When the theft of cart wheels and tools occurs, the event adds fuel to an already smol­der­ing fire. Though the miss­ing items are lat­er found with­in his own prop­er­ty, the engi­neer remains con­vinced of foul play. He takes it as evi­dence of vil­lage sab­o­tage rather than a mis­take or mis­place­ment. The Lytchkovs and Volod­ka are whis­pered about, though no one con­fronts them open­ly. This air of sus­pi­cion spreads like smoke, cloud­ing every inter­ac­tion. The engineer’s home becomes a fortress, and his mind a bat­tle­ground between fear and frus­tra­tion. This nar­ra­tive cap­tures a com­mon rur­al dynamic—how sus­pi­cion, once sown, can uproot years of uneasy har­mo­ny. The absence of res­o­lu­tion only solid­i­fies the emo­tion­al and social dis­tance between the two sides.

Lat­er, dur­ing a sim­ple walk, the engi­neer cross­es paths with a group of vil­lagers return­ing from the woods. He bypass­es any pleas­antries and focus­es instead on scold­ing them for col­lect­ing mush­rooms in what he con­sid­ers his ter­ri­to­ry. His tone, stripped of warmth, leaves lit­tle room for empa­thy. Though his words are calm, they cut deep, hint­ing at a grow­ing bit­ter­ness. He accus­es them of ignor­ing his pri­or requests and laments their per­ceived dis­re­gard for fair­ness. What he views as incon­sid­er­a­tion, the vil­lagers inter­pret as enti­tle­ment. Both par­ties feel dis­re­spect­ed, but nei­ther seeks dia­logue. Mis­un­der­stand­ing fes­ters where mutu­al respect once exist­ed.

Rodi­on, one of the vil­lagers present, lat­er recounts the exchange to his wife, his voice car­ry­ing more sad­ness than anger. He can­not under­stand why the engi­neer, who once seemed open-mind­ed, now treats them as less­er. His wife lis­tens qui­et­ly, her eyes tired from years of labor, under­stand­ing more in his sigh than in his words. Their house­hold, like many oth­ers, reflects a grow­ing fatigue from these unseen bat­tles. Though no open rebel­lion brews, the weari­ness speaks vol­umes. Respect has not been lost overnight, but it has erod­ed steadi­ly under the weight of pride, mis­com­mu­ni­ca­tion, and wound­ed dig­ni­ty. In vil­lages like Obrutchano­vo, such shifts rip­ple through gen­er­a­tions, remem­bered long after the details fade.

Mean­while, the engi­neer finds no solace in his self-imposed dis­tance. Instead of peace, his home echoes with iso­la­tion. Even his fam­i­ly notices the change—meals are qui­eter, walks less fre­quent, and his tem­per sharp­er. His attempts at con­trol have yield­ed lit­tle com­fort. The gar­den he once cher­ished now feels like a fenced bur­den, patrolled and pro­tect­ed but devoid of joy. Mis­placed trust and unmet expec­ta­tions have hard­ened him. The very peo­ple he once tried to under­stand have become sym­bols of betray­al in his eyes. This emo­tion­al spi­ral not only iso­lates him but also robs him of the com­mu­ni­ty he once sought to engage.

In a broad­er sense, the chap­ter mir­rors the frag­ile threads that hold social har­mo­ny togeth­er. When dia­logue is replaced by assump­tion, and kind­ness by cau­tion, a rift begins to form. The engi­neer and the vil­lagers, though neigh­bors, now inhab­it dif­fer­ent emo­tion­al worlds. Both sides feel wronged, yet nei­ther takes the step to heal the divide. Small griev­ances, unspo­ken, accu­mu­late into last­ing resent­ment. The mush­rooms in the for­est, the wheels in the yard, the miss­ing tools—all become sym­bols in a larg­er nar­ra­tive of mis­trust. And as time con­tin­ues, this qui­et frac­ture deep­ens, leav­ing behind a silence more potent than any spo­ken feud.