Eliséy turned the ring,--the door was not locked. He pushed the door
open and walked through the vestibule. The door into the living-room was
open. On the left there was an oven; straight ahead was the front
corner; in the corner stood a shrine and a table; beyond the table was a
bench, and on it sat a bareheaded old woman, in nothing but a shirt; her
head was leaning on the table, and near her stood a lean little boy, his
face as yellow as wax and his belly swollen, and he was pulling the old
woman's sleeve, and crying at the top of his voice and begging for
something.
Eliséy entered the room. There was a stifling air in the house. He saw a
woman lying behind the oven, on the floor. She was lying on her face
without looking at anything, and snoring, and now stretching out a leg
and again drawing it up. And she tossed from side to side,--and from her
came that oppressive smell: evidently she was very sick, and there was
nobody to take her away. The old woman raised her head, when she saw the
man.
"What do you want?" she said, in Little-Russian. "What do you want? We
have nothing, my dear man."
Eliséy understood what she was saying: he walked over to her.
"Servant of the Lord," he said, "I have come in to get a drink of
water."
"There is none, I say, there is none. There is nothing here for you to
take. Go!"
Eliséy asked her:
"Is there no well man here to take this woman away?"
"There is nobody here: the man is dying in the yard, and we here."
The boy grew quiet when he saw the stranger, but when the old woman
began to speak, he again took hold of her sleeve.
"Bread, granny, bread!" and he burst out weeping.
Just as Eliséy was going to ask the old woman another question, the man
tumbled into the hut; he walked along the wall and wanted to sit down on
the bench, but before reaching it he fell down in the corner, near the
threshold. He did not try to get up, but began to speak. He would say
one word at a time, then draw his breath, then say something again.
"We are sick," he said, "and--hungry. The boy is starving." He indicated
the boy with his head and began to weep.
Eliséy shifted his wallet on his back, freed his arms, let the wallet
down on the ground, lifted it on the bench, and untied it. When it was
open, he took out the bread and the knife, out off a slice, and gave it
to the man. The man did not take it, but pointed to the boy and the
girl, to have it given to them. Eliséy gave it to the boy. When the boy
saw the bread, he made for it, grabbed the slice with both his hands,
and stuck his nose into the bread. A girl crawled out from behind the
oven and gazed at the bread. Eliséy gave her, too, a piece. He cut off
another slice and gave it to the old woman. She took it and began to
chew at it.
"If you would just bring us some water," she said. "Their lips are
parched. I wanted to bring some yesterday or to-day,--I do not remember
when,--but I fell down and left the pail there, if nobody took it away."
Eliséy asked where their well was. The old woman told him where. Eliséy
went out. He found the pail, brought some water, and gave the people to
drink. The children ate some more bread with water, and the old woman
ate some, but the man would not eat.
"My stomach will not hold it," he said.
The woman did not get up or come to: she was just tossing on the bed
place. Eliséy went to the shop, and bought millet, salt, flour, and
butter. He found an axe, chopped some wood, and made a fire in the oven.
The girl helped him. Eliséy cooked a soup and porridge, and fed the
people.