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Updated: June 9, 2025
"They beat whom they love." "People mix everything up shame, love, pain." "Don't you be afraid, Egorushka she's a mother." "Very well, I'll not be afraid," said Egorka, comforted. When Egorka took leave of the quiet children Grisha said to him: "You had better not tell your mother where you have passed all this time." "No, I won't tell," replied Egorka vigorously, "not for anything."
His mother questioned him angrily: "Where have you been? tell me! Did the Jews try to crucify you?" "What Jews?" exclaimed Egorka. "No one has tried to crucify me." "You just wait, you young brat," shouted his mother in a rage, "I'll make you talk." She caught hold of the besom and began to tear off its twigs. Then she stripped the boy of his light clothes.
Held by a heavy, death-like sleep, Egorka lay there motionless and to all appearances lifeless, and listened to his mother's wailing and to the discordant clamour of voices. And he heard his mother keening over him: "Those accursed Jews have sucked out all his blood! It was not the first time that I beat my little darling!
Handing over the care of his horses to Prokor, Tarasska and Egorka, who hurried up for the purpose, he stood by the steps, took Vera in his arms, and carried her carefully and respectfully, like a precious burden, through the ranks of wide-eyed lackeys and maid-servants bearing lights, to the divan in the hall. Raisky followed, wet and dirty, without once removing his eyes from them.
Egorka, the eleven-year-old son of a local commoner, stood by the hedge of one of the vegetable gardens. What had been red calico once made up his torn shirt; but his face! it was like that of an angel in a tawny mask covered with spots of dirt and dust. Wings are for light feet, but what can the earth do? Only dust and clay cling to light feet. Egorka had come out to play.
Egorka's mother was at home when Egorka returned. There was a radiant sadness about him as he walked up to his mother, kissed her and said: "Hello, mamma!" Egorka's mother assailed him with questions: "Oh, you little wretch! Where have you been? What have you been doing? What unclean demons have carried you away?" Egorka remembered his promise. He stood before his mother in obstinate silence.
Trirodov laid his hand silently on the boy's head. Kirsha said: "There is a boy in one of the graves who is not dead." "How do you know?" asked Trirodov. But he knew what Kirsha's answer would be. Kirsha said: "Grisha told me that Egorka was not quite dead. He is asleep; but he will awake!" "Yes," said Trirodov. "And will he come to you?" asked Kirsha. "Yes," was the answer.
"Honest to God, I'd like to; here's a cross to prove it," said Egorka rather quickly, and he crossed himself with an oblique movement of the joined fingers of his dirty hand. "Then follow me," said Grisha. He turned lightly homewards, and as he walked he did not stop to look round at the meagre, tiresome objects of this grey life. Egorka followed the white boy.
They've cut him up with knives and used his blood in their matzoth." The slanderers were not deterred by the consideration that the Jewish Passover had taken place very much earlier than the running away of Egorka from his mother. The townsmen were agitated those who believed as well as those who did not believe the tale. Demands were made for an investigation and the opening of the grave.
You owe me sixty-five roubles. That is not much, eh?" "Oh! my Lord! Aristid Fomich! I have always been attentive to your honor and done my best to please you. "Drop all that, Egorka, grandchild of Judas!" "All right! I will give it you . . . only God will punish you for this. . . ." "Silence! You rotten pimple of the earth!" shouted the Captain, rolling his eyes.
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