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Khlopov sobered up, and his soul shrank to its usual size. Anna went to her room. The spell was broken. The word "Zhidovka" hurled at Anna made me start back. What could it mean, I wondered. I felt sorry for Khlopov, for Marusya, for Anna, and for the holiday mood that had been spoilt by a single word. And it seemed to me it was my fault to some extent.
Who, I thought, had anything in common with Zhidovka if not myself? Or was it Khlopov? Here the old man was interrupted by the neighing of the horses. The forward horse seemed to be getting proud of the comparative freedom he enjoyed, and bit his neighbor, only to remind him of it. The latter, unable to turn around in the harness, resented the insult by kicking.
"Very likely she fears being called Zhidovka, as they called you." "But, then, why did she get herself into that trouble?" "Ask yourself; she may tell you." . . . . Never mind what passed between us afterwards. It does not suit a man of my age to go into particulars, the way the story-writers do. Suffice it to tell you that our relations became very much complicated.
I have decided never to get married. For I know that my own daughters will always be called Zhidovka." At this point I became sorry for the turn our conversation had taken, and I cared no more for the defense of the Jews. After a brief silence Marusya turned to me: "Why does mother dislike Jews so much? She surely knows them better than papa does."
Besides, men and women alike envied the prosperity of Khlopov's household, which was due only to Anna's thrift. All those reasons, as well as many others, were included in the one word "Zhidovka." So that word may stand for anything you choose. As to Peter's brothers and relatives, they not only kept away from him but also became his open or secret enemies.
As soon as Khlopov had entered the room, he began to play with me and Marusya. He gave us candy, and insisted on dancing a jig with us. Anna met him with a frown: "Drunk again?" But this time her eyes seemed to have no power over Khlopov. He could not stand it any longer, and gave tit for tat. "Zhidovka!" he shouted. I looked at Anna: she turned red. Marusya blushed.
And when a recess was called, something happened: one of the bachelors, Serge Ivanovich, my old enemy, stood up behind Marusya, and shouted with all his might, "Zhidovka!" Then the envious girls broke out into a malicious giggle. Marusya turned crimson. She looked first at the sergeant: he was curling his mustache, and tried to look angry. Then Marusya turned away from him, and I caught her eye.
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