A porter with a large case on his shoulders bumped against him, nearly pushing him over. He felt an intense pain in his back and came to himself. He turned red with anger.
“You plague, you! Where are your eyes?”
The porter mumbled something from under his burden and continued on his way with heavy steps.
Itsye, however, felt the pain and rubbed his back.
“I’ll bury you together with the case, you piece of carrion-meat!”
The porter craned his neck from under his case and looked back at the shouting man. Itsye’s appearance called forth little deference from the toiler; he stopped for a moment and eyed his opponent with scorn.
“Hold your mouth, or I’ll stop it for you so that you’ll be dumb forever. I’ll show you what ‘carrion-meat’ means, you bloody dog!”
The porter went on his way, grumbling and cursing. Itsye muttered a few imprecations and turned his head in another direction.
“What have you planted yourself here for, in everybody’s way?” he heard a surly voice exclaim behind him.
He looked around. Kaplan, the shopkeeper, was standing in the doorway of his shop, eyeing him angrily. He replied coarsely: