He slept for a long time. It was already dark when the feet slipped down from the bed. At once he recollected that he was angry, and felt his ire course through him. But he was weary and weak. So weak, in fact, that he decided not to get up, but rather to lie there forever. “A piece of bread!” flitted through his mind. He could behold rows of well-provided houses, countless kitchens, heaps of bread-loaves. But he continued to lie there, because he did not know,—could not begin to know, how to get to them.
At last an idea flashed upon him. “From the deaf-and-dumb old witch!”
He arose from the three-legged bed and walked into the landlady’s room. The bundle of rags was seated at the table, before a small night-lamp that lacked a chimney, eating from a pot of water containing crumbled bits of hard bread.
He approached the bundle of rags and indicated with his fingers that he was very hungry and wished a piece of bread. She clutched the pot more tightly and began to bark savagely. This meant that she hadn’t enough for herself, and that she didn’t care to give him anything, anyway, since he had struck her with the door before, throwing her over, and since he wasn’t acting properly, not having paid his rouble and a half rent for the past two months.
He knew very well just what her barking signified, and eyed her as if deliberating what course to pursue. Quite cold-bloodedly he wrenched the pot from her grasp, pulled out a piece of bread and crammed it into his mouth. The tattered form seized him, with a frightful, wailing yelp, and drew the pot toward her. He raised it above her reach and continued to chew. The first bite had excited him. He began to eat faster, swallowing almost without chewing. The old woman barked and howled at the top of her voice, pulling at his arms. He thrust her away. She fell upon her knees, grasped his legs and with a wild gasping and snorting bit into them with her gums, in which stood only two side teeth. He pressed her with his knees to the floor and sat down upon her. She could no longer move.
Now he would eat in peace.
He stuck his fingers into the pot without finding anything. He almost yelled with fury. His heart began to spring within him; his eyes sparkled. He must do something. He sprang to his feet and cried out, wildly, “More bread, old witch!”
He shoved her with his foot, emptied the pot of water on her head and began to look for bread. He found nothing; there was nothing to be found. He continued his search, however. He overturned the old chest, scattered the bedclothes, broke the only chair. He became furious, not knowing what he did. The old woman seized him, dragging him toward the door with terrified shrieks. With all his might he thrust her off. The old woman’s head struck against the high oven; she groaned uncannily. Her moaning brought him to his senses. He was frightened, and held in his breath. He stepped toward her. Was she still alive? The aged landlady began to arise. He now breathed more freely and dashed out of the room.
He was exhausted, yet excited. He desired to weep,—to weep bitterly. He was thoroughly ashamed of the encounter with the deaf-and-dumb landlady. He had robbed her of her wretched supper and had come near killing her. And his hunger was now greater than ever. “A-a-ah!”
He pressed both his fists to his mouth and began to gnaw at them. The pain grew intense, yet he kept on gnawing. He wished to feel his heart.