As he came with me to the kitchen he muttered:
"Well, they have fastened upon a poor wretch this time, and no mistake! You see what he is? There you are! My lad, people can be sent out of their minds; they can really. Stick to them like bugs, and the thing is done. In fact, there are some people here like bugs—worse than bugs!"
When I took bread, meat, and vodka to the soldier he was still sitting in the hammock, rocking himself and crying softly, sobbing like a woman.
I placed the plate on the table, saying:
"Eat."
"Shut the door."
"That will make it dark."
"Shut it, or they will come crawling in here."
I went away. The sight of the soldier was unpleasant to me. He aroused my commiseration and pity and made me feel uncomfortable. Times without number grandmother had told me:
"One must have pity on people. We are all unhappy. Life is hard for all of us."