I understood Seraphim, but not entirely. I asked him, a little hurt:
"And as to people—what do you think about them? Why are they here?"
He shrugged his shoulders and smiled.
"People—are like weeds. There are various kinds among them. For those who are blind the sun is black; for those who are not happy with themselves, God is an enemy. Besides, people are young. To call three-year-old Jack, Mr. So-and-so is early a bit and doesn't quite fit."
His mouth overflowed with such quotations. They dropped from his lips like leaves from an apple tree, just as with Savelko. If you asked him anything, he immediately overpowered you with his puns, as if he were strewing flowers on a child's grave. His evasions made me angry, but he, the young devil, only laughed. At times I would say to him, irritated:
"You are loafing here, you idle dog, eating bread for nothing."
"That is the way it is with us," he answered. "He who eats his own bread remains hungry. Look at our peasants. All their life they sow wheat, yet dare not eat. You're quite right. To work is not my specialty. You get sore bones from work, but never rich and healthy; just lie in bed and shirk and you get fat and wealthy. And even you, Matvei, would rather steal than forego a meal."
I argued with him, but toward the end I myself began to laugh.
He was simple and straightforward, and that attracted me very much. He never made any pretensions, but said simply:
"I am nothing but a little insect, and not very harmful at that. I only ask for bread that I be fed."