At this moment an appalling, I may even say supernatural, shriek suddenly shook the room. Not knowing what to think, I stood for a moment rooted to the spot; then, hearing Elyona Ivanovna shrieking, too, I turned hastily round; and what did I see! I saw—oh, heavens!—I saw the unhappy Ivan Matvyeich in the fearful jaws of the crocodile, seized across the middle, lifted horizontally in the air, and kicking despairingly. Then—a moment—and he was gone!
I cannot even attempt to describe the agitation of Elyona Ivanovna. After her first cry she stood for some time as petrified, and stared at the scene before her, as if indifferently, though her eyes were starting out of her head; then she suddenly burst into a piercing shriek. I caught her by the hands. At this moment the keeper, who until now had also stood petrified with horror, clasped his hands, and raising his eyes to heaven cried aloud:
“Oh, my crocodile! Oh, mein allerliebstes Karlchen! Mutter! Mutter! Mutter!”
At this cry the back door opened, and “Mutter,” a red-cheeked, untidy, elderly woman in a cap, rushed with a yell toward her son.
Then began an awful tumult. Elyona Ivanovna, beside herself, reiterated one single phrase, “Cut it! Cut it!” and rushed from the keeper to the “Mutter,” and back to the keeper, imploring them (evidently in a fit of frenzy) to “cut” something or some one for some reason. Neither the keeper nor “Mutter” took any notice of either of us; they were hanging over the tank, and shrieking like stuck pigs.
“He is gone dead; he vill sogleich burst, because he von ganz official of der government eat up haf!” cried the keeper.
“Unser Karlchen, unser allerliebstes Karlchen wird sterben!” wailed the mother.
“Ve are orphans, vitout bread!” moaned the keeper.
“Cut it! Cut it! Cut it open!” screamed Elyona Ivanovna, hanging on to the German’s coat.
“He did teaze ze crocodile! Vy your man teaze ze crocodile?” yelled the German, wriggling away. “You vill pay me if Karlchen wird bersten! Das war mein Sohn, das war mein einziger Sohn!”