The Brothers Karamazov. Dostoyevsky Fyodor
he is left-handed,” another, a fine healthy-looking boy of eleven, answered promptly. All the others stared at Alyosha.
“He even throws stones with his left hand,” observed a third.
At that instant a stone flew into the group, but only just grazed the left-handed boy, though it was well and vigorously thrown by the boy standing the other side of the ditch.
“Give it him, hit him back, Smurov,” they all shouted. But Smurov, the left-handed boy, needed no telling, and at once revenged himself; he threw a stone, but it missed the boy and hit the ground. The boy the other side of the ditch, the pocket of whose coat was visibly bulging with stones, flung another stone at the group; this time it flew straight at Alyosha and hit him painfully on the shoulder.
“He aimed it at you, he meant it for you. You are Karamazov, Karamazov!” the boys shouted, laughing. “Come, all throw at him at once!” and six stones flew at the boy. One struck the boy on the head and he fell down, but at once leapt up and began ferociously returning their fire. Both sides threw stones incessantly. Many of the group had their pockets full too.
“What are you about! Aren't you ashamed? Six against one! Why, you'll kill him,” cried Alyosha.
He ran forward and met the flying stones to screen the solitary boy. Three or four ceased throwing for a minute.
“He began first!” cried a boy in a red shirt in an angry childish voice. “He is a beast, he stabbed Krassotkin in class the other day with a penknife. It bled. Krassotkin wouldn't tell tales, but he must be thrashed.”
“But what for? I suppose you tease him.”
“There, he sent a stone in your back again, he knows you,” cried the children. “It's you he is throwing at now, not us. Come, all of you, at him again, don't miss, Smurov!” and again a fire of stones, and a very vicious one, began. The boy the other side of the ditch was hit in the chest; he screamed, began to cry and ran away uphill towards Mihailovsky Street. They all shouted: “Aha, he is funking, he is running away. Wisp of tow!”
“You don't know what a beast he is, Karamazov, killing is too good for him,” said the boy in the jacket, with flashing eyes. He seemed to be the eldest.
“What's wrong with him?” asked Alyosha, “is he a tell-tale or what?”
The boys looked at one another as though derisively.
“Are you going that way, to Mihailovsky?” the same boy went on. “Catch him up… You see he's stopped again, he is waiting and looking at you.”
“He is looking at you,” the other boys chimed in.
“You ask him, does he like a disheveled wisp of tow. Do you hear, ask him that!”
There was a general burst of laughter. Alyosha looked at them, and they at him.
“Don't go near him, he'll hurt you,” cried Smurov in a warning voice.
“I shan't ask him about the wisp of tow, for I expect you tease him with that question somehow. But I'll find out from him why you hate him so.”
“Find out then, find out,” cried the boys, laughing.
Alyosha crossed the bridge and walked uphill by the fence, straight towards the boy.
“You'd better look out,” the boys called after him; “he won't be afraid of you. He will stab you in a minute, on the sly, as he did Krassotkin.”
The boy waited for him without budging. Coming up to him, Alyosha saw facing him a child of about nine years old. He was an undersized weakly boy with a thin pale face, with large dark eyes that gazed at him vindictively. He was dressed in a rather shabby old overcoat, which he had monstrously outgrown. His bare arms stuck out beyond his sleeves. There was a large patch on the right knee of his trousers, and in his right boot just at the toe there was a big hole in the leather, carefully blackened with ink. Both the pockets of his great-coat were weighed down with stones. Alyosha stopped two steps in front of him, looking inquiringly at him. The boy, seeing at once from Alyosha's eyes that he wouldn't beat him, became less defiant, and addressed him first.
“I am alone, and there are six of them. I'll beat them all, alone!” he said suddenly, with flashing eyes.
“I think one of the stones must have hurt you badly,” observed Alyosha.
“But I hit Smurov on the head!” cried the boy.
“They told me that you know me, and that you threw a stone at me on purpose,” said Alyosha.
The boy looked darkly at him.
“I don't know you. Do you know me?” Alyosha continued.
“Let me alone!” the boy cried irritably; but he did not move, as though he were expecting something, and again there was a vindictive light in his eyes.
“Very well, I am going,” said Alyosha; “only I don't know you and I don't tease you. They told me how they tease you, but I don't want to tease you. Good-by!”
“Monk in silk trousers!” cried the boy, following Alyosha with the same vindictive and defiant expression, and he threw himself into an attitude of defense, feeling sure that now Alyosha would fall upon him; but Alyosha turned, looked at him, and walked away. He had not gone three steps before the biggest stone the boy had in his pocket hit him a painful blow in the back.
“So you'll hit a man from behind! They tell the truth, then, when they say that you attack on the sly,” said Alyosha, turning round again. This time the boy threw a stone savagely right into Alyosha's face; but Alyosha just had time to guard himself, and the stone struck him on the elbow.
“Aren't you ashamed? What have I done to you?” he cried.
The boy waited in silent defiance, certain that now Alyosha would attack him. Seeing that even now he would not, his rage was like a little wild beast's; he flew at Alyosha himself, and before Alyosha had time to move, the spiteful child had seized his left hand with both of his and bit his middle finger. He fixed his teeth in it and it was ten seconds before he let go. Alyosha cried out with pain and pulled his finger away with all his might. The child let go at last and retreated to his former distance. Alyosha's finger had been badly bitten to the bone, close to the nail; it began to bleed. Alyosha took out his handkerchief and bound it tightly round his injured hand. He was a full minute bandaging it. The boy stood waiting all the time. At last Alyosha raised his gentle eyes and looked at him.
“Very well,” he said, “you see how badly you've bitten me. That's enough, isn't it? Now tell me, what have I done to you?”
The boy stared in amazement.
“Though I don't know you and it's the first time I've seen you,” Alyosha went on with the same serenity, “yet I must have done something to you – you wouldn't have hurt me like this for nothing. So what have I done? How have I wronged you, tell me?”
Instead of answering, the boy broke into a loud tearful wail and ran away. Alyosha walked slowly after him towards Mihailovsky Street, and for a long time he saw the child running in the distance as fast as ever, not turning his head, and no doubt still keeping up his tearful wail. He made up his mind to find him out as soon as he had time, and to solve this mystery. Just now he had not the time.
Chapter IV. At The Hohlakovs'
Alyosha soon reached Madame Hohlakov's house, a handsome stone house of two stories, one of the finest in our town. Though Madame Hohlakov spent most of her time in another province where she had an estate, or in Moscow, where she had a house of her own, yet she had a house in our town too, inherited from her forefathers. The estate in our district was the largest of her three estates, yet she had been very little in our province before this time. She ran out to Alyosha in the hall.
“Did you get my letter about the new miracle?” She spoke rapidly and nervously.
“Yes.”
“Did you show it to every one? He restored the son to his mother!”
“He is dying to-day,” said Alyosha.
“I