Oprichniks of Christ in the newspaper. Everybody knew that in some cities, where the people didn’t have enough to keep them busy, they went rushing off to beat the Jews at the slightest excuse. Why not beat them and rob them, if the authorities permit it? But in addition to the usual plunderers, a while ago the so-called Oprichniks had appeared, serious people who had sworn to give the Yids and their sympathizers no quarter. And supposedly they had already killed someone—some barrister and a student. Never mind the barrister, they were all shameless hucksters, but what did they have against the student? He must have had a father and mother too. Anyway all that business was a long way off. On the Mother River, praise be to Thee, O Lord, there weren’t any Oprichniks, and there had never been any pogroms.
While the little Yids kicked up their din, Muffin went through the pockets of one-two-three, but all the gelt he got for his pains was a five-kopeck piece and a twenty-kopeck coin.
The Jewish priest listened and listened, then suddenly stamped his foot. “Silence!”
It went quiet. The distinguished-looking old man jerked his spectacles off his nose and stuck them in his pocket (the frames glinted—could they be gold?). He took a fat little book bound in leather out of another pocket and opened it. He cackled something menacing in his own language, and then repeated it in Russian—clearly there were some Yids there who didn’t understand much of their own talk.
“And the Lord said unto Moses: ‘How long shall this wicked company murmur against Me? The murmurs of the sons of Israel, which they do murmur against Me, I do hear. Say unto them: I live, and all you who have murmured against me shall not enter into the land on which I have sworn to settle you.’ Have you heeded what was said by Moses, ye of little faith?” With his white beard and one finger raised in the air, the rabbi himself looked like Moses in a picture that Muffin had seen in the Bible.
They all bowed. Muffin also leaned over and stuck his arm between the two standing in front of him. His arm was special, with almost no bones at all, it worked on cartilage. It could bend all manner of ways, and when necessary it even stretched out much farther than was humanly possible. With this remarkable arm of his, Muffin reached as far as the rabbi’s pocket, hooked out the spectacles with the end of his little finger, and squatted down on his haunches. Then he just slipped back into the fog.
He tested the spectacles with his tooth. Sweet Lord, they were gold!
And the Jewish priest rumbled on behind the bent backs: “If I don’t banish anyone who grumbles and is fainthearted, my name’s not Aron Shefarevich! Take a look at yourselves, you shriveled tapeworms! What would the Oprichniks want with you? Who has any interest in you?”
Muffin didn’t bother to listen to any more—he went while the going was good.
The fog had turned so thick you could barely even see the railings. The razin started slipping along them.
“Ood-ooo!” came the deafening hoot from above. So the deckhouse was here.
And when the steamer finished hooting, strange words were borne to Muffin’s ears. Up ahead someone was singing:
Breath to my lips she did provide,
And then upon her flaming torch did breathe,
And in that moment’s madness did divide
Into the Here and There the whole world’s breadth
She left—and all was cold around …
“Stop that howling, Coliseum,” another voice interrupted, a sharp, mocking voice. “Try strengthening those muscles of yours instead. What did I give you that rubber ball for?”
There was a breath of wind from the left bank, and as the shroud of white thinned, Muffin saw an entire assembly under the stairway of the wheelhouse: young lads sitting there, about twenty of them, and two girls with them as well.
It was an odd sort of group, not the kind you saw very often. Among the young men there were many with spectacles and
While the little Yids kicked up their din, Muffin went through the pockets of one-two-three, but all the gelt he got for his pains was a five-kopeck piece and a twenty-kopeck coin.
The Jewish priest listened and listened, then suddenly stamped his foot. “Silence!”
It went quiet. The distinguished-looking old man jerked his spectacles off his nose and stuck them in his pocket (the frames glinted—could they be gold?). He took a fat little book bound in leather out of another pocket and opened it. He cackled something menacing in his own language, and then repeated it in Russian—clearly there were some Yids there who didn’t understand much of their own talk.
“And the Lord said unto Moses: ‘How long shall this wicked company murmur against Me? The murmurs of the sons of Israel, which they do murmur against Me, I do hear. Say unto them: I live, and all you who have murmured against me shall not enter into the land on which I have sworn to settle you.’ Have you heeded what was said by Moses, ye of little faith?” With his white beard and one finger raised in the air, the rabbi himself looked like Moses in a picture that Muffin had seen in the Bible.
They all bowed. Muffin also leaned over and stuck his arm between the two standing in front of him. His arm was special, with almost no bones at all, it worked on cartilage. It could bend all manner of ways, and when necessary it even stretched out much farther than was humanly possible. With this remarkable arm of his, Muffin reached as far as the rabbi’s pocket, hooked out the spectacles with the end of his little finger, and squatted down on his haunches. Then he just slipped back into the fog.
He tested the spectacles with his tooth. Sweet Lord, they were gold!
And the Jewish priest rumbled on behind the bent backs: “If I don’t banish anyone who grumbles and is fainthearted, my name’s not Aron Shefarevich! Take a look at yourselves, you shriveled tapeworms! What would the Oprichniks want with you? Who has any interest in you?”
Muffin didn’t bother to listen to any more—he went while the going was good.
The fog had turned so thick you could barely even see the railings. The razin started slipping along them.
“Ood-ooo!” came the deafening hoot from above. So the deckhouse was here.
And when the steamer finished hooting, strange words were borne to Muffin’s ears. Up ahead someone was singing:
Breath to my lips she did provide,
And then upon her flaming torch did breathe,
And in that moment’s madness did divide
Into the Here and There the whole world’s breadth
She left—and all was cold around …
“Stop that howling, Coliseum,” another voice interrupted, a sharp, mocking voice. “Try strengthening those muscles of yours instead. What did I give you that rubber ball for?”
There was a breath of wind from the left bank, and as the shroud of white thinned, Muffin saw an entire assembly under the stairway of the wheelhouse: young lads sitting there, about twenty of them, and two girls with them as well.
It was an odd sort of group, not the kind you saw very often. Among the young men there were many with spectacles and
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