I frowned, but . . . but why did my teeth move as though I were munching?  The creature was loathsome, disgusting, terrible, but I ate it, ate it greedily, afraid of distinguishing its taste or smell.  As soon as I had eaten one, I saw the glittering eyes of a second, a third . . .  I ate them too. . . .  At last I ate the table-napkin, the plate, my father’s goloshes, the white placard . . .  I ate everything that caught my eye, because I felt that nothing but eating would take away my illness.  The oysters had a terrible look in their eyes and were loathsome.  I shuddered at the thought of them, but I wanted to eat!  To eat!

“Oysters!  Give me some oysters!” was the cry that broke from me and I stretched out my hand.

“Help us, gentlemen!” I heard at that moment my father say, in a hollow and shaking voice.  “I am ashamed to ask but—­my God!—­I can bear no more!”

“Oysters!” I cried, pulling my father by the skirts of his coat.

“Do you mean to say you eat oysters?  A little chap like you!” I heard laughter close to me.

Two gentlemen in top hats were standing before us, looking into my face and laughing.

“Do you really eat oysters, youngster?  That’s interesting!  How do you eat them?”

I remember that a strong hand dragged me into the lighted restaurant.  A minute later there was a crowd round me, watching me with curiosity and amusement.  I sat at a table and ate something slimy, salt with a flavour of dampness and mouldiness.  I ate greedily without chewing, without looking and trying to discover what I was eating.  I fancied that if I opened my eyes I should see glittering eyes, claws, and sharp teeth.

All at once I began biting something hard, there was a sound of a scrunching.

“Ha, ha!  He is eating the shells,” laughed the crowd.  “Little silly, do you suppose you can eat that?”

After that I remember a terrible thirst.  I was lying in my bed, and could not sleep for heartburn and the strange taste in my parched mouth.  My father was walking up and down, gesticulating with his hands.

“I believe I have caught cold,” he was muttering.  “I’ve a feeling in my head as though someone were sitting on it. . . .  Perhaps it is because I have not . . . er . . . eaten anything to-day. . . .  I really am a queer, stupid creature. . . .  I saw those gentlemen pay ten roubles for the oysters.  Why didn’t I go up to them and ask them . . . to lend me something?  They would have given something.”

Towards morning, I fell asleep and dreamt of a frog sitting in a shell, moving its eyes.  At midday I was awakened by thirst, and looked for my father:  he was still walking up and down and gesticulating.

HOME

“Someone came from the Grigoryevs’ to fetch a book, but I said you were not at home.  The postman brought the newspaper and two letters.  By the way, Yevgeny Petrovitch, I should like to ask you to speak to Seryozha.  To-day, and the day before yesterday, I have noticed that he is smoking.  When I began to expostulate with him, he put his fingers in his ears as usual, and sang loudly to drown my voice.”