Meeting the Fugitives
55
But it is impossible to get into the house.
One window is open, and from that they give out the bread.
A crowd of peasant women are standing by the house.
They raise their arms and hold out their certificates.
—How many there are in the family.
Approaching nearer, I hear a quiet murmur.
Not a cry, not a noise, but a quiet monotonous murmur.
All in one tone, continuously, hurriedly, unceasingly, they repeat one and the same word
—Something strange.
—Me give—me give—me give—me give.
Just like a reader in church, repeating continuously, forty times in succession:
—O Lord, have mercy upon us!
