Only a drowned man. A man was drowned
and he is floating. That's nothing! Don't be afraid, he has
already floated clear of us."
"Why did they push him?" interrogated the boy, firmly pressing
close to his father, and shutting his eyes for fright.
"It was necessary to do so. The water might have thrown him under
the wheel. Under ours, for instance. Tomorrow the police would
notice it, there would be trouble, inquests, and we would be held
here for examination. That's why we shoved him along. What
difference does it make to him? He is dead; it doesn't pain him;
it doesn't offend him. And the living would be troubled on his
account. Sleep, my son.
"So he will float on that way?"
"He will float. They'll take him out somewhere and bury him."
"And will a fish devour him?"
"Fish do not eat human bodies. Crabs eat them. They like them."
Foma's fright was melting, from the heat of his father's body,
but before his eyes the terrible sneering face was still rocking
in the black water.
"And who is he?"
"God knows! Say to God about him: '0h Lord, rest his soul! '"
"Lord, rest his soul!" repeated Foma, in a whisper.
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