For I know that my
own daughters will always be called Zhidovka." At this point I
became sorry for the turn our conversation had taken, and I cared no
more for the defense of the Jews. After a brief silence Marusya
turned to me:
"Why does mother dislike Jews so much? She surely knows them better
than papa does."
"Very likely she fears being called Zhidovka, as they called you."
"But, then, why did she get herself into that trouble?"
"Ask yourself; she may tell you." . . . .
Never mind what passed between us afterwards. It does not suit a
man of my age to go into particulars, the way the story-writers do.
Suffice it to tell you that our relations became very much
complicated. Marusya attached herself to me; she became a sister to
me.
So, after all, Jacob's fears had been well founded from the very
beginning. I felt I had gotten myself into a tangle, but I did
nothing to escape from it; on the contrary, I was getting myself
deeper and deeper into it.--
Here the old man's eyes flashed with a fire that fairly penetrated
the darkness, and for a moment I thought it was but a youth of
eighteen who was sitting opposite me.
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