ing-clerk.
For those five months he had been trudging about Moscow looking for
work, and it was only on that day that he had brought himself to
go into the street to beg for alms.

Before us was a big house of three storeys, adorned with a blue
signboard with the word "Restaurant" on it. My head was drooping
feebly backwards and on one side, and I could not help looking
upwards at the lighted windows of the restaurant. Human figures
were flitting about at the windows. I could see the right side of
the orchestrion, two oleographs, hanging lamps . . . . Staring into
one window, I saw a patch of white. The patch was motionless, and
its rectangular outlines stood out sharply against the dark, brown
background. I looked intently and made out of the patch a white
placard on the wall. Something was written on it, but what it was,
I could not see. . .

For half an hour I kept my eyes on the placard. Its white attracted
my eyes, and, as it were, hypnotised my brain. I tried to read it,
but my efforts were in vain.

At last the strange disease got the upper hand.

The rumble of the carriages began to seem like thunder, in the
stench of the street I distinguished a thousand smells. The restaurant
lights and the lamps dazzled my eyes like lightning. My five senses
were overstrained and sensitive beyond the normal. I began to see
what I had not seen before.

"Oysters . . ." I made out on the placard.

A strange word! I had lived in the world eight years and three
months, but had never come across that word. What did it mean?
Surely it was not the name of the restaurant-keeper? But signboards
with names on them always hang outside, not on the walls indoors!

"Papa, what does 'oysters' mean?" I asked in a husky voice, making
an effort to turn my face towards my father.

My father did not hear. He was keeping a watch on the movements of
the crowd, and following every passer-by with his eyes. . . . From
his eyes I saw that he wanted to say something to the passers-by,
but the fatal word hung like a heavy weight on his trembling lips
and could not be flung off. He even took a step after one passer-by
and touched him on the sleeve, but when he turned round, he said,
"I beg your pardon," was overcome with confusion, and staggered
back.

"Papa, what does 'oysters' mean?" I repeated.

"It is an animal . . . that lives in the sea."

I instantly pictured to myself this unknown marine animal. . . . I
thought it must be something