For half an hour I starc and stare at the placard. Its gleaming whiteness lures my eyes and seems to hypnotise my brain. I try to read it, but my efforts are futile.
Finally the strange illness comes into its own.
The noise of the passing carriages begins to sound like thunder, in the stench of the street I detect thousands of different smells, while the lights of the eating-house and the street-lamps fill my eyes with blinding flashes of lightning. All my senses are at fever pitch and abnormally receptive. I begin to see things that I couldn't see before.
'Oy-sters' - I make out on the placard.
What a strange word! I've lived on this earth for eight years and three months exactly, but not once have I heard that word before. What does it mean? Can it be the surname of the landlord? But boards with surnames are hung on doors, not walls!
'Papa, what does "oysters" mean?' I ask in a hoarse voice, strain- ing to tum my head in his direction.
My father doesn't hear. He is scrutinising the movements of the crowds and following each person who goes past ... I can tell from his eyes that he wants to speak to them, but the fatal word hangs on his trembling lips like a heavy weight, and simply will not detach itself. He even took a step after one passer-by and touched his sleeve, but when the man turned round he said 'Sorry', became flustered, and retreated again in confusion.
'Pdpa,' I repeat, 'what does "oysters" mean?'
'It's a kind of animal . . . It lives in the sea .. .'
In a trice I have pictured this mysterious sea creature to myself. It must be a cross berween a fish and a crayfish. Since it is from the sea, it can obviously be used to make very tasry broth with fragrant pepper and a bay leaf floating in it; thick, sourish soup with bits of backbone; crayfish sauce; fish in aspic with horse-radish ... I vividly imagine this animal beingbroughtstraight from the market, quickly cleaned, and popped in the pot - all so quickly, quickly, because everyone's so hungry, terribly hungry! And from the kitchen wafts the smell of fried fish and crayfish soup.
I can feel this smell nckling my palate and nostrils, and gradually taking possession of my whole body. Everything smells of it - the eating-house, Fathcr, the white placard, my sleeves - and the smell is so strong that I begm chewing. I chew and I swallow, as though I actu:tlly had a piccc of the sca creature in my mouth.
My legs buckle under me from this pleasurable sensation, and so as not to fall I grab my father's sleeve and press up against his wet summer coat. My father is trembling and clmching himself: it's so cold . . .
'Papa,' I ask, 'can you cat oysters in Lem?'
'You e.-it them alive,' says Father. 'They live in shells like tortoises . . . but in r'o halves.'
Thedelicious smell instantly ceases to uckle my body, the illusion vanishes ... I see it all now!
'Horrible,' I whisper, 'horrible!'
So that's what 'oysters' means! I imagine an animal like a frog. This frog sits inside a shell, looking out with large, gleaming eyes and champingwith its disgusting jaws. I see this animal being brought in its shell from the markct, with its claws, its gleaming eyes and slimy skin . . . The children all hide, but the cook, screwing up her face in disgust, takes hold ofthe animal by one claw, puts it on a plate, and carries it into the dining-room. The grown-ups take hold of it and they eat it - eat it alive, eyes, teeth, feet and all! And it squeaks loudly and tries to bite them on the lip ...
I screw up my face, but . . . but why is it my teeth have begun chewing? The creature is vile, disgusting, terrifying, but I am eating it all the same, bolting it down so as not to discover what its real taste and smell are. One animal is finished and already I can see the gleamingeyes of a second and a third ... I eat them too . . . And I end up eating the serviette, the plate, Father'sgaloshes, the white placard ... I eat everything in sight, because I know that only eating will cure my illness. The oysters shoot horribleglances at me, they are disgust- ing, I tremble at the thought of them, but I must eat, I must eat!
'Give me some oysters! Some oysters!' I suddenly find myself shouting, and stretch out my arms.
At the same time I hear Father's hollow, strangled voice saying: 'Help us, gentlemen! I'm ashamed to be asking, but God knows, I'm at the end of my tether!'
'Give me some oysters!' I shout, tugging at Father's coat-tails.
'Do you mean to say you eat oysters? A little boy like you?'
someone laughs beside me.
Twogentlemen in top-hatsare standing in front of us, looking into my face and laughing.
'Do you eat oysters, lad? Do you really? Most remarkable. And how do you eat them?'
I remember a strong hand dragging me into the brightly-lit eating-house. Within a minute a crowd gathers round and watches me with curiosity and amusement. I am sitting at a table and eating something slimy, salty, smelling of damp and mould. I eat greedily, without chewing, without looking and without trying to discover what I am eating. I'm sure that if I open my eyes, I shall see those gleaming eyes, those claws and sharp teeth . . .
Suddenly I begin chewing something hard. There is a crunching sound.
'Ha, ha! He's eating the shells!' roars the crowd. 'You don't eat those, you little chump!'
After that I remember a terrible thirst. I am lying on my bed and can't get to sleep from indigestion and a strange taste in my burning mouth. My father is pacing up and down, gesticulating to himself.
'I seem to have caught a chill,' he is mumbling. 'I've got this feeling in my head . . . Like there was someone in it . . . Or maybe it's because I haven't . .. well, because I haven't eaten today. I'm an odd one, I really am, a bit ofa fool ... I saw those gentlemen paying ten roubles for oysters, so why didn't I go up and ask them for a few roubles . . . on loan? They'd have given me them.'
Towards morning I fall asleep and dream of a frog with claws, sitting inside a shell and rolling its eyes. At midday I wake up feeling thirsty and look round for my father: he's still pacing up and down gesticulating . . .
A Dreadful Night
Ivan Petrovich Spektroffs face grew pale and his voice quavered as he turned down the lamp and began his story:
'It was Christmas Eve 1883. The earth lay shrouded in impenetr- able darkness. I was returning home from the house of a friend (who has since died), where we had all been sitting up late attending a seance. For some reason the streets through which I was passing were unlit, and I had almost to grope my way along. I was living in .Moscow, near the Church ofSt Mary-in-the-Tombstones, in a house belonging to the civil servant Kadavroff - in other words, in one of the remotest parts of the Arbat district. My thoughts as I walked along were gloomy and depressing . .. "The end of your life is at hand . . . Repent ..." Such had been the words addressed to me at the seance by Spinoza, whose spirit we had succeeded in calling up. I askcd for confirma- tion, and the saucer not only repeated the words, but added: "This very night." I am not a believer in spiritualism, but the thought of death, or even the merest allusion to it, is enough to plunge me into despondency. Death is inevitable, my friends, it is commonplace, but nevertheless the thought of death is repugnant to human nature . . . Now, as cold, unfathomable darkness hemmed me in and raindrops whirled madly before my eyes, as the wind groaned plaintively above my head and I could neither see a single living soul nor hear a single human sound around me, my heart filled with a vague, inexplicable dread. I, a man free from superstition, hurried through the streets afraid to look around or glance to either side. I felt sure that if I did look round, I would see an apparition of death close behind me.' Spektroff gulped for breath, drank some water and continued: 'This feeling of dread, which despite its vagueness you will all recognise, did not leave me even when I climbed to the third floor of Kadavroff's house, unlocked the door and entered my room. It was dark in my humble abode. The wind was moaning in the stove and tapping on the damper, almost as though it were begging to be let into the warm.