The doctor gave me no answer. I climbed up, too, and gazing through the darkness gradually began to discern the hairy head of the man on the oven-top. Heavy, stifling air hung about the sick man, who lay on his back. The doctor was holding his left hand to feel the pulse.
“Is he very bad?” I asked.
Without answering me, the doctor turned to the woman.
“Light a lamp,” he said.
She called the girl, told her to rock the cradle, and went and lit a lamp and handed it to the doctor. I got down, so as not to be in his way. He took the lamp, and continued to examine the patient.
The little girl, staring at us, did not rock the cradle strongly enough, and the baby began to cry piercingly and piteously. The mother, having handed the lamp to the doctor, pushed the girl angrily aside and again began to rock the cradle.
I returned to the doctor, and again asked how the patient was. The doctor, still occupied with the patient, softly whispered one word.
I did not hear, and asked again.
“The death-agony,” he repeated, purposely using a non-Russian word, and got down and placed the lamp on the table.
The baby did not cease crying in a piteous and angry voice.
“What’s that? Is he dead?” said the woman, as if she had understood the foreign word the doctor had used.
“Not yet, but there is no hope!” replied he.
“Then I must send for the priest,” said the woman in a dissatisfied voice, rocking the screaming baby more and more violently.