The boys glanced knowingly at one another.
“You’re going the same way, to Mikhailovsky?” the boy went on. “Catch up with him, then ... You see, he’s stopped again, he’s waiting and looking at you.”
“Looking at you, looking at you!” the other boys chimed in.
“Ask him how he likes the whiskbroom, the ratty old whiskbroom. Just go and ask him that!”
They all burst out laughing. Alyosha looked at them and they at him.
“Don’t go, he’ll hurt you,” Smurov cried warningly.
“I will not ask him about the whiskbroom, gentlemen, because I’m sure you tease him with that somehow, but I will find out from him why you hate him so much ...”
“Go on, find out, find out!” the boys laughed.
Alyosha crossed the bridge and went up the hill, past the fence, straight to the banished boy.
“Watch out,” they shouted after him warningly, “he won’t be afraid of you, he’ll stab you suddenly, on the sly, like he did Krasotkin.”
The boy waited for him without moving from the spot. Coming close, Alyosha saw facing him a child not more than nine years old, weak and undersized, with a pale, thin, oblong little face, and large, dark eyes that looked at him angrily. He was dressed in a very threadbare old coat, which he had awkwardly outgrown. His bare arms stuck out of the sleeves. On the right knee of his trousers there was a large patch, and on his right boot, over the big toe, there was a big hole, and one could see that it had been heavily daubed with ink. There were stones in both bulging pockets of his coat. Alyosha stood facing him, two paces away, looking at him questioningly. The boy, guessing at once from Alyosha’s eyes that he was not going to beat him, dropped his guard a little and even began speaking first.
“There’s one of me and six of them ... I’ll beat them all by myself,” he said suddenly, his eyes flashing.
“One of those stones must have hurt you very badly,” Alyosha remarked.
“And I got Smurov in the head!” exclaimed the boy.
“They told me that you know me and threw a stone at me for some reason?” Alyosha asked.
The boy gave Alyosha a dark look.
“I don’t know you. Do you really know me?” Alyosha kept asking.
“Leave me alone!” the boy suddenly cried irritably, not moving from the spot, however, as if he were waiting for something, and again his eyes flashed angrily.
“Well, then, I’ll go,” said Alyosha. “Only I don’t know you, and I’m not teasing you. They told me how they tease you, but I don’t want to tease you. Goodbye!”
“Fancy pants, the monk can dance!” cried the boy, following Alyosha with the same angry and defiant look, and readying himself, besides, expecting that now Alyosha would certainly attack. But Alyosha turned, looked at him, and walked away. He had not gone three steps when he was hit painfully in the back by the biggest stone the boy had in his pocket.
“From behind, eh? So you do attack people on the sly, like they say!” Alyosha turned around to him, but this time the boy, in a rage, threw a stone right at his face. Alyosha had just time to shield himself, and the stone hit him on the elbow.
“Shame on you! What have I done to you?” he cried.
The boy stood silently and defiantly, waiting for one thing only—that now Alyosha would certainly attack him. But, seeing that he did not attack him even now, the boy went wild, like a little beast: he tore from his place and threw himself at Alyosha, and before Alyosha could make a move, the wicked boy bent down, seized his left hand in both hands, and bit his middle finger badly. He sank his teeth into it and would not let go for about ten seconds. Alyosha howled in pain, pulling his finger away with all his might. The boy finally let go and jumped back to his former distance. The finger was badly bitten, near the nail, deeply, to the bone; blood began to flow. Alyosha took his handkerchief and tightly wrapped his wounded hand. He spent almost a whole minute bandaging it. All the while the boy stood waiting. At last Alyosha raised his quiet eyes to him.
“All right,” he said, “you see how badly you’ve bitten me. That’s enough, isn’t it? Now tell me what I’ve done to you.” The boy looked at him in surprise.
“Though I don’t know you at all, and it’s the first time I’ve seen you,” Alyosha went on in the same gentle way, “it must be that I did something to you—you wouldn’t have hurt me like this for nothing. What was it that I did, and how have I wronged you, tell me?”
Instead of answering, the boy suddenly burst into loud sobs, and suddenly ran from Alyosha. Alyosha slowly walked after him towards Mikhailovsky Street, and for a long time saw the boy running far ahead, without slowing down, without turning around, and no doubt still crying loudly. He resolved that he must seek the boy out, as soon as he could find time, and clear up this mystery, which greatly struck him. But he had no time now.
Chapter 4:
