With weak, dislocated hands she kept pushing me away, while I repeated persuasively:

“Get through, you fool, get through quickly.…”

I was racked by pity for her, it was as though her tears were in my eyes, anguish squeezed my heart, I felt like shouting, and I shouted: “Come on, hurry up!”

At last, a human being was in my hands. Through my tears I saw that he was all red, and already he was discontented with the world. He struggled, carried on, and howled in a thick voice, although he was still tied to his mother. He had blue eyes, his nose was ludicrously crushed against his red, crumpled face, his lips moved, and he screamed: “I…I…”

He was so slippery that if I had not taken care, he would have slipped away from me. Kneeling, I looked at him and laughed—I was very glad to see him. And I had forgotten what must be done next.

“Cut it…” whispered the mother gently. Her eyes were closed, her face relaxed. It was earth-colored, as if she were dead, her blue lips barely moved:

“Cut it…with a knife.…”

My knife had been stolen in the barracks. I bit through the cord. The baby howled in an Oryol bass, and the mother smiled; her bottomless eyes blossomed out marvelously and burned with a blue fire. Her dark hand fumbled in her skirt, feeling for the pocket, and her bleeding, bitten lips were barely able to produce:

“I haven’t… strength… tape… in the pocket … to bind… the navel.…”

I got the tape and bound up the navel. Her smile was even brighter, it was indeed so warm and brilliant that it nearly dazzled me.

“Now set yourself to rights,” I said, “and I’ll go and give him a wash.…”

“But look out,” she murmured, uneasily, “go gently.…”

This red fellow didn’t have to be treated with care, not at all: he clenched his fists and bawled, bawled as if challenging someone to a fight: “I… I…”

“You… you! Assert yourself firmly, brother, or else your fellow men will break your neck for you straight off.…”

He gave a particularly loud and earnest yell when he was splashed for the first time by a frothy wave which gaily dashed against us both. Then, when I bathed his chest and back, he screwed up his eyes, struggled violently and screamed piercingly, while the waves kept splashing over him.

“Make a noise, old fellow! Shout at the top of your lungs.…”

When I took him back to his mother, she lay with her eyes closed again, biting her lips. She was undergoing the pangs of expelling the after-birth. Nevertheless, through her sighs and groans I heard her faint whisper:

“Give… give him to me.…”

“He’ll wait.”

“No… give him here.”