Author Description

On the 12th of August, 18-- (just three days after my tenth birthday,when I had been given such wonderful presents), I was awakened at seveno'clock in the morning by Karl Ivanitch slapping the wall close to myhead with a fly-flap made of sugar paper and a stick. He did this soroughly that he hit the image of my patron saint suspended to the oakenback of my bed, and the dead fly fell down on my curls. I peeped outfrom under the coverlet, steadied the still shaking image with my hand,flicked the dead fly on to the floor, and gazed at Karl Ivanitch withsleepy, wrathful eyes. He, in a parti-coloured wadded dressing-gownfastened about the waist with a wide belt of the same material, a redknitted cap adorned with a tassel, and soft slippers of goat skin, wenton walking round the walls and taking aim at, and slapping, flies.