"The people? Of course, Bachka—our people, our people."
"And from whom have they heard it?"
"I don't know, Bachka."
"Well, and don't you know why Christ came here upon earth?"
He thought a long time, but did not answer.
"Don't you know?" I asked.
"I don't know."
I told him all about the Orthodox faith, and I was not sure if he listened or not; all the time he was whooping at the dogs or brandishing his long stick.
"Well, have you understood what I have been telling you?" I asked.
"Of course, Bachka, I've understood: He drowned the swine in the sea, he spat in the blind man's eyes—the blind man saw again; He gave bread and fishes to the people."
They had stuck in his head these swine in the sea, the blind man, and the fishes, and nothing more could penetrate there. . . . I remembered Kiriak's words, about their poor understanding, and how they themselves did not notice how they touched the hem of His garment. What then? This one too had possibly touched the hem, but certainly only just touched it—hardly touched it—only felt it with the tip of his finger: how could he be taught to catch hold of it more firmly? So I
