It was the first time I had seen a factory near-to. I was deafened by the extraordinary noise, and I breathed with difficulty. I went through the streets seeking for the locksmith, Peter Jagikh. Everyone I asked snarled back at me as if they had all quarreled with each other in the morning and had not yet succeeded in calming themselves. "God-creators!" I cried out to myself. I came upon a man who looked like a bear; dirty from head to foot. His oily clothes shone with dirt in the sun, and I asked him if he knew the locksmith, Peter Jagikh. "Who?" "Peter Jagikh." "Why?" "I want to see him." "Well, I am he." "How do you do?" "Well, how do you do? What do you want?" "I have a note to you." The man was taller than I, with a large beard, broad shoulders, and heavily set. His face was sooty and his small, gray eyes could hardly be seen from under his thick eyebrows. His cap was set far back on his head and his hair was cut short. He looked like a peasant, yet not entirely so. Evidently he read with great difficulty. His face was all wrinkled and his mustache trembled. Suddenly his face cleared, his white teeth shone, he opened his good, childish eyes and the skin in his checks smoothed out. "Ah," he cried, "he is alive, God's bird! That's good. Go, my dear, to the end of this street and turn to the left toward the wood. At the foot of the mountain there is a house with green shutters. Ask for the teacher. He is called Mikhail. He is my nephew. Show him the note. I will come soon." He spoke like a soldier, giving his signal on a bugle. He made the speech, waved his hand and went away. "He is kind and funny," I thought to myself. At the house an angular boy in a cotton shirt and an apron, met me. His sleeves were rolled up; his hands were white and thin. He read through the note and asked me: "Is Father Juna well?" "Yes, thank God." "Did he tell you when he will come to see us?" "He didn't say. Is he called Juna?" The young man looked at me suspiciously and began to read the note again. "How then?" he asked me. "He said his name was Jehudiel." The young fellow smiled. "That is a nickname which I gave him." "Oh, the devil," I thought. His hair was straight and long like a deacons', his face pale. His eyes were a watery blue and he looked as if he did not spring from this dirty spot. He walked up and down the room and measured me with his eyes as if I were a piece of cloth; and I did not like it. "Have you known Juna a long time?" he asked me. "Four days." "Four days," he repeated. "That's good." "Why good?" I asked. "Just so," he answered, shrugging his shoulders. "Why do you wear an apron?" "I am binding books," he said. "Soon my uncle will return and we will have supper. Perhaps you would like to wash yourself after your trip?" I felt like teasing him. He was much too serious for his age. "Do people wash here?" I asked. He frowned. "How then?" "I have not seen any washed ones yet," I answered.