Zelik grew in the woods like a wild goat. Often he disappeared for days at a time. He would climb into a salt barge and go miles down the river. Nobody ever missed him. Once when he was gone for a week, his mother said something about it, but the rest remained silent. There was a reason. When Zelik was born with the wart, his mother was very frightened and sent for the old witch to exorcise the child. The witch advised her to keep a close watch over the child, lest Wanda, the queen of Vistula, steal him. The fisherman and his sons firmly believed that the stretch of water near which they lived was demanding a human sacrifice, for their catches were diminishing every year. The water must have what belonged to it. Each time Zelik disappeared, all of them kept still, thinking that the water had at last taken its prey. But each time he came back, as if to spite them. The Vistula had cast him forth three times. And because of this Simka wished to know nothing of him, and did not want to teach him, and Zelik always walked around in rags and tatters. “Why are you sitting there doing nothing, you fool?” the mother cried out at Zelik. “Go over to the ‘teacher’ and ask him how much fish they want by Saturday.” The boy caught up the flask with the goldfish, and ran into the wood. Zelik thought that when he grew older he would not fish with pails. He would build himself a raft and catch fish with nets. And when he would grow rich (and he would surely grow rich) he would buy a pair of rubber boots with those long tops that would fasten with a buckle under the stomach, also a leather coat, and he would sail over the water in a real fishing smack, with a large steering wheel. Then he would build himself a house with a glass veranda, exactly like the one Pincus, the teacher, had. And perhaps he would give the goldfish to Rachel. She had been angry at him for the last two days, because he had cut off the tail of her black cat. But then, the cat deserved it. When the fish lay eggs she had no business to eat them. Yes, he would give the fish to Rachel. True, goldfish aren’t to be found everyday in the Vistula. But that was nothing. When he grew older he would catch a whale, cut its insides out, and sew a pair of trousers and a coat for himself from the skin, so that only his eyes would show. And then he would swim with his fins all standing straight up, down to the goldfish. He knew that they lived in the deepest whirlpools. But he would tell Rachel to change the water, and to throw in a few bread-crumbs. Rachel sat on the veranda consoling the black cat that lay with a swollen back on a soft basket. “My poor little cat. Does it hurt much? Don’t cry. Nikolai says it’ll heal soon. And Zelik’s wart will get so big, so big, see, like this,” and she stretched out both hands. “It’ll be ugly,” she laughed. “Zelik with a tail on his cheek!” “Rachel, see, I’ve got a goldfish. Want it?” Rachel turned away and pouted. “I’m mad.” “Why are you mad?”