"So he will float on that way?"

"He will float. They'll take him out somewhere and bury him."

"And will a fish devour him?"

"Fish do not eat human bodies. Crabs eat them. They like them."

Foma's fright was melting, from the heat of his father's body,
but before his eyes the terrible sneering face was still rocking
in the black water.

"And who is he?"

"God knows! Say to God about him: '0h Lord, rest his soul! '"

"Lord, rest his soul!" repeated Foma, in a whisper.

"That's right. Sleep now, don't fear. He is far away now! Floating on.
See here, be careful as you go up to the side of the ship. You
may fall overboard. God forbid! And--"

"Did he fall overboard?"

"Of course. Perhaps he was drunk, and that's his end! And maybe
he threw himself into the water. There are people who do that.
They go and throw themselves into the water and are drowned.
Life, my dear, is so arranged that death is sometimes a holiday
for one, sometimes it is a blessing for all."