DRABKINA Novelette of Proletarian Life
DRABKIN
DRABKIN
A Novelette of Proletarian Life
Drabkinwas an excellent workman,—a pocketbook maker whose handiwork was the talk of the town. Folks praised him in his presence and in his absence; he knew his worth and held his head proudly erect. It seemed to him that he had been created for the express purpose of speaking the truth to all employers right before their very faces, and upon the slightest provocation he would let them know that they were living off his sweat and blood,—that they were exploiters, bloodsuckers, cannibals, and so forth and so on. So that he never could find a steady place, and through the year he spent more days idle than at his employment.
The bosses pitied him. “He’s a devil with claws,” they would say. “May no good Jew know him!... But he has golden hands!”
“If it weren’t for his crazy notions he’d be rolling in money. Such a workman! His fingers fly, as if by magic!”
Yet they could not suffer him in their shops. They even feared him. He was as widely known as a bad shilling, yet he was hired in the hope that perhaps he had changed for the better; perhaps he had calmed down and become quieter. Moreover, it was a pity to let a hand go around idle, when he could do more work in twelve hours than another could accomplish in twenty-four. But in a couple of days the employer would have to confess with a groan that Drabkin was the same insolent chap as ever, that it was dangerous to have him in a Jewish shop, because he would spoil the rest of the men. So he was shown the door.
He did not take this to heart. It had already become a game to him. He was certainthat the employers would finally be forced to come to him, because they needed him and must have him. For “his fingers fly, as if by magic.” And he would simply smile in ironic fashion and pierce the bosses with a look that caused them to shiver in their boots.
“What? You don’t like my ditty?” he would ask. “You’re punishing me for telling the truth, ha? Exploiters! Vampires!”
“You ought to be put into prison, or into the madhouse,” they would reply. “You’re a dangerous character. You’re a mad dog!...”
“Ah, ahem, tra-la!” he would mock, in delight. “But how do you like my work? I’m a fast worker, ha?”
And how this truthful boast cut the bosses!
“May your hands be paralysed!” they would answer. “If your character were only as good as your workmanship, you’d be rolling in money.”
“Working for you people!” he would suddenly revert to his favourite theme. “With a fourteen-hour day at the wages you pay,grass will soon be growing over my head. Exploiters! Vampires! Cannibals!...”
“There he goes again!” they would break in. “March! Off with you. Go shout it from the house-tops!”
“Ah, ahem, tra-la!” he would grunt again. “You don’t like it? Wait! Just wait!...”
At the last words he would point a warning finger at them. Just what they were to wait for he himself did not know, but he had a feeling that something or other was bound to happen that would be not at all to the bosses’ taste.
He would leave the employers triumphantly, his eyes beaming with happiness, as if he had just won a significant victory; with his glance, as he passed along the street, he would transfix every heavy paunched Jew who looked like an employer of labour. And his brain teemed with cutting remarks that he should have used and which he would be sure to employ in the very next encounter with those exploiters, those bloodsuckers, those cannibals. He saw himself surrounded by a host of toilers who raisedtheir eyes to him as their guardian and defender. His breast swelled with pride and self-confidence and he was contented with himself....
“Jilted again!” was his jocular greeting to his landlady, a thin old woman, as he entered the house.
She looked at him in surprise. “From what gallows has he escaped in broad daylight?” she queried to herself.
“Fired again?” she scolded loudly, eyeing him with scorn. “The Lord protect us, what a man you are!”
She shook her head, as if she had long ago decided that he was a hopeless case; he was a good-for-nothing in the first place and a good-for-nothing he would remain. She turned away with a depreciatory curl of her lips. The wrinkles on her face, which was as dry and yellow as parchment, became even deeper.
“I gave them a bawling-out, all right!” he chuckled, while his eyes sparkled with joy.
“Much satisfaction that is!” replied the oldwoman, sarcastically. “They must have taken it terribly to heart! Upon my word!”
“Such exploiters,—vampires,—cannibals. The world isn’t enough for them!” he continued, unmindful of her words. “Do you think I’m going to be afraid of them? What? Do you imagine we’re going to let them fatten on our sweat and blood, and look on in silence? Bah! Not a bit of it! I refuse to be silent! Such exploiters, cut-purses! I refuse to be silent!...”
“Psh! As bold as a Cossack!” she ridiculed. “But what satisfaction did you get? It wasyouwho was chased out! You, with your ‘sploiters’ and your ‘poiters’!...”
She was angry with the word, which she did not understand. She even thought that if it had not been for that word Drabkin would not have come to sorrow.
She was ready to spit contemptuously upon the floor and leave him. But Drabkin seized upon her last words.
“Chased out? Not so quick, my dear! They don’t chasemeout in a hurry!”
“They’re afraid of you, I suppose!” she snarled. “I wouldn’t let you cross my threshold!”
“Well, you see that they do!” he boasted.
“Wild man!” she commented in disgust.
“Aha!” was his victorious response.
After that “aha” the old woman spoke no more. She spat out in scorn, adjusted the scarf over her wig and walked away from him.
“‘Sploiters, poiters.’” She continued to repeat the evil word to herself with anger.
Buthe was vied in an utterly different light by Chashke, the old woman’s daughter.
When she returned at evening from work—she was a dressmaker—her mother met her with this greeting:
“He’s sitting around idle again.”
And she nodded her head in the direction of Drabkin’s room.
“Well, what of it?” asked the daughter, removing her cloak.
The old woman was taken aback by the girl’s retort and was at a loss whether or not to reply. She was surprised that the news did not affect her daughter.
At this moment Drabkin came out of his room.
“I’m home again!” he announced, merrily.
“What’s happened to you to-day?” asked Chashke.
“What’s happened? What should happen? It happened! They’re a pack of bloodsuckers, exploiters, and that’s all!” he exclaimed, hotly.
“‘Sploiters, poiters,’” interrupted the old woman, mockingly.
“But why should you have thrown up your job on this particular day?” asked Chashke, not heeding her mother’s sarcasm.
“Why? Because!” he shouted. “Why! I can’t look upon their actions in cold blood. It’s inhuman! It’s murderous! Ephraim is supposed to work till nine o’clock at night and he works till half past ten; when he came to work this morning at half past seven, they fell upon him like a mad dog and....”
“Isn’t it his granny’s worry?” interjected the old woman.
“I can’t bear such things. I can’t look on in silence. So I gave it to them!...”
“Psh! Their shirts turned to linen! How they must have trembled before you!”
But Chashke cast an angry look at her mother.
“What then?” she asked, contemptuously: “Are the workingmen to suffer such things without a word of protest?”
“Let Ephraim holler for himself. Why needhedo the shouting?” replied the old woman.
“And suppose Ephraim is a meek little lamb? And suppose Ephraim allows everybody to walk all over him?” cried Drabkin, springing to his feet, his countenance burning with indignation.
Chashke eyed her mother with ironic triumph.
“Then let him lie in the earth, let him rot, if he’s such a fool,” retorted the old woman.
“I can’t hold my tongue when I see things like that,” said Drabkin, his voice somewhat softer.
“Then you lie in the earth, too, and rot away, if you’re such a fool!”
“But there’s no need of cursing,” interposed the daughter, angrily.
“Bah! You’re no better than he is!”
“Don’t you like it?”
But Drabkin would not permit matters to grow into a quarrel.
“I can’t look on in silence....”
He launched into a discussion at the top of his voice. In the first place, Ephraimwasreally as meek as a lamb; you could do with him whatever you wished, and he would offer no remonstrance. In the second, he wasn’t much of a workman, and if he were discharged from one place, he could not find another position in a hurry. So that he was simply afraid to talk back. But he, Drabkin! He couldn’t see such doings and remain quiet! He had little reason to fear the bosses; he defied them,—the exploiters, the vampires! The world wasn’t enough for them, they wanted more, more....
And Chashke gazed at him with eyes brimful of love, agreed with everything he said, and experienced and felt the same thoughts and feelings as he.
Old Dina shook her head ironically.
“Two lunatics! One worse than the other!...”
Drabkinand Chashke were considered sweethearts. “A love-affair,” everybody would laugh. The bells rang, but it was no holiday, that is, it was merely a rumour.
Drabkin was a handsome fellow. Of medium build, broad-shouldered, a fair, round face framed in a little blonde beard; a medium-sized mouth with thin, blood-red lips, above which lay a thick moustache, a well-carved nose, a high, broad forehead and a round head covered with long, thick, dark brown hair. His dark grey eyes sparkled continuously. Young girls would fall in love with him at first sight. But he paid no attention to girls. He knew very few of them and had little to do with them. He was always absorbed in his “exploiters”; he was not even aware of Chashke’s loving glances. He liked to talk with her, becauseshe sympathised with him. She understood him and agreed with him. He could talk and talk with her forever, without getting weary. But marriage was far from his thoughts—
Chashke, too, was a beautiful girl.
“If my Chashke should put on fine clothes,” the old woman would say, “you couldn’t look into her face any more than you can look straight into the sun.” Of course she exaggerated a trifle, just like a mother, but by no means did she lie when she spoke thus. Chashke was somewhat shorter than Drabkin; thin, with sunken cheeks and a flat bosom. But she possessed an exquisite waist, a pretty mouth with charming lips, a straight nose, small ears and a fair forehead. But most beautiful of all were her long black tresses and her blue eyes.
If she had only possessed a dowry, she would have been seized upon long before, but she did not own even a good dress. So the young fellows hovered about her for the mere sake of her company, paid her compliments, which she received, however, with a silent smile, and triedto play with her hands, which she would bashfully withdraw. She acquired a reputation as a “touch-me-not,” and the reason for this attitude was popularly attributed to the soft spot in her heart for Drabkin.
And she really loved him. But it seemed to her that Drabkin would never marry. “He has no use for it.” Never had he offended her with a word, let alone a touch. He always spoke to her only about “his interests,” about justice and injustice,—sought the truth among folks and failed to find it. At such times he would spurt flames, thump the table and run madly about the room. “No,” she would tell herself. “He will not, he should not, he must not marry!”
But suppose heshouldmarry her?... Oh, what a life would be hers! She would work,—work ever so hard, enough for two, and he was earning good money, besides. But she would not interfere with him in any way. Not in the slightest. Let him remain just as he was. A precious soul, indeed! Ah, Lord of theuniverse, what a happy existence they’d lead!...
But no!... Soon children would come.... She would not be able to work. Her mother....
“God, God in Heaven, why do you visit such punishment upon the poor!” she would despair. He must not, he must not marry.... But what a happy life they would lead, what a happy life!...
And she concealed her feelings from him. This was exceedingly difficult. Oh, how she would have loved to throw her arms about him, and press him to her tightly, ever so tightly,—press her very soul into him,—become together with him a single being.... Her breath would come in gasps, she would grow dizzy, and her temples would throb with hammer blows. She hardly dared sit near him, lest he discover what was going on in her heart. And suppose heshoulddiscover?...
Suppose he should discover, and embrace her,and place his arms about her neck, and kiss her, caress her, squeeze her!...
A strangely sweet sensation would ripple over her body, until she began to tremble.
He was standing so close to her. She could almost feel his breath. And she watched every movement of his, read his eyes,—perhaps....
Then she would be ashamed of herself on account of her thoughts. Such impossibilities as came into her head! Such selfish thoughts as she could think, when he was speaking of such lofty subjects!
It was altogether unbecoming.... Fie!
ButDrabkin married. Not Chashke, but a certain Chyenke, a girl with a dowry of five hundred roubles.
This happened to him after a terrible fit of fury against all the bosses in the world. He came to a great determination: he would himself become a boss.
“Let all trace of them be wiped off the face of the earth,—the exploiters!” he cried, running up and down the room. “Let no memory of them remain,—the vampires! May they be sown thickly and grow up sparse, the cannibals! Enough! All over! I’ll become a boss myself!...”
He became silent, but continued to pace about. He was planning.
“He’ll become a boss!” scoffed the old woman. “A bosh, you mean!”
She broke into cutting laughter. Chashke looked at her uneasily.
“For myself, in business only for myself,” he spoke, meditatively.
“Ha-ha! He’ll have to pawn his breeches,” laughed the old woman.
And Chashke transferred her uneasy look to Drabkin. She had at once begun to wonder how he was going to make even a start.
“Never mind. I’ll get money!” he assured them. “I can get ten times as many partners as I need. Everybody knows what an expert worker I am.”
“God grant it!” answered the mother, doubtfully. She had little confidence in Drabkin. But Chashke’s heart was eased of a burden. She believed that it would be easy for him to find a partner.
He, however, found something that he was not seeking. He found a bride with a dowry.
This happened just at the time when he was tiring of looking about for a partner. He waspouring out the bitterness of his heart before an old friend.
“Enough! I’ve got the right partner for you!” cried the friend. “And a partner for your whole life.”
Drabkin looked hard at him.
“Do you want to marry a girl with five hundred roubles?”
Drabkin’s heart sank within him. To descend to mere matchmaking! Five hundred roubles! Suddenly before his eyes appeared the vision of Chashke.
“The people I’m talking about are very anxious to have you,” his friend was saying. “A perfect doll of a girl! And clever at her trade,—one out of a thousand.... Hush, she’s a pocketbook maker, just like yourself.”
Drabkin was still unable to realise what it was all about, and the image of Chashke continued to hover before his eyes.
“They’re very anxious to have you,” repeated his friend. “It seems to me that the girl is head over heels in love with you. Sheknows you for a long time. I believe she used to work with you. Well, are you willing? Just say the word and one, two,—it’s done. I won’t ask you for any marriage-broker’s fee. I’ll ask only the honour of leading you under the canopy. Well?”
“A match?” was all Drabkin could stammer. “I’ll not listen to the idea!...”
“What? Don’t you ever intend to marry?” interrupted the other, with scorn. “Are you going to enter a monastery? Don’t be a fool, and listen to good advice. Five hundred roubles dowry, and you become a boss, with a wife that’ll be a true help to you. Don’t waste a moment thinking it over!... As true as I’m a Jew, you’ll justhaveto marry that girl!”
His friend was getting excited. He divulged the name of the prospective father-in-law,—Grunim the glazier—and that of the girl—Chyenke, a maiden of golden virtues, so beautiful that Drabkin, compared with her, would have to hide in the oven,—and smart? A question! Just like Bileam! As decent as God hasordained,—a virtuous child, “so may I have good fortune!”
His friend wrought with might and main,—argued, vociferated, screamed, bellowed, thundered,—and finally Drabkin had to adjourn with him to a tavern and treat to drinks. And after the first three glasses the friend ran off to the girl’s father.
“You’ll thank me as long as you live!” was his farewell to Drabkin.
Left to himself, Drabkin began to feel that the match was really a windfall. Five hundred roubles! He—with five hundred roubles! He would work miracles, overturn worlds, he—with five hundred roubles!...
And he really knew her. His friend had not told many lies. She wasn’t such a marvel, but at the same time girls like her were not to be found at every turn. Oh yes,—he recalled her perfectly. She was a trifle taller than Chashke,—a bit plumper, too, he imagined.... A blonde.... She must be quite a lively article, too ... a fiery creature....
Five hundred roubles! Why, to him that meant ... unlimited possibilities!... Five hundred roubles.... Imagine, he would.... H’m!...
He couldn’t recall exactly, but it seemed to him that she was very skilful at her work. Now wait,—at whose place was it that she and he had worked together?
He shut his eyes and tried to remember. Was it at Abraham Baer’s? Or at ... at.... Where the devil had they worked together?... No, he could not recall it. But he recalled distinctly that she was a good pocketbook-maker. And once she came into his hands he’d make an expert of her.
Chashke’s figure still kept looming before him, yet he imagined that he was thinking of Chyenke and beholding her.
When Chashke came home that evening he at once related the proposed match to her and asked her advice.
Chashke turned pale and then red.
“Oh, what a terrible headache I have to-day!”she answered, with a quiver in her voice.
Drabkin believed her headache. So did her mother.
“Probably choked with bad air,” murmured the old woman. “Over in her shop they’re all afraid they’ll freeze. Destruction seize them! I’ll take the hot water out of the oven and you’ll bathe your head and feel better.”
In this way she poured out her heart upon the heads of Chashke’s employers. For her heart was sorely embittered: all along she had looked upon Drabkin as her Chashke’s future husband.
Chashke was silent. Drabkin looked at her, waiting for a reply.
“Perhaps you know this Chyenke?” he began anew. “They say she’s a splendid girl.”
“What should I know? It looks like a good proposition. Five hundred roubles. And Chyenke, from what I know of her, is really a splendid girl. Good luck to you!”
Yet at the last words her voice trembled.
The old woman spoke nothing to spoil thematch, and became enraged against Chyenke and her five hundred roubles,—against Drabkin, against Chashke, against herself and her whole life of poverty. She restrained her tears and prepared many a complaint for the Lord of the universe.
Meanwhile Drabkin was laying his plans. He spoke in a merry mood and did not notice the grief about him.
He noticed it, however, a few days later, when he entered the house in glee and announced that the betrothal was to take place the following day. Chashke turned pale, seized her breast and nearly swooned. His words died on his lips: now he understood everything.
“Chashke, what’s the matter?” he cried, in his fright, although he knew very well what was the matter. He brought her a glass of water.
The old woman danced about her daughter and Drabkin stood there, overwhelmed. Tears came to his eyes. Now, for the first time, heunderstood why, in the past few days, Chashke had come so often before his eyes when he spoke of the other girl. For the first time he realised whom he really needed.
He was seized with an impulse to rush over to Chashke, embrace her, throw his arms about her neck, kiss her, and swear to her that he would marry only her....
He dashed into his room in distraction, pale, agitated.
“What madness has possessed him?” asked the old woman angrily.
And Chashke began to weep even more bitterly, and pressed her breast harder than ever.
Drabkin’swedding was postponed for half a year, but the dowry of five hundred roubles was at once placed into his hands, that he might open a shop immediately. For he was known by all to be an honourable man.
He bought a sewing-machine, shears, knives; wooden pliers he made himself; and together with his future wife he sat down to work. The shop, naturally, was in her name.
He was submerged with orders.
He became a new man,—jollier, livelier, more enthusiastic. He attacked his work arduously.
It seemed that he wanted to pile up more and more money.
He felt a sensation that he had never before experienced. He had money! He had money! He was a boss for himself! Often he would geta ticklish feeling, and he would smile happily and begin to hum a tune. He was superlatively happy. He made plans—the dowry would grow, he would accumulate heaps of money, he would accomplish miracles!...
“I’ll show them!” he would shout, triumphantly, to nobody in particular, pushing the treadle of his machine vigorously as he sewed away.
“Show whom?” asked his fiancée, after he had shouted his defiance for the tenth time.
“Everybody!” he replied. “They’ll hear from me!”
And then he would fall to explaining just how he would “show them.”
A single cloud, however, darkened his bright sky: he longed for Chashke. Chashke was lacking.
He would blink, screw up his eyes as he smeared a thread with pitch, and gaze at his betrothed, but all the time he would be thinking of Chashke, comparing her with his affianced.
“Why do you look at me like that?” Chyenke would ask with a smile.
But he would make no reply, continuing to smear his thread with pitch.
“Haven’t you ever seen me before? Do you want to see whether you’ve made a mistake in choosing me?” she would continue, throwing her work aside and placing her arms about his neck.
But he remained silent. He stuck the thread through the eye of the needle and began to sew. He felt that this woman beside him was a stranger,—that he did not even know her.
“Are you angry with me?” asked the stranger, releasing his head and ready to become angry herself.
“Why angry?” he replied, looking intently upon the pocketbook as he pierced it with the needle. “I looked at you. Is it forbidden me to look at you?”
He would step often into Chashke’s, if only for a few moments. And for even these fewmoments they both felt heavy at heart. Both stood there with tears in their eyes.
When Drabkin would come for a visit, the old woman would go off into the kitchen, muttering to herself and wrinkling her brow. There she would sit down before a dingy little lamp, beginning to darn a stocking and staring into the semi-gloom, lost in thought of her foolish, unfortunate daughter.
Drabkin, at such times, would stand by the window and write upon the panes with his fingers, or gaze vacantly before him, waiting for Chashke to speak.
And Chashke sat bent over her work, and something tugged, tugged away at her heart-strings.
She was waging a tremendous battle. She wished to forget everything. All was over! Too late! It was so decreed by Fate! Yet a frightful, poignant yearning held her in its grip. And in the solitude of night she would moisten the pillow with hot tears that rolled slowly down her cheeks. And often it would seem toher that there would come a day,—who knew in how many years around?—when he would come falling at her feet and.... Ah, she had never thought the matter out to its conclusion....
But he must not learn of her sufferings!
And Chashke would take courage, breathe more easily, and be the first to speak.
“How are you getting along? Plenty of work?”
Yes. On this topic he could find ever so much to say. But he felt sad at heart. He then replied in a nasal tone, “Nothing to complain. Work is the least of my worries.”
“For whom are you making purses now?” she asked, ignoring his last words.
“For Etkin,” he replied, curtly, as if angry that she should harp on that theme.
But no, he must really tell her how, from his own former employer, Mayshe Baruch, he had won away as a customer the shopkeeper Etkin. That was certainly interesting. And gradually he became engrossed in his talk and warmedto his subject, telling how he had brought a piece of his work into Etkin’s and how everybody had viewed it with delight. And at once he received a big order for more. And Mayshe Baruch had met him and tried to intimidate him by threatening to slap his face. Ha-ha-ha, he had found the right one to scare! No sirree! He’d show Mayshe! He would go in to Brzerzinski, for whom Mayshe Baruch did work, and let Mayshe try to do something to him! Aha! He’d put Mayshe Baruch out of business in a jiffy.... And he was even considering going in to Abraham Baer’s customers. He had a score to settle with Abraham Baer. He knew all his customers, even those from out of town, and he would send quotations for work to all of them.... He’d show them!... He’d lead the bosses a merry dance!
Chashke listened with delight. But a single question weighed upon her heavily; she could not repress it. She lowered her head over herwork and asked, with a stifled voice, “How is your Chyenke?”
He interrupted his account and suddenly became sad once more.
“How should she be? She works.”
And again he stared vacantly through the window. She remained bent over her work, without raising her eyes. And soon they parted, with hearts as heavy as stone....
But later he became so engrossed in his work that he forgot the burden of his heart. He grew accustomed to Chyenke and became more talkative. And once he began to tell her how he used to quarrel with his employers and get the best of them. She laughed. Yes, she knew all about him and his pranks.
“I never spoke a pleasant word to any of them. Not even with the best of them,” he told her. “I always showed them my claws.”
“I’ll tell you the truth,” she asserted, with a serious mien. “If I had been your employer I wouldn’t have let you darken my door. Even if I knew that I’d make millions from you.”
He made no reply, working the treadle faster than before, and waiting for Chyenke to continue.
“It won’t be like that in our shop,” she added.
“Certainly not,” he hastened to agree. “We’ll deal differently with our employés.”
“Differently or not differently,” she replied, “if anybody tries such tricks with us, we’ll take him by the collar right away and down the stairs he goes!”
“That’s merely what you say....”
“And that’s exactly how it’ll be,” she answered with the same gravity as before. “If I’m a boss, then I must be a boss. I know. I’ve worked for bosses, too, and have quarrelled with them. And you may be sure that they were in the wrong. But to fight just for the fun of it! I’d like to see them try it!”
“It couldn’t happen in our place,” he said. “I’ll yield to them in everything.”
“What do you mean, yield to them in everything?” Her voice rose slightly. “Bah! Noteven a hair’s breadth! Why should I treat people better than I myself was treated?”
Drabkin turned pale. His hand trembled.
“We’ll see about that,” he answered weakly. He restrained himself, but his blood was boiling.
“What shall we see, what?” asked Chyenke. “I certainly won’t treat my employés any better than I was treated. Why should I give in to them? Let them walk all over me?”
He was silent. He was already infuriated, but strove to choke back his words. He applied himself industriously to his work and did not utter another sound, although it was a long time before Chyenke stopped talking....
That night he ran to Chashke. He repeated the conversation to her.
“Did you ever hear such talk?” he cried, as he finished his story.
“Chyenke is as right as the day,” interposed the old woman.
“Did you ever hear such talk?” he repeated, looking into Chashke’s eyes.
“Well?” she queried, coldly.
“What do you mean, ‘Well?’” he shouted. “What do you mean by your ‘Well?’”
“What do you expect? Everybody to agree with you?”
“What do you mean, everybody to agree with me? What do you mean?” he gesticulated. “Isn’t she engaged to me?”
“But you each have minds of your own and hearts of your own,” replied Chashke.
“He’d like his betrothed to be as stupid as himself,” the old woman chimed in.
“But why? How comes it that you understand?” he insisted to Chashke.
“She always was a big fool,” the mother replied. But the daughter blushed, and was silent.
“Then why shouldn’t she?” persisted Drabkin, referring to his betrothed.
“Well——” interrupted Chashke.
He was at a loss for a plausible response.
“Well, speak, what is it you wish?”
“What should I wish? I don’t wish anything,” he snarled indignantly.
He left the house in silent anger. He had wanted her to help him feel angry, to be beside himself with rage as usual....
The following day he tried again to talk the matter over with Chyenke, but she merely repeated her opinions of yesterday.
“Then I tell you,” he exclaimed, concisely and firmly, “that our employés shall be treated asIsee fit!”
“And I tell you,” interjected Chyenke, “that in the first place we haven’t any employés, nor are we hiring any. And in the second place, they’ll be treated asIthink proper!”
“We shallsee!”
“Weshallsee!”
He became angry, she became angry, and they did not speak to each other for the rest of that day.
“If that’s the kind of a fellow he is,” she thought, “then he’s not going to have the say about the money.”
He sat there as if on pins and needles. He was in a rage; his blood was boiling. He wanted to spring up, spit out with scorn and break with Chyenke for good. But something restrained him. That “something” did not permit him to carry out what he yearned so strongly to do. That “something” held him riveted to the spot and dammed his anger. And that “something” was not very clear to him. He only felt it strongly; it sent a warmth through his whole body.... Just through his inside pocket....
“Well, well. We’ll see,” he thought. “After the wedding it’ll be a different story.”
When they separated at the end of that day Chyenke said to him, “Well, now run off to your Chashke and fill her ears with complaints against me.”
“If I want to run to her, I won’t ask you.”
Chyenke had resolved to put an end to his visits to Chashke. If he cared more for Chashke, then let him take her. She could afford to have a sweetheart all her own.
But she desired to raise no scandals before the wedding. After their marriage she would know how to wean him away from Chashke’s, and how to keep her from ever crossing their threshold....
But Drabkin seemed to have lost all desire to go to Chashke. He did not go to her that evening, nor the next. Why should he? He was angry with her.
Chyenkeand her parents were in glee at the wedding, for her dowry of five hundred roubles had in the meantime increased to seven hundred. Chyenke felt like a wealthy woman, and her parents congratulated themselves upon being the father and mother of a rich lady.
Drabkin, however, was not in good humour. A certain fear hovered over him. After the wedding he foresaw war....
And surely enough, five months later the war began. They had decided to go into manufacturing their own goods, without waiting for work to be brought in to them from the shops. This would require an independent establishment with a number of employés.
He had seen several workingmen, old friends and former shopmates.
“What do you say, boys? Will you come to work for me?”
“You don’t say, Drabkin! So you’re really becoming a boss?”
“Listen to him. He doesn’t let the grass grow under his feet!”
“Well. Will you work for me?”
“Why not? You’ll pay wages twice as high as the regular rate, of course,” laughed the workingmen.
“You don’t have to worry about such matters when you deal with me,” he assured them, at the same time thinking of his wife.
“You’ll really pay twice the regular wages?”
“I told you not to worry about that, you blockheads! You’ll get higher pay from me than from anybody else, and you’ll work considerably less.”
They all parted in great contentment. And Drabkin told himself that he had won a victory over his wife after all....
“To-morrow four operators will come here,” he announced to Chyenke when he came homethat night. And he began to recite their names. “Abraham, who used to work for Abraham Baer; Labke, who....”
“What are you going to pay them?” she interrupted, scrutinising him closely from under her furrowed brows.
He was silent. He wondered what figure he could name.
“Why don’t you speak?” she asked, more sternly than before, eyeing him more closely.
Suddenly he became bold and self-assertive. Why need he fear her? He’d tell her point-blank! And if she didn’t like it, she’d have to ... that’s all! With a smiling countenance he repeated the details of his arrangements with the workingmen.
“May evil dreams descend upon the heads of all my enemies,” she shrieked, slapping her palms indignantly together. “Are you drunk, or crazy? There’s a millionaire for you! What’s a few hundred roubles to you? Here! Take my dowry and give it away!...”
“You don’t like it? Then don’t!” he answeredgruffly. “I refuse to be like the rest of them. I will not be a cut-purse!”
“Look at him!—A cut-purse!” she snarled venomously. “Fine business man you are! Am I, a proprietor, and now with child, to work fourteen and fifteen hours a day, and have my own employés go around in my place like men of leisure? My enemies won’t live to see it! May they waste in illness as long as such a thing never was and never will be!” ...
“I’ve already told you,” he interrupted incisively, “if you don’t like it, then don’t!”
“What kind of words are those!” she screamed. “I’ll have you understand that meanwhileIam the boss, and the money ismine!... Did you bring such a pile to it? Then things will be as I wish them to be. You’ll see whether they work for me or not. What do you think of the fellow? Wants to be a public benefactor! H’m!”
“Listen to me, Chyenke. None of your tricks, now!”
“None ofyourtricks! What are you goingto do about it? Beat me? I’m not afraid of such trifles!...” She was now shrieking shrilly.
He looked at her angrily and gnashed his teeth.
Suddenly she threw on her coat and ran off to her parents....
An hour later, her father, her mother, her father’s brother Jonah the tailor, and her mother’s brother Jehiel the cobbler, stalked into the room, preceded by Chyenke, whose face shone with triumph. Drabkin greeted them with none too happy a countenance, and continued his work at the machine.
“What’s the trouble here between you?” began Grunim the glazier.
“What are you so angry about?” asked his mother-in-law, venomously. “I suppose you imagine you’re in the right?”
“I’m not asking anybody whether I’m right or wrong,” he replied, even more venomously.
“A fine answer!” responded the mother-in-law, indignantly.
“It’s good enough for me,” said Drabkin, pushing the treadle.
“Just the same you needn’t be impudent about it,” interposed Grunim, beginning to lose his temper.
But Chyenke interceded and prevented a quarrel.
“Just reckon it out for him. Reckon it out,” she said, turning to her Uncle Jonah. “Let him hear.”
“Drop your work,” suggested Uncle Jehiel, “and listen to reason.”
“I’ve got nothing to listen to.”
“Don’t be a child!”
“What is there to discuss, what?” He rose from his place. “I said once and for all that I refuse to be a cut-purse.”
“You talk like a child,” began Uncle Jonah. “I’m no cut-purse myself, and I get along first rate with my employés! But everything must be done with foresight, with a reckoning! You, my dear child,—you,” he began, falling into the sing-song intonation of the Gemara, “you’restarting out as a manufacturer,—you’re a new competitor in the market. Then you must try to sell your goods cheaper. But how are you going to do this when your labour is going to cost you more than it costs anybody else?” he ended, ironically, his arms akimbo, looking from face to face with an air of triumph.
“I know the reckoning!” retorted Drabkin, obstinately.
“No, you don’t!” shouted the tailor, waving his right hand in the air and then bringing it back to his hips. “You don’t know! If you did, you wouldn’t do as you wish to do!... Let me repeat it to you, my youngster, you ...” and again he lapsed into the Talmudic sing-song—“Wages will cost you practically twice as much as any other, and your workingmen will produce half as much per day as in any other shop. Well, where’s your brains? Your goods will cost four times as dear!... Who’s going to buy it of you? Is it going to be covered with spangles?”
“I tell you, I don’t care to hear any reckonings!” cried Drabkin.
“Then you’re a fool, a jackass, a simpleton!” replied Jonah, heatedly.
“It’s the first time in my life I see such a person!” asserted Jehiel, shrugging his shoulders.
“Shut up. It’s no worry of yours,” scowled Drabkin. “I’ll do exactly as I please.”
“What do you mean,—exactly as you please?” shrilled Grunim. “You’re not the boss yet. Meanwhile Chyenke has the say here!”
“Certainly!” corroborated the mother-in-law.
“Certainly!” echoed Chyenke.
“And you’re an impudent rascal, a loafer!” scolded Grunim.
“A know-nothing, a dunce, who doesn’t understand from here to there,” cried Jonah. “The goods will cost him....”
“He ought to be put into the insane asylum with all the other lunatics!” chimed Jehiel, falling into Jonah’s sing-song.
“Fine pleasure we’ve lived to enjoy!” grumbled the mother-in-law to herself.
“What do you think of the fellow!” cried Chyenke, casting a venomous glance in Drabkin’s direction. “A public benefactor!”
Drabkin seized his coat and dashed through the door.
Heran to Chashke.
He was terribly pale, and Chashke and her mother were frightened when he entered.
“What is the matter?” cried Chashke.
He threw himself upon the wooden lounge, lowered his head and was silent. Both women stared at him.
“Is your tongue paralysed?” asked the old woman, finally breaking the silence.
“What’s happened over at your place? Speak, man,” entreated Chashke.
“What should happen?” he asked angrily. “It happened! My wife is no better than the rest! She’d like to run everything. Everything!”
He recounted all that had taken place in his home.
“His wife is a wise woman, upon my word,” offered the old woman after hearing the story.
But Drabkin was anxious to know what Chashke thought.
“Well, what do you think of the reckoning?” he asked, eyeing her intently.
“I never studied mathematics——”
He made a gesture of impatience, and she added,—“but I believe that the figures are correct.”
“And suppose theyarecorrect,—then what?”
He was growing angry.
“What do I know?” replied Chashke, coldly. “If they are correct, then from the looks of things, matters can’t be otherwise.”
“What do you mean,—‘can’t be otherwise?’ Am I, then, to do just like all the other bosses?”
“Who’s telling you to become a boss?”
He looked at her in astonishment.
“Well, what are you staring at? Keep on working as you’ve done up to now. Don’t take it into your head to run a factory....”
“There’s talk for you!”
“Certainly!”
Seething with fury, he left Chashke.
Such ideas she could take into her head!
Chyenkeknew that Drabkin had run off to Chashke, so when he returned home she was ready to welcome him. “Well? So you’ve been to your sweetheart, have you?”
But his countenance was so dark and sinister that she began to doubt whether he really had been to Chashke. If he had been there, she thought, he had probably met with a frigid reception. And if this was so, she was sure he would talk otherwise now.
She cautioned him sternly not to make any scenes and not to give cause for tongue-wagging and people’s laughter.
“What a madness to fall into a man’s head! Why, folks would run after us in the street! Really! Who? What? When? To go simply crazy and slave away for our employés! Then what do I need the whole business for? I may as well not run a factory altogether!”
The last words recalled to his mind Chashke’s advice. Only—that was sheer nonsense.... Neither of the women knew what she was talking about. He would do as he pleased. He would ask advice of nobody.
Chyenke continued:
“To-morrow, you tell your workingmen that if they’re willing to work under the same conditions as they’ve known hitherto, they may come here ready for business. If not, let them be off in the best of health. We don’t need them. Such bargains may be picked up any day!”
“I’m not asking you what to tell them,” he retorted coldly, stretching himself out on the sofa.
Chyenke scowled at him. She was out of breath. What could she do now? Shriek, weep, or throw the shears she was holding at his head, or her own? She threw the shears upon the floor, sprang up from her seat and began to pace about the room. She could hold back from shrieking. She knew that ultimatelyshe would win out. But she felt an intense desire to wreak vengeance upon him in some way. She would have been delighted to—stick a few needles into him....
She lay down on the bed. Her head seethed with the most confused thoughts,—how best to avenge herself upon that man. The first decision she reached was to lie just as she was, fully dressed, all night long on the unmade bed.
And he lay in a daze, unable to think. In his dream he spoke and fought with the whole world. There came back to him old, half-forgotten scenes of his early life, scenes in the various shops where he had been employed, Chashke.... “No,—such ideas she could take into her head!” A vast shop appeared before him, containing an army of employés, and he was the owner—and his heart began to throb more loudly.
Chyenke had long before stopped thinking; her heart, however, from time to time, contracted with the bitterness of her unsated desire for revenge. She arose from the bed, preparedit for the night, undressed, and lay down again. She did not preparehisbed. But soon it began to annoy her that he should lie as he did and not go to sleep.
“Why are you letting the lamp burn? Is oil so cheap?” she asked, in no friendly tones.
He did not move.
This vexed her keenly. Her heart was again ready to burst, and she burned with a desire to make him feel her resentment. But she could think of nothing. She turned her face to the wall, lay with eyes open, thinking, thinking how she would heap upon him all the evil in the world, and how she would contradict him in every wish he expressed.
The next moment she sprang up hastily from bed,—ran over to the table and put out the lamp.
“Lie in darkness!” she scowled sharply, crawling back into bed.
He did not move.
“What do I care if he lies there like that?” she thought. “May he never get up again!”
Yet she was vexed to death.
She jumped up and in the dark began to make his bed. She worked angrily, jerking the sheet, tossing the pillow and pulling the blanket violently.
He remained upon the sofa in the same position as before, motionless.
He lay in thought, thus taking his revenge. Aha! He would not go to bed! Not he! He knew that she was boiling with rage. Let her learn a lesson!
Was he, then, to work like a horse and yet have no say in the business, not to be able to do as he thought best?... No,hewas boss now, and let them all go to perdition!...
But he knew that Chyenke would not hesitate to create the most fearful scenes, and he felt that he would be unable to win out. In such a case he would break with Chyenke altogether,—get a divorce. His temples began to throb violently and his heart-beats sounded like hammer-blows. Let her pound her head against the wall with her money, her shop andthe whole business! He would marry Chashke and live the kind of life he preferred: a quiet, peaceful, honest existence. They loved each other so! How on earth had he ever married the other woman! Such folly!...
But he was suddenly overcome with a feeling of dejection. His heart became heavy. Poverty. Two corpses dancing. Again he would have to become a workingman and endure the oppression of employers. How much did Chashke earn, anyway? Next to nothing. And the old woman would be on his hands.... A fine old lady, he must admit. And she liked him. And yet ... he sighed deeply.
He already had quite a sum of money. Almost an even thousand roubles.
A strange warmth pervaded his being.
He had a good deal of work, too. He could really start a large factory, and in time——
He fairly lost his breath. He really had a wonderful opportunity to attain great wealth,—here was a chance to work wonders. He—with such a capital and a reputation like his, and withan industrious worker like Chyenke. For she was truly a wonderful worker. As capable as the strongest of men.
And, he must confess, she was certainly good-looking. A genuine beauty, far prettier than when she was a girl. Much better looking than Chashke. For a fleeting moment he felt that this thought insulted Chashke and shamed him, but his fatigued brain continued to think confusedly.
Chyenke loved him, too,—ever so much. Despite everything she had made his bed! Ha-ha-ha!...
And to tell the truth, all of them were right. “You child, you, wages will cost you practically twice as much as another, and your men will accomplish during the day only half as much as elsewhere! Well, smarty!... Then your goods will cost you four times as much....” Uncle Jonah’s words and the Gemara sing-song echoed in his ears. Yet somehow or other he could not grasp the figures. Just why would hisgoods cost him four times as much, rather than twice?
“But it seems to me the reckoning is correct,” Chashke’s words returned to him.
He would try to figure it out for himself. He concentrated his mind. Their wages would be ... no, not twice as much as the regular rate. He was not so foolish as all that, even if he had never learned accounting. He would give them merely a slight advance over current wages. Well,—and they would accomplish, during the day—why only half as much? The idea! Only half as much! “Well, smarty! Then your goods ...” echoed Uncle Jonah’s words once more. So then, how much dearer would his goods cost him? He was anxious to know, and furrowed his forehead.... “Even as the shepherd watches over his flock....” A snatch of a New Year’s prayer began to hum in his ears. But he dismissed the tune and continued his calculations. His drowsiness overcame him—he could not figure it out:
“... Seems to me the reckoning is correct...” came Chashke’s words again to his mind.
He was already falling asleep, but he banished rest. He must think things out.
But what could he do? The reckoning was correct. “Who’s telling you to become a boss?” Bah! “She’s a big fool, is Chashke.... At times she speaks the most arrant nonsense,” he corrected himself. He had merely been a trifle too hasty with his employés; he should have thought it over before accosting them. But he had made no contract with them—he had simply made a mistake. But just the same they would work under the best of conditions. He would never speak a harsh word to them!...
There. Now he would go to sleep. The rest of the matter he would think out the following day. He would undress and go to bed. And should he make up with Chyenke as he passed her? He would come quietly up to her, embrace her and give her a kiss. Such a beautiful wifey! And so industrious! Such a fiery woman! Something drew him irresistibly towards her. But he controlled himself. He didnot quite know what he would do the next day. And again, he had a strong feeling that he need not yet surrender....
He became deeply depressed. He longed for Chyenke. He wanted to call her by her name, to go to her—and fell asleep upon the sofa with the thought that his employés would work under the very best conditions.
“Ha! He did it, just to spite me! He lay all night on the sofa!... For my part may you lie there forever!”
These were Chyenke’s first words when she opened her eyes next morning and beheld her husband upon the sofa.
Drabkin was about to reply with words of affection. He felt like playing with her. He still experienced the powerful attraction of the night before. Yet he wished to remain angry still. He simply could not relinquish the idea that in his shop the workers would enjoy entirely different conditions. He made no reply to Chyenke’s words and became sullen.
It seemed to him that he could not alter his promise to the workingmen, who were to come that morning. He decided to leave the house, so as not to be in when they came. Let Chyenke do as she pleased. His hands would be clean. He began to feel a keen displeasure that things should not be as he desired, and somewhere in the recesses of his mind arose the thought that he ought to throw up the whole business. But that was a futile notion. The wisest thing, he thought, was not to be in when the workingmen came. He dressed hurriedly and left.
“Where are you going?”
“Where I need to go.”
But Chyenke took no offence. She understood his idea and rejoiced.
“Aha! My fine statesman!” she spoke triumphantly, shaking her head, after he had shut the door behind him.
Soon the workingmen arrived one after the other. Chyenke held herself somewhat aloof, not even looking at them and feigning to search for something.
“Where is Drabkin?”
“Gone out!” she mumbled in reply. “What is it?”
“We’ve come ready to work. He hired us. Didn’t he tell you anything about it?”
“You’ve come ready to work?” she suddenly scowled, raising her voice and filling it with all the venom of her anger. “Fine folks you are! I tell you! Found a fool and.... What do you think? Found an easy-mark, didn’t you? You ought to be ashamed of yourselves even to mention such conditions. Why, it’s downright robbery! What do you take us for,—millionaires? Do you think we’re rolling in roubles? Where are we going to get the money to pay you such wages?” ... She was now screaming. “They found a fool and turned his head! With him everything is right. Whatever you tell him, he lets you have your way. If another fellow happened along at the same time and told him to give away all he had, he would have done so. Does he stop to consider? Does he care a jot? You were foolish not to ask himfour times as much as you did, as wages for sitting in his shop and looking at him!... Bah! Upon my word!...”
“What’s all this screeching about?” asked one of the men with an ironic smile. “You don’t want us? You don’t have to! We’ve had work up to now and we won’t go around idle now. We didn’t come asking him for work, either. He came to us!...”
“Suppose he did! Is that any reason for trying to skin him?” replied Chyenke indignantly. “You came to the right place.... Do you think you’ve got another fool here?”
“If we’re given, why shouldn’t we take?”
“That’s just the trouble. You struck a fool. But, thank Heaven, I’ve a little say in the matter. If you’re willing to work at regular rates then you may start in at once. If not, suit yourselves—I’ll find plenty of hands.”
“We know nothing about all this,” insisted the men. “Drabkin told us to come to work.”
“Just for that,” cried Chyenke in fury, “I’llnot take you even for nothing. Let Drabkin take you! I am the boss here!”
For a while the workingmen eyed her with scorn, a smile of contempt upon their lips, then they turned to the door.
“I tell you, boys,” groaned one of them in jest, “you take it from me; Drabkin has it far worse with this new boss of his than he ever had it with any of his old ones!”
Chyenke simply glared daggers at the speaker and was silent.
The workingmen had not proceeded far upon their way when they noticed Drabkin. At sight of them Drabkin’s heart fell. Quickly he disappeared through a gate.
“The fellow has given us the slip!”
“Do you know what? We ought to wait for him here and give his nose a good rubbing.”
The plan was accepted. A couple of the men went into the yard and two remained on watch at the gate. Drabkin saw all this and was forced to seek refuge in a place where the noxious odours took his breath away....There he remained, but the workingmen did not move from their places.
And really, why should he be hiding from them? he thought. Had he stolen anything of theirs? Had he tricked them? Had he talked them out of taking another position? He could even pay them for that day, if they wished.
There he remained, as if rooted to the spot.... A strange, strong feeling of shame held him there. Standing in that foul atmosphere, hiding from his fellow men, he felt that he was entering upon a new path, that he was becoming an altogether new Drabkin. He could not even explain to himself the exact nature of this change, just what was happening to his character, to his whole being. Several times Chashke came to his mind, with Chyenke directly behind; through his head echoed snatches of his old catch-phrases,—but all this, somehow or other, like old faces, old echoes, things from long ago....
And he stood there as if rooted to the spot.
But this must come to an end. He resolvedto come forth from his place of concealment. With a cough, he opened the door, and began, with a serious countenance, to button his coat. He lowered his glance to the ground, as if deeply absorbed in thought. His hat, to be sure, was somewhat crooked on his head. He thought that if he did not look at them he might succeed in passing them by unnoticed. At any rate, let them believe that he was profoundly preoccupied.
The workingmen came forward to meet him. He raised his eyes exactly in time to encounter their glances. A sweet smile curled on his lips—he pretended to have noticed them for the first time.
“What kept you in there so long?”
“Where?... When?... Oh, in there?... So so.... My stomach....”
“Your stomach! You scamp! We understand your tricks. You were hiding!”
“Hiding?... What do you mean?... From whom? From whom need I hide? Of whom need I be afraid?” replied Drabkin.
“See here. What did we agree to yesterday?” began one of the men heatedly.
“Yes, that’s just what I wanted to talk over with you,” began Drabkin in a friendly manner. “I’m afraid I’ll have to take it all back. My wife got after me yesterday, and all her relatives too, and.... Oh!... I had a day of it.... Oh!...” He shrugged his shoulders and waved his arms, giving his hearers to understand what a terrible day it had been. “They made me out to be crazy. You should have heard! In a word, gentlemen, I must take it all back.”
Once again he repeated to them what a terrible day he had gone through. He spoke genially and with genuine regret. He did not wish to have his word lose its value in the eyes of his former companions, and, most of all, he feared their sharp tongues, their pitiless sarcasm. The men looked at him with scorn, not believing a word he said. Nor did he escape their gibes.
“‘Exploiters, bloodsuckers ...’” they mimicked.“How does it strike you now? Scamp, you! Devil take you.... ‘Exploiters, bloodsuckers, cut-purses’” ... the workingmen taunted as they left.
And these words cut him to the quick. They were his own words. He could say nothing in retort. He felt that he himself was not yet an exploiter or a bloodsucker, but he could not for the life of him bring the words to his tongue at that moment. And something vexed him so keenly. He was filled with a desire to understand, to grasp just what ailed him: he was, it seemed, the same Drabkin as yesterday and the day before, and yet not the same. The old time in which he had been a workingman seemed to be veiled as by a cloud; it was far, far in the past. And before the approaching future he felt ashamed—yet under his bosom there was a strange warmth, and as soon as he felt that warmth he forgot everything else: old times, the disappointed workingmen, their gibes and all evil, troublesome thoughts.