“Ah, Mr. Shatzky! You can always talk a
person over! But just imagine, I’m sorry
for her. Such a nice girl ...”
Horizon pondered for a moment. He was seeking
an appropriate citation and suddenly let out:
“‘Give the falling a shove!’ [Footnote:
Horizon is quoting a Nietzscheism of Gorky’s.—Trans.]
And I’m convinced, Madam Shaibes, that there’s
no demand of any sort for her.”
Isaiah Savvich, a little, sickly, touchy old man,
but in moments of need very determined, supported
Horizon:
“And that’s very simple. There is
really no demand of any sort for her. Think it
over for yourself, Annechka; her outfit costs fifty
roubles, Mr. Shatzky will receive twenty-five roubles,
fifty roubles will be left for you and me. And,
glory be to God, we have done with her! At least,
she won’t be compromising our establishment.”
In such a way Sonka the Rudder, avoiding a rouble
establishment, was transferred into a half-rouble
one, where all kinds of riff-raff made sport of the
girls at their own sweet will, whole nights through.
There tremendous health and great nervous force were
requisite. Sonka once began shivering from terror,
in the night, when Thekla, a mountain of a woman of
some two hundred pounds, jumped out into the yard
to fulfill a need of nature, and cried out to the
housekeeper who was passing by her:
“Housekeeper, dear! Listen—the
thirty-sixth man! ... Don’t forget!”
Fortunately, Sonka was not disturbed much; even in
this establishment she was too homely. No one
paid any attention to her splendid eyes, and they
took her only in those instances when there was no
other at hand. The pharmacist sought her out and
came every evening to her. But cowardice, or
a special Hebrew fastidiousness, or, perhaps, even
physical aversion, would not permit him to take the
girl and carry her away with him from the house.
He would sit whole nights through near her, and, as
of yore, patiently waited until she would return from
a chance guest; created scenes of jealousy for her
and yet loved her still, and, sticking in the daytime
behind the counter in his drug store and rolling some
stinking pills or other, ceaselessly thought of her
and yearned.
Immediately at the entrance to a suburban cabaret
an artificial flower bed shone with vari-colored lights,
with electric bulbs instead of flowers; and just such
another fiery alley of wide, half-round arches, narrowing
toward the end, led away from it into the depths of
the garden. Further on was a broad, small square,
strewn with yellow sand; to the left an open stage,
a theatre, and a shooting gallery; straight ahead
a stand for the military band (in the form of a seashell)
and little booths with flowers and beer; to the right
the long terrace of the restaurant. Electric
globes from their high masts illuminated the small
square with a pale, dead-white brightness. Against
their frosted glass, with wire nets stretched over
them, beat clouds of night moths, whose shadows—confused
and large—hovered below, on the ground.
Hungry women, too lightly, dressily, and fancifully
attired, preserving on their faces an expression of
care-free merriment or haughty, offended unapproachability,
strolled back and forth in pairs, with a walk already
tired and dragging.
