The Doll (105 page)

One day in May, Mr Łęcki summoned him. ‘Imagine,' he said to Wokulski, ‘we have to go to Cracow. Hortensja is poorly, she wants to see Bela (I've an idea it's to do with her will), and she would certainly be pleased to make your acquaintance. Can you accompany us?'

‘At any time,' Wokulski replied. ‘When is it to be?'

‘We ought to leave today, but tomorrow will do.'

Wokulski promised to be ready on the morrow. When he said goodbye to Mr Tomasz and looked in on Izabela, he learned that Starski was in Warsaw…

‘Poor fellow,' she said, laughing, ‘the Duchess only left him two thousand a year, and ten thousand in cash. I advised him to make a good he prefers to go to Vienna, and thence very likely to Monte Carlo…I told him to travel with us. It will be gayer, don't you think?'

‘Of course,' Wokulski replied, ‘especially as we shall have a private compartment.'

‘Until tomorrow, then!'

Wokulski settled his most urgent business, reserved a drawing-room compartment to Cracow, and at about eight in the evening, having sent on his things, called at the Łęckis. The three of them had tea together, and set off for the railroad station just before ten.

‘Where can Mr Starski be?' Wokulski inquired.

‘Goodness knows,' Izabela replied, ‘perhaps he won't come at all.…He's so changeable.'

They got into the carriage, but Starski was still not there. Izabela bit her lip, glancing out of the window now and then. Finally, when the second bell had rung, Starski appeared on the platform. ‘Here we are!' cried Izabela. But as the young man didn't hear her, Wokulski hurried out and brought him into the compartment. ‘I thought you were never coming!' said Izabela.

‘I very nearly didn't,' Starski replied, greeting Tomasz, ‘I was at Krzeszowski's, and just think,
ma cousine
, that we played cards from noon to nine.'

‘You lost, of course.'

‘Of course…Good luck deserts such as I,' he added, glancing at her. Izabela blushed slightly.

The train started to move. Starski sat down at Izabela's left, and began talking to her, half in Polish, half in English, gradually more and more in English. Wokulski sat to the right of Izabela, but as he didn't want to interrupt the conversation he rose and sat down by Tomasz.

Mr Łęcki, rather poorly, put on a plaid overcoat and pulled a blanket over his knees. He ordered all the windows to be shut, and the lamps, which bothered him, shaded. He promised himself he would go to sleep, and even felt sleep coming upon him. In the meanwhile, he entered into conversation with Wokulski, and began expatiating on his sister Hortensja who had been so attached to him when young, on the court of Napoleon III who had spoken to him several times, on the politeness and the love affairs of Victor Emmanuel, and innumerable other topics.

Wokulski listened attentively as far as Pruszków. After Pruszków, the weary and monotonous voice of Tomasz began to tire him. On the other hand, Izabela's conversation in English with Starski kept coming to his ears with increasing clarity. He even caught a few sentences which interested him and he asked himself if he should not warn them that he understood English?

He was just about to rise from his seat, when he happened to glance at the window at the opposite side of the carriage and in it saw, as if in a mirror, the faint reflection of Izabela and Starski. They were sitting very close together, both were flushed, although they were talking in a light manner, as though of insignificant things. But Wokulski noticed that the indifferent tone did not correspond to the content of their talk: he even sensed that they wanted to deceive someone by this light tone. And at this moment, for the first time since he'd known Izabela, the terrible word ‘Cheat!…Cheat!…' flew through his mind. He leaned back against the wall of the compartment, looked in the glass—and listened. It seemed to him that each word Starski and Izabela uttered was falling like drops of leaden rain upon his face, head and chest. He had no thought of warning them that he could understand what they were saying, just listened—and listened.

The train was passing through Radziwiłlów, and the first phrase which caught Wokulski's attention was: ‘You may reproach him with anything,' Izabela was saying, in English, ‘he's not young or distinguished; he's far too sentimental, and sometimes a bore—but avaricious? Suffice it to say that even papa calls him over-generous.'

‘And that business with Mr K.?' Starski interposed.

‘About the race-horse? One can see you're just up from the provinces. The Baron called on us lately, and said that if ever the person we are referring to behaved like a gentleman, it was in this matter.'

‘No gentleman would let a forger go, if he hadn't had some dealings with him behind the scenes,' Starski replied with a smile.

‘How often has the Baron forgiven him?'

‘Just so—the Baron has all sorts of little sins which Mr M. knows of. You don't protect your protégé very well,
ma cousine
,' said Starski, mockingly.

Wokulski leaned hard against the wall so as not to jump up and strike Starski. But he controlled himself. ‘Everyone has the right to judge others,' he thought. ‘Besides, let's see what comes next.'

For some moments he heard only the rattle of the wheels, and noticed that the carriage was swaying. ‘I never felt a carriage sway so before,' he told himself.

‘And that medallion?' Starski mocked, ‘was that your only premarital gift? Not a very generous fiancé; he loves you like a troubadour, but…'

‘I assure you,' Izabela interrupted, ‘that he'd give me his entire fortune.'

‘Take it, cousin, and lend me a hundred thousand…By the way, have you found this miraculous piece of tin?'

‘No, I haven't, and I'm so vexed. God, if he were to find out…'

‘That you lost his metal—or that we looked for it together?' Starski whispered, pressing close to her arm.

A mist veiled Wokulski's eyes. ‘Am I losing consciousness?' he thought, grasping the strap by the window. It seemed to him the carriage was beginning to rock and that it would be derailed at any moment.

‘You're insolent, you know!' said Izabela in a stifled voice.

‘That is precisely my strength,' Starski replied.

‘For heaven's sake…He may notice…I hate you!'

‘You'll be crazy about me, for no one could hate me. Women love devils.'

Izabela moved closer to her father. Wokulski stared into the opposite window, and listened.

‘I must tell you,' she said, vexed, ‘that you won't cross the threshold of our house. If you dare…I'll tell him everything.'

Starski laughed: ‘I won't come, cousin, until you send for me, but I am sure that will happen very soon. In a week, this adoring husband will bore you and you'll want more amusing society. You'll remember your scoundrel of a cousin, who has never been serious in his life, always witty, always ready to adore you, never jealous, who can yield place to others, respect your whims…'

‘Taking your reward in other ways,' Izabela interrupted.

‘Just so! If I didn't you'd have no cause to forgive me, and could fear my reproaches.'

Without changing position he encircled her with his right arm, and pressed her hand with his left, under her cloak. ‘Yes, little cousin,' he said, ‘a woman like you isn't going to be satisfied with the daily bread of respect, or the cake of adoration…You need champagne, someone must bewilder you with cynicism…'

‘It's easy to be a cynic.'

‘But not everyone dares to be. Ask this gentleman whether it ever occurred to him that his tender prayers are worth less than my sacrilege?'

Wokulski was no longer listening to the conversation; his attention had been absorbed by another fact—the change which had suddenly started to occur within himself. If yesterday he had been told that he would be the speechless auditor of any such conversation, he wouldn't have believed it; he'd have thought that each word would kill him or drive him to frenzy. But now that it had happened, he was forced to admit that there's something worse than betrayal, disillusion and humiliation.

But—what was it? Yes: travelling by train! How the carriage was shuddering…how it was rushing along! The shuddering of the train made itself felt in his legs, lungs, heart, brain; everything inside him was shuddering, every bone, every fibre of nerve…

And this rushing onwards through limitless fields, under the enormous vault of sky! And he had to travel on, God only knows how much further…Five, perhaps even ten minutes…

What was Starski, or even Izabela? One was as bad as the other…But this railroad, this railroad…and this shuddering. He felt he would burst into tears, begin screaming, smash the window and jump out…Or worse: he felt he was going to implore Starski to save him…From what? There was a moment when he wanted to hide himself under the seat, beg the others to sit on it, and travel like that to the next station…

He shut his eyes, clenched his teeth, gripped the edge of the seat with both hands; sweat burst out on his forehead and streamed down his face, and the train shuddered and rushed along…Finally a whistle was heard, then another, and the train stopped in a station. ‘I'm saved,' Wokulski thought.

At the same moment Mr Łęcki woke up. ‘What station is this?' he asked Wokulski.

‘Skierniewice,' Izabela replied.

The conductor opened the door. Wokulski leaped up. He knocked against Tomasz, staggered against the opposite seat, tripped on the step and rushed into the buffet. ‘Vodka!' he exclaimed.

Surprised, the waitress handed him a glass. He lifted it to his lips, but felt a pressure in his throat and nausea, so put down the glass untouched.

Starski was talking to Izabela in their compartment: ‘Well, I must say, cousin,' he said, ‘that one doesn't jump out of a compartment quite so hastily, in front of ladies.'

‘Perhaps he's ill?' Izabela replied, feeling some uneasiness.

‘Not an illness, surely, that won't brook delay…Would you like me to order something?'

‘Soda water…'

Starski went into the buffet: Izabela looked out of the window. Her ill-defined uneasiness was increasing. ‘There's something the matter,' she thought, ‘how strange he looked…'

Wokulski went from the buffet to the end of the platform. He took several deep breaths, drank some water from a barrel by which a poor woman and some Jews were waiting. Slowly he came to, and on seeing the chief conductor, said: ‘My good man, find a piece of paper…'

‘What's the matter, sir?'

‘Nothing. Get a piece of paper from your office, and say at my compartment that there's a telegram for Wokulski.'

‘For you, sir?'

‘Yes.'

The conductor was extremely surprised, but went to the telegraph office. A few minutes later he emerged and, approaching the compartment in which Mr Łęcki and his daughter were seated, cried: ‘Telegram for Mr Wokulski!'

‘What's this? Show me!' exclaimed Tomasz, anxiously.

But at this moment Wokulski stopped by the conductor, took the paper, calmly opened it and pretended to read it, although it was quite dark at that spot. ‘What kind of telegram is it?' Tomasz asked him.

‘From Warsaw,' Wokulski replied, ‘I must go back.'

‘Go back?' Izabela cried, ‘is it some misfortune?'

‘No, madam. My partner has sent for me.'

‘Profit—or loss?' Tomasz whispered, leaning out of the window.

‘Huge profits,' Wokulski replied in the same manner.

‘In that case—go back,' Tomasz advised.

‘But why wait here?' Izabela cried. ‘You must wait for a train, and you'd do better to travel on with us until we meet it. We can have a few more hours together.'

‘Bela's advice is excellent,' Mr. Tomasz interposed.

‘No, sir,' Wokulski replied, ‘I prefer travelling back on an engine rather than waste a few hours.'

Izabela gazed at him, wide-eyed. At this moment she saw something entirely novel about him, and he interested her. ‘What a profound character,' she thought.

In the course of a few moments Wokulski had, for no reason, grown powerful in her eyes, while Starski seemed small and ludicrous. ‘Why is he staying? Where did that telegram come from?' she wondered, and the ill-defined uneasiness gave place to terror.

Wokulski went back to the buffet for a porter to get his things out, and met Starski.

‘What's wrong?' Starski exclaimed, staring at him in the light from the waiting-room. Wokulski seized his arm and dragged him along the platform. ‘Don't be angry at what I say, Mr Starski,' he said in a dull voice. ‘You are mistaken about yourself…There's as much of the devil in you, as there is poison in a match-head…And you have none of the qualities of champagne…Your attributes are closer to those of overripe cheese which stimulates poor digestions which a plain flavour might cause to vomit…Excuse me.'

Starski listened, dumbfounded. He didn't understand a word, yet he seemed to understand something. He began supposing he had a madman on his hands.

The second bell rang, a crowd of travellers hurried out of the buffet to the carriages. ‘And let me give you a piece of advice, Mr Starski. In taking advantages of the affections of the fair sex, traditional caution is better than more or less devilish impudence. Your boldness unmasks women. But, as women don't like being unmasked, you may lose credit with them, which would be a misfortune for both you and your pupils.'

Starski still didn't understand what this was all about. ‘If I have offended you in some way,' he said, ‘I'm ready to give you satisfaction.'

The third bell rang: ‘Gentlemen, all aboard!' cried the conductors.

‘No, sir,' said Wokulski, escorting him back to the Łęckis' compartment, ‘if I wanted satisfaction from you, you'd be dead already, without any extra formalities. It is you, rather, who have the right to demand satisfaction from me, for daring to enter the garden where you cultivate your flowers…In any case, I shall be at your disposal…You know my address?'