The Doll (107 page)

‘Fifteen minutes…Maybe a half hour,' the railroad man answered.

Wokulski brought out his wallet, produced several hundred-rouble notes, and giving them to Wysocki, said: ‘Mind…yesterday I was drunk. Tell no one what happened here. Take this…For your children…'

The railroad man kissed his hand. ‘I thought you had lost everything, sir, and that was why…' he said.

‘You are right,' Wokulski replied thoughtfully, ‘I've lost everything…except my fortune. I won't forget you, although…I'd rather be dead.'

‘I thought right away, sir, that a gentleman like you wouldn't go looking for trouble, even if you lost all your money. Human wickedness was the cause.…But an end will come to that, too…God works slow, but He is just, you will see, sir.'

Wokulski got up from the ground and began walking to the station. Suddenly he turned back to Wysocki. ‘When you are in Warsaw,' he said, ‘come to me…But not a word of what happened here.'

‘I won't say a word, so help me God,' Wysocki replied, and he took off his cap.

‘But a second time,' Wokulski added, putting a hand on his arm, ‘a second time…If you meet another man…You understand me? If you meet another man, don't save him…When a man wishes to stand before God's judgement with his injuries, don't stop him! Don't!'

T
HE POLITICAL
situation grows increasingly serious. Now we have two coalitions. Russia and Turkey on one side, Germany, Austria and England on the other. And if this is so, then it means that a war may break out at any moment, during which important, very important questions will be resolved.

But will there really be a war? For we always like to delude ourselves. This time yes, without fail. Lisiecki tells me that I predict war each year and have never been right. Pardon me, but he's a fool…It was one thing in those years, another today.

I read in the papers, for example, that in Italy Garibaldi is agitating against Austria. Why is he agitating? Because he expects a great war. And that's not all, for a few days later I heard that General Turr is entreating Garibaldi, calling Heaven to witness, not to make trouble for the Italians…

What does it mean?…It means, translated into common parlance: ‘You, Italians, make no move, for if Austria wins she will in any case give you Trieste. But if she loses by your fault, you will get nothing…'

These are grave omens, this campaigning of Joe Garibaldi's and these reassurances of Turr's. Joe is campaigning, for he sees war around the corner, and Turr appeases for he sees further profit.

But will war break out so soon? At the end of June or in July?…An inexperienced politician might think so, but not I. For the Germans would not start a war without securing themselves against France.

And how, then, will they secure themselves?…Szprott says there is no way to do it, but I see that there is, and a very simple way at that. Oh, Bismarck's a wily bird, I'm beginning to like him!…For why did Germany and Austria drag England into their alliance?…Obviously to entice France and persuade her into an alliance. This will be done in the following way:

The young Napoleon, Lulu, serves in the English army and is fighting the Zulus in Africa like his grandfather, Napoleon the Great. When the English end the war, they will make little Napoleon a general and will address the French thus:

My dear people! Here you have Bonaparte who fought in Africa and there covered himself in eternal glory like his grandfather. Make him then your emperor, like his grandfather, and we will negotiate Alsace and Lorraine away from the Germans. You'll have to pay them a few billions, but that's better than waging another war which will cost ten billion and which would be precarious for you…

The French will, naturally, make Lulu their emperor, take back their land, pay, enter into an alliance with Germany, and then Bismarck, having all that money, will perform his tricks!…

Oh, Bismarck's a clever devil and if someone's to do it, only he can pull off such a plan. I felt ages ago that here was a real old fox, and I had a weakness for him, though I masked it…A proper rogue!…He's wed to a Puttkamerow; and it's well known that the Puttkamerows are related to Mickiewicz. What's more, apparently he's passionately fond of the Poles, and even advised the son of the heir to the throne to learn Polish…

Well, if there is no war this year…then I will have a story to tell Lisiecki about hot air! He, poor fool, thinks that political intelligence depends on believing in nothing. Rubbish!…Politics depends on the combinations which emerge from the state of affairs.

So, long live Napoleon IV!…For though no one thinks of him today, I am still sure that in this hurly-burly he will play the main role. And if he is able to get down to business, then he will not only regain Alsace and Lorraine for free, but will even push the borders of France to the Rhine with complete success. As long as Bismarck doesn't realise too soon and become aware that using a Bonaparte is the same thing as harnessing a lion to a barrow. It even seems to me that in this one question Bismarck will miscalculate. And, to tell the truth, I'll not grieve for him, for I never trusted him.

Somehow, my health isn't what it should be. I won't say that anything ails me, but there it is…I can't do much walking, I've no appetite, I don't even feel very much like writing.

In the store, I have hardly anything to do, for Szlangbaum rules there, and I remain only to deal with Staś's affairs. By October Szlangbaum will have paid us off entirely. I shall not be poor, for honest Staś assured me fifteen hundred a year for life; but when a man thinks that soon he will not mean anything in the store, that he won't have the rights to anything…

Life isn't worth living…If it weren't for Staś and young Napoleon, this earth is sometimes so painful to me that I could do away with myself… Who knows, my old colleague Katz, that you didn't act for the best? True, you have no hopes, but you don't fear disappointments either. I won't say that I do, for after all, neither Wokulski nor Bonaparte … But, all the same …

How tired I am; already it's hard for me even to write. I'd gladly travel somewhere … Good God, for twenty years I haven't been beyond the Warsaw toll-gates! And sometimes I have a great yearning to visit Hungary once more before I die … Perhaps I'd find the bones of my comrades on those former battlefields. Ah, Katz! Do you remember the smoke, the bullets, the signals? How green the grass was, and how the sun shone!

No help for it, I must take a journey, see mountains and forests, bathe in the sun and in the air of the wide plains, and begin a new life. Perhaps I'll even move to some place in the provinces near Mrs Stawska, for what else is left to a retired clerk?

This Szlangbaum is an odd fellow; I'd never have thought, when I knew him poor, that he'd turn up his nose so. Already, I see, he has made the acquaintance — through Maruszewicz — of barons, through the barons — of counts, though he hasn't yet been able to reach the Prince, who is polite to the Jews, but keeps them at a distance.

And when the likes of Szlangbaum turns up his nose, there's an outcry in town against the Jews. Whenever I drop in for a beer, someone always catches hold of me and scolds me because Staś sold the store to Jews. The councillor complains that the Jews are depriving him of a third of his pension; Szprott affirms the Jews have wrecked his business; Lisiecki weeps, because Szlangbaum has given him notice as of midsummer, but Klein keeps silent.

Already they're beginning to write against the Jews in the newspapers, but what is still odder is that even Dr Szuman, although himself a Jew, lately had the following conversation with me: ‘You'll see, sir, that in a few years there will be trouble with the Jews.'

‘Allow me,' say I, ‘but you yourself praised them recently.'

‘I did, because they're a race of genius, but with vile characters. Imagine, sir, that the Szlangbaums, old and young, wanted to cheat me, so …'

‘Hm,' I thought to myself, ‘you're beginning to turn against 'em, now they've defrauded you.' And, to tell the truth, I quite lost my liking for Szuman.

And what don't they say about Wokulski! A dreamer, an idealist, a romantic … Perhaps because he never did anything mean.

When I told Klein of my conversation with Szuman, my skinny colleague replied: ‘He says there will be trouble with the Jews in a few years? Set his mind at ease, sir, it will come sooner.'

‘Good God!' say I, ‘why?'

‘Because we know them well, even though they are flirting with us,' Klein replied. ‘They're sly! But they have miscalculated. We know what they are capable of, if they had the strength.'

I regarded Klein as a very progressive man, perhaps even too much so, but now I think he's a great reactionary. Besides, what does that ‘we' and ‘us' mean?

Yet this is supposed to be the age which followed the eighteenth century, which inscribed on its banners: Freedom, Equality, Fraternity! What did I fight against the Austrians for, in the devil's name? What did my comrades die for? Jokes! Premonitions! The Emperor Napoleon IV will remake everything. Then Szlangbaum will stop being arrogant, and Szuman stop boasting he's a Jew, and Klein won't threaten them.

These times are not far off, for even Staś Wokulski … Oh, how tired I am … I must go away somewhere.

I'm not so old as to have to think of death; but, my God, when they take fish out of water, even the youngest and healthiest must die, since it lacks its own element … Goodness knows whether I haven't become just such a fish out of water; Szlangbaum has already acquired power in the store, and, in order to demonstrate his authority, has sacked the porter and accountant simply because they didn't show him enough respect. When I spoke up for the poor devils, he replied angrily: ‘Look how they treat me, sir — and how they treat Wokulski! They used not to bow so low to him, but every movement, every look made it obvious they'd have jumped into the fire for him.'

‘So you, Mr Szlangbaum, would like them to jump into the fire for you?'

‘Of course. After all, they eat my bread, they profit by me; I pay their wages.'

I thought that Lisiecki, who had turned livid on hearing this nonsense, would box his ears for him. However, he controlled himself and merely asked: ‘And do you know, sir, why we'd jump into the fire for Wokulski?'

‘Because he has more money,' Szlangbaum replied.

‘No, sir. Because he has something you haven't got, and never will have,' said Lisiecki, striking himself on the chest.

Szlangbaum went as red as a vampire. ‘What is it?' he cried. ‘What haven't I got? We cannot work together, Mr Lisiecki … You insult my religion!'

I seized Lisiecki by the arm and drew him behind the cupboards. All the gentlemen were laughing at the sight of Szlangbaum … Only Zięba (he alone is staying on in the store) flared up and cried: ‘The boss is right! One shouldn't make fun of a man's religion, for that is a sacred thing. Where's freedom of conscience? Where's progress? Civilisation? Emancipation?'

‘Obsequious little man,' Klein muttered, then said into my ear: ‘Isn't Szuman right to say they are asking for trouble? You saw what he was like when he first came here, sir, and what he's like today?'

Of course, I scolded Klein, for what right has he to alarm his fellow citizens? However, I cannot conceal from myself that Szlangbaum has changed greatly within the course of a year. Previously he was mild, today he's arrogant and contemptuous; previously he kept silent when an injury was done him, today he quarrels for no reason. Previously he called himself a Pole, today he flaunts his Jewishness. Previously he even believed in nobility and disinterestedness, but now he talks of nothing but money and social contacts. It's bad!

For all this, he is humble to the customers and the counts, and would even lick the barons' boots. But he is a real hippopotamus toward his subordinates; he keeps flaring up and treading on people's toes. It isn't nice … All the same, the councillor, Szprott, Klein and Lisiecki have no right to threaten him with trouble.

So what do I now signify in the store, alongside a dragon like this? When I want to do the accounts, he watches me over my shoulder; if I give an order, he at once repeats it in a loud voice. I am being increasingly edged out of the shop. To customers he keeps saying: ‘My friend Wokulski … My friend Baron Krzeszowski … My clerk Rzecki …' though when we are alone, he calls me ‘Dear old Rzecki'.

I have a few times given him to understand, in the most delicate manner, that these affectionate terms give me no pleasure. But he, poor devil, didn't even realise it; however, I am in the habit of waiting a long time before I insult anyone. Lisiecki does it on the spot, so Szlangbaum respects him.

In his own way, Szuman was right when he saw that we and our ancestors only thought of how to squander money, while they and theirs of how to make it. In this respect, they would already be in the vanguard of mankind, if human values were only based on money … But what's all this to me?

As I haven't much to do in the store, I think more and more often of a trip to Hungary. Not to have seen a cornfield or forest in twenty years … Terrible! I began applying for a passport; I thought it would take a month. Meanwhile, Wirski set about it and — hey presto! — he got my passport in four days. I was almost alarmed.

No help for it, I must leave for a few weeks at least. I thought that preparations for a trip would take me some time, but not at all … Wirski interfered again, one day he bought me a travelling trunk, on the next he packed my things, and said: ‘Be off with you!'

I almost grew angry. Why the devil do they want to get rid of me? Out of spite, I ordered to have my things unpacked, and covered the trunk with a carpet, for it vexes me. Yet, all the same, I'd like to go somewhere … somewhere …