The Doll (38 page)

‘You insulted a lady,' Wokulski answered quietly.

The Baron took a step back: ‘
Ah, c'est ça
…' he said, ‘I understand. I apologise once more and, as for that, know what I must do.'

‘And pray forgive me, Baron,' Wokulski rejoined.

‘It is nothing…don't mention it…never mind,' said the Baron, shaking his hand, ‘the disfigurement will pass, and as for the tooth…Where is my tooth, doctor? Please wrap it up in a bit of paper…As for my tooth, I should have had false ones long ago. You would scarcely believe, Mr Wokulski, what a state my teeth are in.'

Much pleased, they all parted. The Baron was surprised that a man in trade should be such a good shot, the would-be Englishman looked more than ever like a dummy, and the Egyptologist began observing the clouds again. In the other party, Wokulski was thoughtful, Rzecki delighted by the spirits and civility of the Baron, and only Szuman was cross. Not until their carriage had gone down the hill past the Camaldolite monastery did the doctor glance at Wokulski and mutter: ‘What savages! And to think I did not call the police about such fools…'

Three days after the strange duel, Wokulski was sitting locked in his study with a certain Mr William Collins. The servant, long intrigued by these conferences, which were held several times a week, was dusting in the next room, and from time to time would put his ear or eye to the key-hole. He could see some books on the table, his master writing in a notebook; he could hear the visitor put questions to Wokulski, who replied sometimes loudly and at once, sometimes in an undertone, shyly…But the servant could not imagine what they were talking about in this peculiar fashion, for the conversation was conducted in a foreign language: ‘It ain't German, though,' the servant muttered, ‘for in German they say “
Bitte mein Herr
,” and it ain't French neither, for they don't say “
Monsieur bonjour
”…and it ain't Hebrew neither, nor no language whatsoever, so what is it? The old man must be thinking up some first-rate speculation altogether, if he talks so the devil himself wouldn't understand him…And he's found himself a partner too…May the devil take 'em…'

The bell rang. The watchful servant withdrew on tiptoe from the study door, went noisily into the hall and after a minute returned to knock at his master's door.

‘What is it?' asked Wokulski impatiently, looking out.

‘That gent has come, what comes here,' the servant replied, and peered into the study. But apart from the notebook on the table and the red whiskers on Mr Collins's countenance, nothing of any interest met his eye.

‘Why didn't you say I am not at home?' Wokulski asked crossly.

‘I forgot,' said the servant, frowning and shrugging.

‘Ask him into the hall, you fool,' said Wokulski, and he slammed the study door.

Soon Maruszewicz appeared in the hall. He was already embarrassed, and became even more so when he saw that Wokulski received him with evident disfavour: ‘Excuse me…am I interrupting? Perhaps you have important business?'

‘I am doing nothing at the moment,' Wokulski replied sullenly, and he flushed slightly. Maruszewicz noticed this. He was certain something was going on in the apartment—perhaps a woman was there. In any case, he regained his composure, which he always possessed in the presence of embarrassed people.

‘I will take only a moment of your valuable time,' said the rundown young man more boldly, waving his cane and hat ingratiatingly.

‘Well, what is it?' said Wokulski. He sat down heavily in an armchair and indicated another to his visitor.

‘I have come to apologise, my dear sir,' said Maruszewicz affectedly, ‘because I am unable to be of any service in the auction of the Łęcki property.'

‘How do you know of the auction?' Wokulski was openly startled.

‘Can't you guess?' asked the agreeable young man with the utmost self-possession, blinking imperceptibly, for he was still not quite sure of his facts, even yet, ‘can't you guess, my dear sir? It was honest old Szlangbaum…'

Suddenly he fell silent, as if the unfinished phrase had been bitten off inside his open mouth, while his left hand holding the cane and his right hand with the hat sank to rest on the arms of his chair. Meanwhile Wokulski did not move, but fixed a clear stare upon him.

He traced the almost imperceptible shades of expression moving across Maruszewicz's features as a hunter watches startled hares running over a fallow field. He eyed the young man and thought: ‘So this is the respectable Catholic gentleman Szlangbaum is hiring for the auction, at a fee of fifteen roubles—which he advised me not to pay in advance. Aha! And when he took the eight hundred for Krzeszowski's mare he was somehow confused…Hm… And it was he who spread the news I had bought the mare…He is serving two masters: the Baron, and the Baron's wife… Yes, but he knows too much about my affairs…Szlangbaum has been careless.'

Thus thought Wokulski as he coolly eyed Maruszewicz. But the decayed young man, who was moreover very nervous, wilted under the gaze like a dove eyed by a spotted snake. First he turned a little pale, then sought to rest his weary eyes on some indifferent object, which he looked for in vain on the walls and ceiling of the room, until finally, drenched in a cold sweat, he knew his wandering gaze could not escape Wokulski's influence. It seemed to him that the sombre merchant had caught hold of his soul with grappling-irons, and there was no resisting him. So he shifted his head a few times more, then finally sank with complete surrender into Wokulski's gaze.

‘My dear sir,' he said sweetly, ‘I see I must lay all my cards on the table…So I will tell you at once…'

‘Please do not trouble, Mr Maruszewicz, I know all I need to know already.'

‘But, my dear sir, you have formed an unfavourable opinion of me, you have been misled by gossip. On my word of honour, I have the best intentions…'

‘Believe me, Mr Maruszewicz, I do not base my opinions on gossip.'

He rose from his chair and looked away, which enabled Maruszewicz to come back to his senses somewhat. The young man hastily bade Wokulski farewell, left the house and, as he ran hastily downstairs, thought: ‘Unheard of, upon my soul! A street-trader like that trying to impress me! There was a moment, I swear it, when I wanted to strike him with my cane…The impudence of the fellow, upon my soul…He is ready to think I'm afraid of him, upon my soul if he isn't! Oh God, how gravely You are punishing me for my frivolity! Wretched usurers are setting the bailiffs on me; I have a debt of honour due in a day or two, and that tradesman, that scoundrel…I'd like to know what he thinks, what he imagines about me? Nothing but that…Upon my soul, he must have killed someone, for no decent man has such a look in his eyes. Of course he almost killed Krzeszowski. Ah, the contemptible bully! He dared look at me like that—at me, for goodness sake!'

Nevertheless, he called on Wokulski again the next day, but as he did not find him in, he told the droshky to go to the store. Ignacy greeted him in the store, spreading out his hands as if putting the entire stock at his disposal. An inner voice told the old clerk, however, that this customer would not buy anything costing more than a few roubles and even then would have it charged to his account, very likely.

‘Is Mr Wokulski in?' Maruszewicz asked, without removing his hat.

‘He'll be in directly,' Ignacy replied with a low bow.

‘Directly? What does that mean?'

‘Within fifteen minutes at most,' Rzecki answered.

‘I'll wait…Have them give my driver a rouble,' said the young man, carelessly sinking into a chair. But his legs turned to water at the thought that the old clerk might refuse to give the driver a rouble. However, Rzecki obeyed the instructions, though he gave up bowing to the customer.

Wokulski entered within a few minutes. Seeing the detestable figure of the merchant fellow, Maruszewicz experienced such a variety of sensations that he hardly knew what he was saying, let alone what he was thinking. All he remembered was that Wokulski took him into the office behind the store, where the iron safe was kept, and that he told himself the feelings he experienced at the sight of Wokulski were contempt mingled with loathing. Later, he remembered that he had tried to mask these feelings with refined civility, which even in his own eyes looked more like humility.

‘What can I do for you?' Wokulski asked, when they were seated (Maruszewicz could not precisely indicate the point in time when he performed the act of taking his seat in space).

Despite this, he began, somewhat hesitantly: ‘I wanted to give you proof, my dear sir, of my goodwill…Madame the Baroness Krzeszowska, as you know, is anxious to buy the Łęcki property…Now, her husband has placed a veto on a certain part of her funds, without which the purchase cannot take place…Now…today…the Baron is in temporary difficulties…He needs…he needs a thousand roubles…he wants to effect a loan, without which…without which, d'you see, he will not be able to thwart his wife's wishes with sufficient force…'

Seeing that Wokulski was again eyeing him searchingly, Maruszewicz wiped the sweat from his forehead.

‘So the Baron needs money?'

‘Yes,' the young man replied hastily.

‘I will not give him a thousand roubles—but three, perhaps four hundred. And only against a receipt with the Baron's own signature.'

‘Four hundred?' the young man repeated automatically, and suddenly added: ‘I will bring you the Baron's receipt within an hour. Will you be here?'

‘I shall.'

Maruszewicz left the office and came back with a receipt signed by Baron Krzeszowski inside of an hour. Wokulski read the document, put it in the safe and gave Maruszewicz four hundred roubles in exchange.

‘The Baron will try as soon as possible…'

‘There is no hurry,' Wokulski replied, ‘apparently the Baron is ill?'

‘Yes…a little…He is leaving tomorrow or the day after…He will repay the money as soon as…'

Wokulski dismissed him with a very indifferent nod.

The young man quickly left the shop, forgetting to repay Rzecki the rouble for the driver. When he was in the street, he took a deep breath and began thinking: ‘Ah, the wretched tradesman! He had the impertinence to give me four hundred roubles instead of a thousand…God, how terribly You are punishing me for my frivolity…If I were to win, then upon my soul, I'd throw these four hundred roubles back into his face and the two hundred as well…God, how low I have sunk…'

He thought of waiters in various restaurants, billiard-markers and hotel porters, from whom he had extracted money in many various ways. But not one of them struck him as as hateful and contemptible as Wokulski: ‘On my word of honour,' he thought, ‘I have put myself into his hateful paws involuntarily… God, how You are punishing me for my frivolity…'

But after Maruszewicz had gone, Wokulski was very pleased: ‘He looks to me,' he thought, ‘like a scamp of the first degree and cunning into the bargain. He wanted a position with me, but found himself one spying on me, and informing others. He might make things awkward for me, were it not for those four hundred roubles he's taken, on a forged signature, I am sure. Krzeszowski, for all his eccentricity and laziness, is an honest man (can an idler be honest?…). He would never sacrifice his wife's affairs or caprices for a loan from me…'

He felt it was all very unpleasant; he leaned his head in his hands and went on brooding, his eyes closed: ‘But what am I doing? I have deliberately helped a scoundrel to commit a villainy…Were I to die today, Krzeszowski would have to repay the money to my estate. No, Maruszewicz would be sent to prison. Well, that awaits him anyhow…'

After a while, still blacker pessimism overtook him: ‘Four days ago I almost killed a man; today I have built a bridge to prison for another, and all in return for that ‘
Merci
…' of hers. Well, it was for her that I made my fortune, that I give work to several hundred people, and am increasing the country's prosperity…For what should I be, were it not for her? A small dealer in haberdashery…Whereas now all Warsaw is talking about me…A lump of coal moves a ship bearing the destinies of hundreds of people, and love drives me on…But what if it consumes me so I am reduced to a handful of ash? Oh God, what a wretched world this is…Ochocki was right: a woman is a wretched creature—she will play with things she cannot even begin to understand…'

He was so preoccupied with his painful thoughts that he did not hear the door open and rapid footsteps behind him. He did not waken until he felt the touch of someone's hand. He looked up and saw the eminent lawyer of the Prince, with a large briefcase under one arm and a solemn look on his face.

Wokulski jumped up in embarrassment, seated his visitor in a chair; the eminent lawyer then put one hand on the desk and, quickly rubbing the back of his neck with one finger, said in a low voice: ‘My dear sir…Mr Wokulski…My dear Stanisław…What is this? What are you up to? I protest…I deny it…I appeal to Mr Wokulski, a frivolous fellow—to dear Stanisław, who from being a shop-boy became a scholar, and was to reform our foreign trade for us…Stanisław—this cannot be!'

As he spoke, he rubbed the back of his neck and grimaced as if his mouth were full of quinine. Wokulski looked away: the lawyer went on: ‘My dear sir, in a word—bad news! Count Sanocki—you remember him, he was in favour of saving pennies—wishes now to withdraw entirely from the partnership. And do you know why? For two reasons: first, you enjoy yourself at the races, and second, because your horse beat his. His horse ran against your mare—and lost. The Count is extremely vexed, and keeps muttering: “Why the devil should I invest capital with him? To enable a tradesman to race against me and seize the prize from under my very nose?” I tried in vain to dissuade him,' the lawyer went on, after a pause for breath, ‘and reminded him that races are as good a business as any other, after all, and even better, since within a few days you made three hundred roubles on eight hundred; but the Count silenced me immediately. “Wokulski,” said he, “gave away all the prize money and the sum obtained for the horse to some ladies, for charity, and goodness knows how much he gave Young and Miller…”'