The Doll (94 page)

He took his fur cap and left, with a brief nod. Always the eccentric.

The day passed wretchedly for me; I even made several errors in my accounts. Then, as I was thinking of closing the store, Staś appeared. He seemed to have grown thinner in the past few days. He greeted the clerks indifferently and began turning over papers on his desk. ‘Are you looking for something?' I asked.

‘Wasn't there a letter from the Prince?' he asked, without looking me in the eye.

‘I sent all the letters on to your apartment.'

‘I know, but one might have been overlooked.'

I'd sooner have had a tooth out than hear this question. So Szuman was right. Staś mortified that the Prince hasn't invited him to the ball!

When the store was closed and the gentlemen gone, Staś said: ‘What are you doing tonight? Won't you invite me in for tea?'

Of course I gladly did so, and recalled the good old days, when Staś used to spend nearly every evening at my place. How far off those times are! Today he was gloomy, I was embarrassed, and although we both had a great deal to say, neither looked the other in the eye. We even began talking about the weather, and it was not until a glass of tea in which there was a half glass of brandy, that my tongue grew slightly loose. ‘They're still saying,' I remarked, ‘that you're selling the store.'

‘I've almost sold it,' replied Wokulski.

‘To the Jews?'

He jumped up, and thrusting his hands into his pockets, began walking around the room: ‘To whom else?' he asked. ‘To those who don't buy the store when they have money, or to those who would buy it because they've got none? The store is worth some hundred and twenty thousand roubles — am I to throw it in the mud?'

‘The Jews are ousting us all, something terrible …'

‘Out of what? Positions we don't hold, or into positions we force them to take, beg them to take? None of our gentlemen will buy my store, but everyone will give a Jew money to buy it for him … and pay him a good percentage on the capital invested.'

‘Is that so?'

‘Of course it is, I know who is lending money to Szlangbaum …'

‘Is Szlangbaum buying it?'

‘Who else? Maybe Klein, Lisiecki or Zięba? They'd never get the credit or, if they did, would squander it.'

‘There's going to be trouble with the Jews,' I muttered.

‘There already has been a great deal, it's gone on for over eighteen centuries, and what's the outcome? Very noble individuals have perished in anti-Jewish persecutions, and the only ones to survive were those who could protect themselves from destruction. So now what sort of Jews do we have? Persistent, patient, sly, self-reliant, quick-witted, and commanding a mastery of the one weapon left to them — money. By wiping out everything that was good, we have produced an artificial selection and protected the worst.'

‘Have you considered, though, that when your store gets into their hands, some dozen Jews will obtain well-paid work, and a dozen of our own people will lose it?'

‘That's not my fault,' said Wokulski, irritated. ‘It's not my fault if the people with whom I have social contacts insist on my selling the store. Society will lose, that's true, but that is what society wants.'

‘And your obligations?'

‘What obligations?' he exclaimed. ‘Towards those who call me an exploiter, or to those who rob me? An obligation carried out ought to bring a man something, otherwise he's a victim, from whom no one has the right to demand anything. And I, what do I have to gain? Hatred and cheating on one hand, contempt on the other. Just tell me — is there any crime I haven't been accused of, and for what? For making a fortune, and giving subsistence to hundreds of people.'

‘You find slanderers everywhere.'

‘But nowhere to such an extent as here. Elsewhere, a parvenu like me would have enemies, but I'd also have recognition that would compensate for the injustices. But here …'

He made a gesture. I drank up another glass of tea and brandy in one gulp, to give myself courage. Staś, hearing footsteps in the passage, walked to the door. I guessed he was awaiting the Prince's invitation. My head was already whirling, so I asked: ‘And do the people for whose sake you're selling the store appreciate you any better?'

‘Suppose they do?' he asked, pondering.

‘And will they love you more than the people you are deserting?'

He hastened to me and looked me swiftly in the eye. ‘If they do?' he retorted.

‘Are you certain?'

He cast himself into an armchair. ‘How should I know?' he murmured, ‘how should I know? What's certain in this world?'

‘Has it never occurred to you,' I said with increasing boldness, ‘that you may not only be exploited and cheated, but even laughed at and despised? Tell me, have you never thought of that? Anything can happen in the world, so one should take care to avoid, if not disappointment, then at least becoming a laughing-stock. The devil take it!' I concluded, banging the table with my glass, ‘a man can make a sacrifice if he has the wherewithal, but he cannot let himself be misused.'

‘Who is misusing me?' he cried, rising.

‘All the people who don't respect you as you deserve.'

My own boldness appalled me, but Wokulski made no reply. He sat down on the sofa and clasped his hands behind his head, a sign of unusual emotion. Then he began talking about the store accounts in a completely calm voice. Towards nine, the door opened and Wokulski's butler came in. ‘Here's a letter from the Prince,' he cried.

Staś bit his lip and stretched out one hand without rising. ‘Give it to me,' he said, ‘and go to bed.'

The servant went out. Staś opened the envelope slowly, read the note — and after tearing it into several pieces — threw it into the stove.

‘What is it?' I asked.

‘An invitation to the ball tomorrow,' he replied, drily.

‘Aren't you going?'

‘I wouldn't dream of it.'

I was dumbfounded. And suddenly the most brilliant idea in the world occurred to me. ‘You know,' said I, ‘maybe we might spend the evening at Mrs Stawska's tomorrow?'

He sat up and replied with a smile: ‘Come, that wouldn't be a bad idea! A most agreeable woman, and I haven't been there for ages. We must take the opportunity to send a few toys for the little girl.'

The wall of ice which had formed between us now burst. We both regained our earlier frankness and talked of past times until midnight. On saying goodnight, Staś told me: ‘A man sometimes makes a fool of himself, but sometimes he regains his common sense. May God reward you, my old friend!'

My dear, beloved Staś! I'll marry him to Stawska even if I burst in the attempt.

On the day of the Prince's ball neither Staś nor Szlangbaum were in the store. I guessed they must be arranging the sale of our business. At any other time, an incident like this would have spoiled my mood for the entire day. But this day I didn't think once of the disappearance of our firm, and its replacement by a Jewish name-plate. What did the store matter to me, as long as Staś was happy, or had at least got out of his miseries? I must marry him off, come what may …

That morning I sent Mrs Stawska a note announcing that Wokulski and I were coming for tea that day. I ventured to add a box of toys for Helena. It included a forest with animals, a set of dolls' furniture, a little tea-set and a brass samovar. Total: 13 roubles, 60 kopeks, with packing.

I still have to think how to get around Mrs Misiewicz. Then I'll make a pair of pliers out of Grandma and the little daughter, and will so squeeze the pretty mother by the heart that she'll have to surrender before Midsummer Day. (Oh, confound it! And that husband abroad? Well, what of him, let him look after himself … Besides, for some ten thousand roubles we'll get a divorce for desertion and very likely he's dead.)

When the store closed, I went to Staś. The footman, holding a starched shirt in one hand, opened the door. Passing the bedroom, I saw a tail-coat over a chair, a waistcoat … Could it be that our visit would come to nothing?

Staś was reading an English book in his study (God alone knows what he wants with studying English! A man can marry even if he's deaf and dumb, after all.) He greeted me cordially, though not without a certain hesitation. ‘I must seize the bull by the horns,' thought I, and without putting down my cap, I said: ‘Well, come, there's no point in lingering. Let's be off, else the ladies will be going to bed.'

Wokulski laid aside the book, and pondered. ‘A nasty evening,' he said, ‘it's snowing.'

‘That won't prevent other people from going to the ball, so why should it spoil our evening?' I replied, as though I didn't know what he meant. It was as though I'd stung him. He jumped up, and ordered his great-coat. The servant, as he helped him into it, said: ‘Mind and be back right away, sir, for it's time to dress, and the barber is coming.'

‘No need,' Staś replied.

‘Surely you won't go dancing without combing your hair?'

‘I'm not going to the ball.'

The servant threw up his hands in surprise, and struck an attitude. ‘Whatever are you thinking of today!' he cried, ‘you behave as if you was wrong in the head … Mr Łęcki begged you so …'

Wokulski left the room hastily and slammed the door in the face of his impudent servant. ‘Aha,' thought I, ‘so the Prince realises Staś may not come, and sent, as it were, his father-in-law with an invitation! Szuman is right to say they won't want to let go of him, but even so, we'll get him away from you all!'

A quarter of an hour later, we were at Mrs Stawska's. The delight with which we were received! Marianna had spread clean sand in the kitchen, Mrs Misiewicz had on a silk, snuff-coloured dress, and Mrs Stawska had such fine eyes, a blush and lips that a man could have kissed such a pretty woman to death. I don't want to exaggerate, but goodness me! Staś gazed at her with great attention all evening. He didn't even have time to notice that little Helena was wearing a new scarf.

What an evening it was! How Mrs Stawska thanked us for the toys, how she sweetened Wokulski's tea for him, how she brushed him with the edge of her sleeve several times! Even today, I am sure that Staś will come here as often as possible, at first with me, then later — without.

In the middle of supper, a good or perhaps bad spirit directed Mrs Misiewicz's eyes to the
Courier
. ‘Just look, Helena,' she said to her daughter, ‘there's a ball tonight at the Prince's.'

Wokulski grew sombre and instead of gazing into Mrs Stawska's eyes, began staring at his plate. Taking courage, I remarked, not without irony: ‘Just think of all the fine company to be at such a one's as the Prince's! Costumes, refinement …'

‘Not as fine as you might suppose,' the old lady replied. ‘Often the dresses aren't paid for, and as for refinement! One thing is certain — it'll be one thing in the drawing-room with the counts and princes, but another in the cloakroom, with the poor people.'

How very apt the old lady was, with her criticism. ‘Just listen to her, Staś,' I thought, and I went on to inquire: ‘So great ladies aren't very refined in the way they treat working girls?'

‘My dear sir!' replied Mrs Misiewicz, with a wave of the hand, ‘we know one shop-girl those ladies give work to, for she is very clever and cheap. Sometimes she's in floods of tears when she comes back from them. How often she has to wait to fit a dress, to make improvements, for the bill! And their tone of voice in conversation, such rudeness, such bargaining … This shop-girl says (upon my word!) that she'd sooner deal with four Jewish women than with one great lady. Though no doubt nowadays the Jewesses have become spoiled too: when one of 'em gets rich, she starts talking nothing but French, bargaining, complaining …'

I wanted to ask if Miss Łęcka dressed with this shop-girl. But I was sorry for Staś. His face had changed so, poor devil.

After tea, Helena began setting up the toys she'd just received on the carpet, exclaiming with joy; Mrs Misiewicz and I sat by the windows (the old lady just can't keep away from those windows!), while Wokulski and Mrs Stawska installed themselves on the couch: she had some sewing, he a cigarette.

As the dear old lady began telling me with the utmost enthusiasm what an excellent county prefect her late husband had been, I didn't hear very much of what Mrs Stawska and Wokulski were saying. But it must have been interesting, for they said in low voices: ‘I saw you, madam, at the Carmelites, at the graves.'

‘And I recall you best, sir, when you came to the apartment house where we were living, last summer. And I don't know why, but it seemed to me …'

‘And the trouble there was with the passports! … Goodness knows who collected them, who he gave them back to, whose names he wrote in them …' Mrs Misiewicz was telling me.

‘Of course, as often as you please,' said Mrs Stawska, blushing.

‘And I won't be intruding?'

‘A charming couple,' I said in an undertone to Mrs Misiewicz.

She glanced at them and replied, sighing: ‘What of it, even supposing poor Ludwik is dead?'

‘Let's trust in God …'

‘That he's alive?' asked the old lady, not betraying any delight at all.

‘No, I don't mean that …'

‘Mama, I want to go to bed now,' Helena exclaimed.

Wokulski rose from the sofa and bade goodbye to both ladies. ‘Who knows,' thought I, ‘if the fish hasn't taken the bait?'

Outdoors snow was still falling: Staś accompanied me home and waited in the sledge until I'd entered the gate, I don't know why. I walked in, then paused in the passage. And only then, when the door-man had shut the gate, did I hear the bells of the departing sledge in the street. ‘So that's it, is it?' I thought. ‘Let's see where you're off to now.'