Drabkin and Chashke were considered sweethearts. “A love-affair,”
everybody would laugh. The bells rang, but it was no holiday, that
is, it was merely a rumour.
Drabkin was a handsome fellow. Of medium build, broad-shouldered,
a fair, round face framed in a little blonde beard; a medium-sized
mouth with thin, blood-red lips, above which lay a thick moustache,
a well-carved nose, a high, broad forehead and a round head covered
with long, thick, dark brown hair. His dark grey eyes sparkled
continuously. Young girls would fall in love with him at first sight.
But he paid no attention to girls. He knew very few of them and had
little to do with them. He was always absorbed in his “exploiters”;
he was not even aware of Chashke’s loving glances. He liked to talk
with her, because she sympathised with him. She understood him and
agreed with him. He could talk and talk with her forever, without
getting weary. But marriage was far from his thoughts—
Chashke, too, was a beautiful girl.
“If my Chashke should put on fine clothes,” the old woman would say,
“you couldn’t look into her face any more than you can look straight
into the sun.” Of course she exaggerated a trifle, just like a
mother, but by no means did she lie when she spoke thus. Chashke was
somewhat shorter than Drabkin; thin, with sunken cheeks and a flat
bosom. But she possessed an exquisite waist, a pretty mouth with
charming lips, a straight nose, small ears and a fair forehead. But
most beautiful of all were her long black tresses and her blue eyes.
If she had only possessed a dowry, she would have been seized upon
long before, but she did not own even a good dress. So the young
fellows hovered about her for the mere sake of her company, paid her
compliments, which she received, however, with a silent smile, and
tried to play with her hands, which she would bashfully withdraw.
She acquired a reputation as a “touch-me-not,” and the reason for
this attitude was popularly attributed to the soft spot in her heart
for Drabkin.
And she really loved him. But it seemed to her that Drabkin would
never marry. “He has no use for it.” Never had he offended her with
a word, let alone a touch. He always spoke to her only about “his
interests,” about justice and injustice,—sought the truth among folks
and failed to find it. At such times he would spurt flames, thump the
table and run madly about the room. “No,” she would tell herself. “He
will not, he should not, he must not marry!”
But suppose he _should_ marry her?... Oh, what a life would be hers!
She would work,—work ever so hard, enough for two, and he was earning
good money, besides. But she would not interfere with him in any way.
Not in the slightest. Let him remain just as he was. A precious soul,
indeed! Ah, Lord of the universe, what a happy existence they’d
lead!...
But no!... Soon children would come.... She would not be able to
work. Her mother....
“God, God in Heaven, why do you visit such punishment upon the poor!”
she would despair. He must not, he must not marry.... But what a
happy life they would lead, what a happy life!...
And she concealed her feelings from him. This was exceedingly
difficult. Oh, how she would have loved to throw her arms about him,
and press him to her tightly, ever so tightly,—press her very soul
into him,—become together with him a single being.... Her breath
would come in gasps, she would grow dizzy, and her temples would
throb with hammer blows. She hardly dared sit near him, lest he
discover what was going on in her heart. And suppose he _should_
discover?...
Suppose he should discover, and embrace her, and place his arms
about her neck, and kiss her, caress her, squeeze her!...
A strangely sweet sensation would ripple over her body, until she
began to tremble.
He was standing so close to her. She could almost feel his breath.
And she watched every movement of his, read his eyes,—perhaps....
Then she would be ashamed of herself on account of her thoughts. Such
impossibilities as came into her head! Such selfish thoughts as she
could think, when he was speaking of such lofty subjects!
It was altogether unbecoming.... Fie!