Chyenke knew that Drabkin had run off to Chashke, so when he returned
home she was ready to welcome him. “Well? So you’ve been to your
sweetheart, have you?”
But his countenance was so dark and sinister that she began to doubt
whether he really had been to Chashke. If he had been there, she
thought, he had probably met with a frigid reception. And if this was
so, she was sure he would talk otherwise now.
She cautioned him sternly not to make any scenes and not to give
cause for tongue-wagging and people’s laughter.
“What a madness to fall into a man’s head! Why, folks would run after
us in the street! Really! Who? What? When? To go simply crazy and
slave away for our employés! Then what do I need the whole business
for? I may as well not run a factory altogether!”
The last words recalled to his mind Chashke’s advice. Only—that was
sheer nonsense.... Neither of the women knew what she was talking
about. He would do as he pleased. He would ask advice of nobody.
Chyenke continued:
“To-morrow, you tell your workingmen that if they’re willing to work
under the same conditions as they’ve known hitherto, they may come
here ready for business. If not, let them be off in the best of
health. We don’t need them. Such bargains may be picked up any day!”
“I’m not asking you what to tell them,” he retorted coldly,
stretching himself out on the sofa.
Chyenke scowled at him. She was out of breath. What could she do now?
Shriek, weep, or throw the shears she was holding at his head, or her
own? She threw the shears upon the floor, sprang up from her seat and
began to pace about the room. She could hold back from shrieking.
She knew that ultimately she would win out. But she felt an intense
desire to wreak vengeance upon him in some way. She would have been
delighted to—stick a few needles into him....
She lay down on the bed. Her head seethed with the most confused
thoughts,—how best to avenge herself upon that man. The first
decision she reached was to lie just as she was, fully dressed, all
night long on the unmade bed.
And he lay in a daze, unable to think. In his dream he spoke
and fought with the whole world. There came back to him old,
half-forgotten scenes of his early life, scenes in the various shops
where he had been employed, Chashke.... “No,—such ideas she could
take into her head!” A vast shop appeared before him, containing an
army of employés, and he was the owner—and his heart began to throb
more loudly.
Chyenke had long before stopped thinking; her heart, however, from
time to time, contracted with the bitterness of her unsated desire
for revenge. She arose from the bed, prepared it for the night,
undressed, and lay down again. She did not prepare _his_ bed. But
soon it began to annoy her that he should lie as he did and not go to
sleep.
“Why are you letting the lamp burn? Is oil so cheap?” she asked, in
no friendly tones.
He did not move.
This vexed her keenly. Her heart was again ready to burst, and she
burned with a desire to make him feel her resentment. But she could
think of nothing. She turned her face to the wall, lay with eyes
open, thinking, thinking how she would heap upon him all the evil
in the world, and how she would contradict him in every wish he
expressed.
The next moment she sprang up hastily from bed,—ran over to the table
and put out the lamp.
“Lie in darkness!” she scowled sharply, crawling back into bed.
He did not move.
“What do I care if he lies there like that?” she thought. “May he
never get up again!”
Yet she was vexed to death.
She jumped up and in the dark began to make his bed. She worked
angrily, jerking the sheet, tossing the pillow and pulling the
blanket violently.
He remained upon the sofa in the same position as before, motionless.
He lay in thought, thus taking his revenge. Aha! He would not go to
bed! Not he! He knew that she was boiling with rage. Let her learn a
lesson!
Was he, then, to work like a horse and yet have no say in the
business, not to be able to do as he thought best?... No, _he_ was
boss now, and let them all go to perdition!...
But he knew that Chyenke would not hesitate to create the most
fearful scenes, and he felt that he would be unable to win out. In
such a case he would break with Chyenke altogether,—get a divorce.
His temples began to throb violently and his heart-beats sounded like
hammer-blows. Let her pound her head against the wall with her money,
her shop and the whole business! He would marry Chashke and live
the kind of life he preferred: a quiet, peaceful, honest existence.
They loved each other so! How on earth had he ever married the other
woman! Such folly!...
But he was suddenly overcome with a feeling of dejection. His heart
became heavy. Poverty. Two corpses dancing. Again he would have to
become a workingman and endure the oppression of employers. How much
did Chashke earn, anyway? Next to nothing. And the old woman would be
on his hands.... A fine old lady, he must admit. And she liked him.
And yet ... he sighed deeply.
He already had quite a sum of money. Almost an even thousand roubles.
A strange warmth pervaded his being.
He had a good deal of work, too. He could really start a large
factory, and in time——
He fairly lost his breath. He really had a wonderful opportunity to
attain great wealth,—here was a chance to work wonders. He—with such
a capital and a reputation like his, and with an industrious worker
like Chyenke. For she was truly a wonderful worker. As capable as the
strongest of men.
And, he must confess, she was certainly good-looking. A genuine
beauty, far prettier than when she was a girl. Much better looking
than Chashke. For a fleeting moment he felt that this thought
insulted Chashke and shamed him, but his fatigued brain continued to
think confusedly.
Chyenke loved him, too,—ever so much. Despite everything she had made
his bed! Ha-ha-ha!...
And to tell the truth, all of them were right. “You child, you, wages
will cost you practically twice as much as another, and your men
will accomplish during the day only half as much as elsewhere! Well,
smarty!... Then your goods will cost you four times as much....”
Uncle Jonah’s words and the Gemara sing-song echoed in his ears. Yet
somehow or other he could not grasp the figures. Just why would his
goods cost him four times as much, rather than twice?
“But it seems to me the reckoning is correct,” Chashke’s words
returned to him.
He would try to figure it out for himself. He concentrated his mind.
Their wages would be ... no, not twice as much as the regular rate.
He was not so foolish as all that, even if he had never learned
accounting. He would give them merely a slight advance over current
wages. Well,—and they would accomplish, during the day—why only
half as much? The idea! Only half as much! “Well, smarty! Then your
goods ...” echoed Uncle Jonah’s words once more. So then, how much
dearer would his goods cost him? He was anxious to know, and furrowed
his forehead.... “Even as the shepherd watches over his flock....”
A snatch of a New Year’s prayer began to hum in his ears. But he
dismissed the tune and continued his calculations. His drowsiness
overcame him—he could not figure it out:
“... Seems to me the reckoning is correct ...” came Chashke’s words
again to his mind.
He was already falling asleep, but he banished rest. He must think
things out.
But what could he do? The reckoning was correct. “Who’s telling you
to become a boss?” Bah! “She’s a big fool, is Chashke.... At times
she speaks the most arrant nonsense,” he corrected himself. He had
merely been a trifle too hasty with his employés; he should have
thought it over before accosting them. But he had made no contract
with them—he had simply made a mistake. But just the same they would
work under the best of conditions. He would never speak a harsh word
to them!...
There. Now he would go to sleep. The rest of the matter he would
think out the following day. He would undress and go to bed. And
should he make up with Chyenke as he passed her? He would come
quietly up to her, embrace her and give her a kiss. Such a beautiful
wifey! And so industrious! Such a fiery woman! Something drew him
irresistibly towards her. But he controlled himself. He did not
quite know what he would do the next day. And again, he had a strong
feeling that he need not yet surrender....
He became deeply depressed. He longed for Chyenke. He wanted to call
her by her name, to go to her—and fell asleep upon the sofa with the
thought that his employés would work under the very best conditions.
* * * * *
“Ha! He did it, just to spite me! He lay all night on the sofa!...
For my part may you lie there forever!”
These were Chyenke’s first words when she opened her eyes next
morning and beheld her husband upon the sofa.
Drabkin was about to reply with words of affection. He felt like
playing with her. He still experienced the powerful attraction of the
night before. Yet he wished to remain angry still. He simply could
not relinquish the idea that in his shop the workers would enjoy
entirely different conditions. He made no reply to Chyenke’s words
and became sullen.
It seemed to him that he could not alter his promise to the
workingmen, who were to come that morning. He decided to leave
the house, so as not to be in when they came. Let Chyenke do as
she pleased. His hands would be clean. He began to feel a keen
displeasure that things should not be as he desired, and somewhere in
the recesses of his mind arose the thought that he ought to throw up
the whole business. But that was a futile notion. The wisest thing,
he thought, was not to be in when the workingmen came. He dressed
hurriedly and left.
“Where are you going?”
“Where I need to go.”
But Chyenke took no offence. She understood his idea and rejoiced.
“Aha! My fine statesman!” she spoke triumphantly, shaking her head,
after he had shut the door behind him.
Soon the workingmen arrived one after the other. Chyenke held herself
somewhat aloof, not even looking at them and feigning to search for
something.
“Where is Drabkin?”
“Gone out!” she mumbled in reply. “What is it?”
“We’ve come ready to work. He hired us. Didn’t he tell you anything
about it?”
“You’ve come ready to work?” she suddenly scowled, raising her voice
and filling it with all the venom of her anger. “Fine folks you
are! I tell you! Found a fool and.... What do you think? Found an
easy-mark, didn’t you? You ought to be ashamed of yourselves even to
mention such conditions. Why, it’s downright robbery! What do you
take us for,—millionaires? Do you think we’re rolling in roubles?
Where are we going to get the money to pay you such wages?”... She
was now screaming. “They found a fool and turned his head! With him
everything is right. Whatever you tell him, he lets you have your
way. If another fellow happened along at the same time and told
him to give away all he had, he would have done so. Does he stop
to consider? Does he care a jot? You were foolish not to ask him
four times as much as you did, as wages for sitting in his shop and
looking at him!... Bah! Upon my word!...”
“What’s all this screeching about?” asked one of the men with an
ironic smile. “You don’t want us? You don’t have to! We’ve had work
up to now and we won’t go around idle now. We didn’t come asking him
for work, either. He came to us!...”
“Suppose he did! Is that any reason for trying to skin him?” replied
Chyenke indignantly. “You came to the right place.... Do you think
you’ve got another fool here?”
“If we’re given, why shouldn’t we take?”
“That’s just the trouble. You struck a fool. But, thank Heaven, I’ve
a little say in the matter. If you’re willing to work at regular
rates then you may start in at once. If not, suit yourselves—I’ll
find plenty of hands.”
“We know nothing about all this,” insisted the men. “Drabkin told us
to come to work.”
“Just for that,” cried Chyenke in fury, “I’ll not take you even for
nothing. Let Drabkin take you! I am the boss here!”
For a while the workingmen eyed her with scorn, a smile of contempt
upon their lips, then they turned to the door.
“I tell you, boys,” groaned one of them in jest, “you take it from
me; Drabkin has it far worse with this new boss of his than he ever
had it with any of his old ones!”
Chyenke simply glared daggers at the speaker and was silent.
The workingmen had not proceeded far upon their way when they
noticed Drabkin. At sight of them Drabkin’s heart fell. Quickly he
disappeared through a gate.
“The fellow has given us the slip!”
“Do you know what? We ought to wait for him here and give his nose a
good rubbing.”
The plan was accepted. A couple of the men went into the yard and two
remained on watch at the gate. Drabkin saw all this and was forced
to seek refuge in a place where the noxious odours took his breath
away.... There he remained, but the workingmen did not move from
their places.
And really, why should he be hiding from them? he thought. Had he
stolen anything of theirs? Had he tricked them? Had he talked them
out of taking another position? He could even pay them for that day,
if they wished.
There he remained, as if rooted to the spot.... A strange, strong
feeling of shame held him there. Standing in that foul atmosphere,
hiding from his fellow men, he felt that he was entering upon a new
path, that he was becoming an altogether new Drabkin. He could not
even explain to himself the exact nature of this change, just what
was happening to his character, to his whole being. Several times
Chashke came to his mind, with Chyenke directly behind; through his
head echoed snatches of his old catch-phrases,—but all this, somehow
or other, like old faces, old echoes, things from long ago....
And he stood there as if rooted to the spot.
But this must come to an end. He resolved to come forth from his
place of concealment. With a cough, he opened the door, and began,
with a serious countenance, to button his coat. He lowered his glance
to the ground, as if deeply absorbed in thought. His hat, to be sure,
was somewhat crooked on his head. He thought that if he did not look
at them he might succeed in passing them by unnoticed. At any rate,
let them believe that he was profoundly preoccupied.
The workingmen came forward to meet him. He raised his eyes exactly
in time to encounter their glances. A sweet smile curled on his
lips—he pretended to have noticed them for the first time.
“What kept you in there so long?”
“Where?... When?... Oh, in there?... So so.... My stomach....”
“Your stomach! You scamp! We understand your tricks. You were hiding!”
“Hiding?... What do you mean?... From whom? From whom need I hide? Of
whom need I be afraid?” replied Drabkin.
“See here. What did we agree to yesterday?” began one of the men
heatedly.
“Yes, that’s just what I wanted to talk over with you,” began Drabkin
in a friendly manner. “I’m afraid I’ll have to take it all back.
My wife got after me yesterday, and all her relatives too, and....
Oh!... I had a day of it.... Oh!...” He shrugged his shoulders and
waved his arms, giving his hearers to understand what a terrible day
it had been. “They made me out to be crazy. You should have heard! In
a word, gentlemen, I must take it all back.”
Once again he repeated to them what a terrible day he had gone
through. He spoke genially and with genuine regret. He did not wish
to have his word lose its value in the eyes of his former companions,
and, most of all, he feared their sharp tongues, their pitiless
sarcasm. The men looked at him with scorn, not believing a word he
said. Nor did he escape their gibes.
“‘Exploiters, bloodsuckers ...’” they mimicked. “How does it strike
you now? Scamp, you! Devil take you.... ‘Exploiters, bloodsuckers,
cut-purses’” ... the workingmen taunted as they left.
And these words cut him to the quick. They were his own words. He
could say nothing in retort. He felt that he himself was not yet an
exploiter or a bloodsucker, but he could not for the life of him
bring the words to his tongue at that moment. And something vexed him
so keenly. He was filled with a desire to understand, to grasp just
what ailed him: he was, it seemed, the same Drabkin as yesterday and
the day before, and yet not the same. The old time in which he had
been a workingman seemed to be veiled as by a cloud; it was far, far
in the past. And before the approaching future he felt ashamed—yet
under his bosom there was a strange warmth, and as soon as he felt
that warmth he forgot everything else: old times, the disappointed
workingmen, their gibes and all evil, troublesome thoughts.