With the arrival of Horizon (however, God knows how he was called:
Gogolevich, Gidalevich, Okunev, Rosmitalsky), in a word, with the
arrival of this man everything changed on Yamskaya Street. Enormous
shufflings commenced. From Treppel girls were transferred to Anna
Markovna, from Anna Markovna into a rouble establishment, and from the
rouble establishment into a half-rouble one. There were no promotions:
only demotions. At each change of place Horizon earned from five to a
hundred roubles. Verily, he was possessed of an energy equal,
approximately, to the waterfall of Imatra! Sitting in the daytime at
Anna Markovna’s, he was saying, squinting from the smoke of the
cigarette, and swinging one leg crossed over the other:
“The question is ... What do you need this same Sonka for? It’s no
place for her in a decent establishment. If we’ll float her down the
stream, then you’ll make a hundred roubles for yourself, I twenty-five
for myself. Tell me frankly, she isn’t in demand, is she, now?”
“Ah, Mr. Shatzky! You can always talk a person over! But just imagine,
I’m sorry for her. Such a nice girl ...”
Horizon pondered for a moment. He was seeking an appropriate citation
and suddenly let out:
“‘Give the falling a shove!’[11] And I’m convinced, Madam Shaibes, that
there’s no demand of any sort for her.”
[11] Horizon is quoting a Nietzscheism of Gorky’s.—TRANS.
Isaiah Savvich, a little, sickly, touchy old man, but in moments of
need very determined, supported Horizon:
“And that’s very simple. There is really no demand of any sort for her.
Think it over for yourself, Annechka; her outfit costs fifty roubles,
Mr. Shatzky will receive twenty-five roubles, fifty roubles will be
left for you and me. And, glory be to God, we have done with her! At
least, she won’t be compromising our establishment.”
In such a way Sonka the Rudder, avoiding a rouble establishment, was
transferred into a half-rouble one, where all kinds of riff-raff made
sport of the girls at their own sweet will, whole nights through. There
tremendous health and great nervous force were requisite. Sonka once
began shivering from terror, in the night, when Thekla, a mountain of a
woman of some two hundred pounds, jumped out into the yard to fulfill a
need of nature, and cried out to the housekeeper who was passing by
her:
“Housekeeper, dear! Listen—the thirty-sixth man! ... Don’t forget!”
Fortunately, Sonka was not disturbed much; even in this establishment
she was too homely. No one paid any attention to her splendid eyes, and
they took her only in those instances when there was no other at hand.
The pharmacist sought her out and came every evening to her. But
cowardice, or a special Hebrew fastidiousness, or, perhaps, even
physical aversion, would not permit him to take the girl and carry her
away with him from the house. He would sit whole nights through near
her, and, as of yore, patiently waited until she would return from a
chance guest; created scenes of jealousy for her and yet loved her
still, and, sticking in the daytime behind the counter in his drug
store and rolling some stinking pills or other, ceaselessly thought of
her and yearned.