IV
But Drabkin married. Not Chashke, but a certain Chyenke, a girl with a dowry of five hundred roubles.
This happened to him after a terrible fit of fury against all the bosses in the world. He came to a great determination: he would himself become a boss.
“Let all trace of them be wiped off the face of the earth,—the exploiters!” he cried, running up and down the room. “Let no memory of them remain,—the vampires! May they be sown thickly and grow up sparse, the cannibals! Enough! All over! I’ll become a boss myself!...”
He became silent, but continued to pace about. He was planning.
“He’ll become a boss!” scoffed the old woman. “A bosh, you mean!”
She broke into cutting laughter. Chashke looked at her uneasily.
“For myself, in business only for myself,” he spoke, meditatively.
“Ha-ha! He’ll have to pawn his breeches,” laughed the old woman.
And Chashke transferred her uneasy look to Drabkin. She had at once begun to wonder how he was going to make even a start.
“Never mind. I’ll get money!” he assured them. “I can get ten times as many partners as I need. Everybody knows what an expert worker I am.”
“God grant it!” answered the mother, doubtfully. She had little confidence in Drabkin. But Chashke’s heart was eased of a burden. She believed that it would be easy for him to find a partner.
He, however, found something that he was not seeking. He found a bride with a dowry.
This happened just at the time when he was tiring of looking about for a partner. He was pouring out the bitterness of his heart before an old friend.
“Enough! I’ve got the right partner for you!” cried the friend. “And a partner for your whole life.”
Drabkin looked hard at him.
“Do you want to marry a girl with five hundred roubles?”
Drabkin’s heart sank within him. To descend to mere matchmaking! Five hundred roubles! Suddenly before his eyes appeared the vision of Chashke.
“The people I’m talking about are very anxious to have you,” his friend was saying. “A perfect doll of a girl! And clever at her trade,—one out of a thousand.... Hush, she’s a pocketbook maker, just like yourself.”
Drabkin was still unable to realise what it was all about, and the image of Chashke continued to hover before his eyes.
“They’re very anxious to have you,” repeated his friend. “It seems to me that the girl is head over heels in love with you. She knows you for a long time. I believe she used to work with you. Well, are you willing? Just say the word and one, two,—it’s done. I won’t ask you for any marriage-broker’s fee. I’ll ask only the honour of leading you under the canopy. Well?”
“A match?” was all Drabkin could stammer. “I’ll not listen to the idea!...”
“What? Don’t you ever intend to marry?” interrupted the other, with scorn. “Are you going to enter a monastery? Don’t be a fool, and listen to good advice. Five hundred roubles dowry, and you become a boss, with a wife that’ll be a true help to you. Don’t waste a moment thinking it over!... As true as I’m a Jew, you’ll just have to marry that girl!”
His friend was getting excited. He divulged the name of the prospective father-in-law,—Grunim the glazier—and that of the girl—Chyenke, a maiden of golden virtues, so beautiful that Drabkin, compared with her, would have to hide in the oven,—and smart? A question! Just like Bileam! As decent as God has ordained,—a virtuous child, “so may I have good fortune!”
His friend wrought with might and main,—argued, vociferated, screamed, bellowed, thundered,—and finally Drabkin had to adjourn with him to a tavern and treat to drinks. And after the first three glasses the friend ran off to the girl’s father.
“You’ll thank me as long as you live!” was his farewell to Drabkin.
Left to himself, Drabkin began to feel that the match was really a windfall. Five hundred roubles! He—with five hundred roubles! He would work miracles, overturn worlds, he—with five hundred roubles!...
And he really knew her. His friend had not told many lies. She wasn’t such a marvel, but at the same time girls like her were not to be found at every turn. Oh yes,—he recalled her perfectly. She was a trifle taller than Chashke,—a bit plumper, too, he imagined.... A blonde.... She must be quite a lively article, too ... a fiery creature....
Five hundred roubles! Why, to him that meant ... unlimited possibilities!... Five hundred roubles.... Imagine, he would.... H’m!...
He couldn’t recall exactly, but it seemed to him that she was very skilful at her work. Now wait,—at whose place was it that she and he had worked together?
He shut his eyes and tried to remember. Was it at Abraham Baer’s? Or at ... at.... Where the devil had they worked together?... No, he could not recall it. But he recalled distinctly that she was a good pocketbook-maker. And once she came into his hands he’d make an expert of her.
Chashke’s figure still kept looming before him, yet he imagined that he was thinking of Chyenke and beholding her.
When Chashke came home that evening he at once related the proposed match to her and asked her advice.
Chashke turned pale and then red.
“Oh, what a terrible headache I have to-day!” she answered, with a quiver in her voice.
Drabkin believed her headache. So did her mother.
“Probably choked with bad air,” murmured the old woman. “Over in her shop they’re all afraid they’ll freeze. Destruction seize them! I’ll take the hot water out of the oven and you’ll bathe your head and feel better.”
In this way she poured out her heart upon the heads of Chashke’s employers. For her heart was sorely embittered: all along she had looked upon Drabkin as her Chashke’s future husband.
Chashke was silent. Drabkin looked at her, waiting for a reply.
“Perhaps you know this Chyenke?” he began anew. “They say she’s a splendid girl.”
“What should I know? It looks like a good proposition. Five hundred roubles. And Chyenke, from what I know of her, is really a splendid girl. Good luck to you!”
Yet at the last words her voice trembled.
The old woman spoke nothing to spoil the match, and became enraged against Chyenke and her five hundred roubles,—against Drabkin, against Chashke, against herself and her whole life of poverty. She restrained her tears and prepared many a complaint for the Lord of the universe.
Meanwhile Drabkin was laying his plans. He spoke in a merry mood and did not notice the grief about him.
He noticed it, however, a few days later, when he entered the house in glee and announced that the betrothal was to take place the following day. Chashke turned pale, seized her breast and nearly swooned. His words died on his lips: now he understood everything.
“Chashke, what’s the matter?” he cried, in his fright, although he knew very well what was the matter. He brought her a glass of water.
The old woman danced about her daughter and Drabkin stood there, overwhelmed. Tears came to his eyes. Now, for the first time, he understood why, in the past few days, Chashke had come so often before his eyes when he spoke of the other girl. For the first time he realised whom he really needed.
He was seized with an impulse to rush over to Chashke, embrace her, throw his arms about her neck, kiss her, and swear to her that he would marry only her....
He dashed into his room in distraction, pale, agitated.
“What madness has possessed him?” asked the old woman angrily.
And Chashke began to weep even more bitterly, and pressed her breast harder than ever.