VIII
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.