Knock, Knock, Knock and Other Stories Part 17

This new acquaintance, whom we will call Emilie, led him through a dark, damp little lobby into a fairly large but low-pitched and untidy room with a huge cupboard against the further wall and a sofa covered with American leather; above the doors and between the windows hung three portraits in oils with the paint peeling off, two representing bishops in clerical caps and one a Turk in a turban; cardboard boxes were lying about in the corners; there were chairs of different sorts and a crooked legged card table on which a man's cap was lying beside an unfinished gla.s.s of kva.s.s. Kuzma Va.s.silyevitch was followed into the room by the old woman in the red dress, whom he had noticed at the gate, and who turned out to be a very unprepossessing Jewess with sullen pig-like eyes and a grey moustache over her puffy upper lip.

Emilie indicated her to Kuzma Va.s.silyevitch and said:

"This is my aunt, Madame Fritsche."

Kuzma Va.s.silyevitch was a little surprised but thought it his duty to introduce himself. Madame Fritsche looked at him from under her brows, made no response, but asked her niece in Russian whether she would like some tea.

"Ah, yes, tea!" answered Emilie. "You will have some tea, won't you, Mr. Officer? Yes, auntie, give us some tea! But why are you standing, Mr. Officer? Sit down! Oh, how ceremonious you are! Let me take off my fichu."

When Emilie talked she continually turned her head from one side to another and jerked her shoulders; birds make similar movements when they sit on a bare branch with sunshine all round them.

Kuzma Va.s.silyevitch sank into a chair and a.s.suming a becoming air of dignity, that is, leaning on his cutla.s.s and fixing his eyes on the floor, he began to speak about the theft. But Emilie at once interrupted him.

"Don't trouble yourself, it's all right. Auntie has just told me that the princ.i.p.al things have been found." (Madame Fritsche mumbled something to herself and went out of the room.) "And there was no need to go to the police at all; but I can't control myself because I am so ... You don't understand German? ... So quick, _immer so rasch!_ But I think no more about it ... _aber auch gar nicht!_"

Kuzma Va.s.silyevitch looked at Emilie. Her face indeed showed no trace of care now. Everything was smiling in that pretty little face: the eyes, fringed with almost white lashes, and the lips and the cheeks and the chin and the dimples in the chin, and even the tip of her turned-up nose. She went up to the little looking gla.s.s beside the cupboard and, s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g up her eyes and humming through her teeth, began tidying her hair. Kuzma Va.s.silyevitch followed her movements intently.... He found her very charming.

VIII

"You must excuse me," she began again, turning from side to side before the looking gla.s.s, "for having so ... brought you home with me.

Perhaps you dislike it?"

"Oh, not at all!"

"As I have told you already, I am so quick. I act first and think afterwards, though sometimes I don't think at all.... What is your name, Mr. Officer? May I ask you?" she added going up to him and folding her arms.

"My name is Kuzma Va.s.silyevitch Yergunov."

"Yergu.... Oh, it's not a nice name! I mean it's difficult for me. I shall call you Mr. Florestan. At Riga we had a Mr. Florestan. He sold capital _gros-de-Naples_ in his shop and was a handsome man, as good-looking as you. But how broad-shouldered you are! A regular st.u.r.dy Russian! I like the Russians.... I am a Russian myself ... my papa was an officer. But my hands are whiter than yours!" She raised them above her head, waved them several times in the air, so as to drive the blood from them, and at once dropped them. "Do you see? I wash them with Greek scented soap.... Sniff! Oh, but don't kiss them.... I did not do it for that.... Where are you serving?"

"In the fleet, in the nineteenth Black Sea company."

"Oh, you are a sailor! Well, do you get a good salary?"

"No ... not very."

"You must be very brave. One can see it at once from your eyes. What thick eyebrows you've got! They say you ought to grease them with lard overnight to make them grow. But why have you no moustache?"

"It's against the regulations."

"Oh, that's not right! What's that you've got, a dagger?"

"It's a cutla.s.s; a cutla.s.s, so to say, is the sailor's weapon."

"Ah, a cutla.s.s! Is it sharp? May I look?" With an effort, biting her lip and s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g up her eyes, she drew the blade out of the scabbard and put it to her nose.

"Oh, how blunt! I can kill you with it in a minute!"

She waved it at Kuzma Va.s.silyevitch. He pretended to be frightened and laughed. She laughed too.

"_Ihr habt pardon_, you are pardoned," she p.r.o.nounced, throwing herself into a majestic att.i.tude. "There, take your weapon! And how old are you?" she asked suddenly.

"Twenty-five."

"And I am nineteen! How funny that is! Ach!" And Emilie went off into such a ringing laugh that she threw herself back in her chair. Kuzma Va.s.silyevitch did not get up from his chair and looked still more intently at her rosy face which was quivering with laughter and he felt more and more attracted by her.

All at once Emilie was silent and humming through her teeth, as her habit was, went back to the looking gla.s.s.

"Can you sing, Mr. Florestan?"

"No, I have never been taught."

"Do you play on the guitar? Not that either? I can. I have a guitar set with _perlenmutter_ but the strings are broken. I must buy some new ones. You will give me the money, won't you, Mr. Officer?

I'll sing you a lovely German song." She heaved a sigh and shut her eyes. "Ah, such a lovely one! But you can dance? Not that, either? _Unmoglich_! I'll teach you. The _schottische_ and the _valse-cosaque_. Tra-la-la, tra-la-la," Emilie pirouetted once or twice. "Look at my shoes! From Warsaw. Oh, we will have some dancing, Mr. Florestan! But what are you going to call me?"

Kuzma Va.s.silyevitch grinned and blushed to his ears.

"I shall call you: lovely Emilie!"

"No, no! You must call me: _Mein Schatzchen, mein Zuckerpuppchen_!

Repeat it after me."

"With the greatest pleasure, but I am afraid I shall find it difficult...."

"Never mind, never mind. Say: _Mein_."

"Me-in."

"_Zucker_."

"Tsook-ker."

"_Puppchen! Puppchen! Puppchen!_"

"p.o.o.p ... p.o.o.p.... That I can't manage. It doesn't sound nice."

"No! You must ... you must! Do you know what it means? That's the very nicest word for a young lady in German. I'll explain it to you afterwards. But here is auntie bringing us the samovar. Bravo! Bravo!

auntie, I will have cream with my tea.... Is there any cream?"

"_So schweige doch_," answered the aunt.

IX

Kuzma Va.s.silyevitch stayed at Madame Fritsche's till midnight. He had not spent such a pleasant evening since his arrival at Nikolaev. It is true that it occurred to him that it was not seemly for an officer and a gentleman to be a.s.sociating with such persons as this native of Riga and her auntie, but Emilie was so pretty, babbled so amusingly and bestowed such friendly looks upon him, that he dismissed his rank and family and made up his mind for once to enjoy himself. Only one circ.u.mstance disturbed him and left an impression that was not quite agreeable. When his conversation with Emilie and Madame Fritsche was in full swing, the door from the lobby opened a crack and a man's hand in a dark cuff with three tiny silver b.u.t.tons on it was stealthily thrust in and stealthily laid a big bundle on the chair near the door.

Both ladies instantly darted to the chair and began examining the bundle. "But these are the wrong spoons!" cried Emilie, but her aunt nudged her with her elbow and carried away the bundle without tying up the ends. It seemed to Kuzma Va.s.silyevitch that one end was spattered with something red, like blood.

"What is it?" he asked Emilie. "Is it some more stolen things returned to you?"

"Yes," answered Emilie, as it were, reluctantly. "Some more."