Yama (The Pit) Part 51

She turned to the little table upon which the telephone apparatus was standing, and rang:

"Central--18-35 please ... Thank you ... h.e.l.lo! ... Ask Ernst Andreievich to the telephone ... The artiste Rovinskaya ... Thank you ... h.e.l.lo! ... Is this you, Ernst Andreievich? Very well, very well, but now it isn't a matter of little hands. Are you free? ... Drop the nonsense! ... The matter is serious. Couldn't you come up to me for a quarter of an hour? ...No, no ... Yes ... Only as a kind and a clever man. You slander yourself ... Well, that's splendid, really ... Well, I am not especially well-dressed, but I have a justification--a fearful headache. No, a lady, a girl ... You will see for yourself, come as soon as possible ... Thanks! Au revior! ..."

"He will come right away," said Rovinskaya, hanging up the receiver.

"He is a charming and awfully clever man. Everything is possible to him, even the almost impossible to man ... But in the meantime ...

pardon me--your name?"

Tamara was abashed, but then smiled at herself:

"Oh, it isn't worth your disturbing yourself, Ellena Victorovna! Mon nomme de guerre is Tamara but just so--Anastasia Nikolaevna. It's all the same--call me even Tamara ... I am more used to it..."

"Tamara! ... That is so beautiful! ... So now, Mile. Tamara, perhaps you will not refuse to breakfast with me? Perhaps Ryazanov will also do so with us..."

"I have no time, forgive me."

"That's a great pity! ... I hope, some other time ... But, perhaps you smoke," and she moved toward her a gold case, adorned with an enormous letter E out of the same emeralds she adored.

Ryazanov came very soon.

Tamara, who had not examined him properly on that evening, was struck by his appearance. Tall of stature, almost of an athletic build, with a broad brow, like Beethoven's, tangled with artistically negligent black, grizzled hair; with the large fleshy mouth of the pa.s.sionate orator; with clear, expressive, clever, mocking eyes--he had such an appearance as catches one's eyes among thousands--the appearance of a vanquisher of souls and a conqueror of hearts; deeply ambitious, not yet oversated with life; still fiery in love and never retreating before a beautiful indiscretion ... "If fate had not broken me up so,"

reflected Tamara, watching his movements with enjoyment, "then here's a man to whom I'd throw my life; jestingly, with delight, with a smile, as a plucked rose is thrown to the beloved..."

Ryazanov kissed Rovinskaya's hand, then with unconstrained simplicity exchanged greetings with Tamara and said:

"We are acquainted even from that mad evening, when you dumbfounded all of us with your knowledge of the French language, and when you spoke.

That which you said was, between us, paradoxical; but then, how it was said! ... To this day I remember the tone of your voice, so warm, expressive ... And so, Ellena Victorovna," he turned to Rovinskaya again, sitting down on a small, low chair without a back, "in what can I be of use to you? I am at your disposal."

Rovinskaya, with a languid air, again applied the tips of her fingers to her temples.

"Ah, really, I am so upset, my dear Ryazanov," said she, intentionally extinguishing the sparkle of her magnificent eyes, "and then, my miserable head ... May I trouble you to pa.s.s me the pyramidon what-not from that table ... Let Mile. Tamara tell you everything ... I can not, I am not able to ... This is so horrible! ..."

Tamara briefly, lucidly, narrated to Ryazanov all the sad history of Jennka's death; recalled also about the card left with Jennie; and also how the deceased had reverently preserved this card; and--in pa.s.sing--about his promise to help in case of need.

"Of course, of course!" exclaimed Ryanzanov, when she had finished; and at once began pacing the room back and forth with big steps, ruffling and tossing back his picturesque hair through habit. "You are performing a magnificent, sincere, comradely action! That is good! ...

That is very good! ... I am yours ... You say--a permit for the funeral ... Hm ... G.o.d grant me memory!..."

He rubbed his forehead with his palm.

"Hm ... hm ... If I'm not mistaken--Monocanon, rule one hundred seventy ... one hundred seventy ... eight ... Pardon me, I think I remember it by heart ... Pardon me! ... Yes, so! 'If a man slayeth himself, he shall not be chanted over, nor shall a ma.s.s be said for him, unless he were greatly astonied, that is, to wit, out of his mind'... Hm ... See St. Timothy Alexandrine ... And so, my dear miss, the first thing ...

You say, that she was taken down from the noose by your doctor--i.e., the official city doctor ... His name? ..."

"Klimenko."

"It seems I've met him somewheres ... All right ... Who is the district inspector in your precinct station?"

"Kerbesh."

"Aha, I know ... Such a strong, virile fellow, with a red beard in a fan ... Yes?"

"Yes, that is he."

"I know him very well! There, now, is somebody that a sentence to hard labour is hankering after ... Some ten times he fell into my hands; and always, the skunk, gave me the slip somehow. Slippery, just like an eel-pout ... We will have to slip him a little present. Well, now! And then the anatomical theatre ... When do you want to bury her?"

"Really, I don't know ... I would like to do it as soon as possible ...

if possible, to-day."

"Hm ... To-day ... I don't vouch for it--we will hardly manage it ...

But here is my memorandum book. Well, take even this page, where are my friends under the letter T--just write the very same way: Tamara, and your address. In two hours I will give you an answer. Does that suit you? But I repeat again, that probably you will have to postpone the burial till to-morrow ... Then--pardon my unceremoniousness--is money needed, perhaps?"

"No, thank you!" refused Tamara. "I have money. Thanks for your interest! ... It's time for me to be going. I thank you with all my heart, Ellen Victorovna! ..."

"Then expect it in two hours," repeated Ryazanov, escorting her to the door.

Tamara did not at once ride away to the house. She turned into a little coffee-house on Catholicheskaya Street on the way. There Senka the Depot was waiting for her--a gay fellow with the appearance of a handsome Tzigan; not black--but blue-haired; black-eyed, with yellow whites; resolute and daring in his work; the pride of local thieves--a great celebrity in their world, the first leader of experience, and a constant, all-night gamester.

He stretched out his hand to her, without getting up. But in the way in which he so carefully, with a certain force, seated her in her place could be seen a broad, good-natured endearment.

"How do you do, Tamarochka! Haven't seen you in a long time--I grew weary ... Do you want coffee?"

"No! Business first ... To-morrow we bury Jennka ... She hanged herself..." "Yes, I read it in a newspaper," carelessly drawled out Senka through his teeth. "What's the odds? ..."

"Get fifty roubles for me at once."

"Tamarochka, my sweetheart--I haven't a kopeck! ..."

"I'm telling you--get them!" ordered Tamara, imperiously, but without getting angry.

"Oh, my Lord! ... Yours, now, I didn't touch, like I promised; but then, it's Sunday ... The savings banks are closed..."

"Let them! ... Hock the savings book! In general, it's up to you!"

"Why do you need this, my dearie?"

"Isn't it all the same to you, you fool? ... For the funeral."

"Oh! Well, all right then!" sighed Senka. "Then I'd best bring it to you myself in the evening ... Right, Tamarochka? ... It's so very hard for me to stand it without you! Oh, my dearie, how I'd kiss and kiss you; I wouldn't let you close your eyes! ... Shan't I come? ..."

"No, no! ... You do as I ask you, Senechka ... Give in to me. But you mustn't come--I'm housekeeper now."

"Well, what d'you know about that! ..." drawled out the astonished Senka and even whistled.

"Yes. And don't you come to me in the meantime. But afterwards, afterwards, sweetheart, whatever you desire ... There will be an end to everything soon!"

"Oh, if you wouldn't make me suffer so! Wind things up as soon as you can!"

"And I will wind 'em up! Wait one little week more, dearie! Did you get the powders?"

"The powders are a trifle!" discontentedly answered Senka. "And it isn't powders at all, but pills."