Yama, Aleksandr Kuprin [grave mercy TXT] 📗

you’re free. We tell the client that you’re having your periods, and, should he start grumbling, we show him the printed police order where, among other things, this ailment also is foresightedly mentioned. But such a favour we extend only to girls who are preeminently the pride and ornament of the house.”

“I shall try to⁠ ⁠… merit such a gracious condescension.”

“And that’s excellent,” Emma Edwardovna majestically nodded her head. “But permit me to ask you something else⁠—what has brought you to us? A desire for making easy money? Or desperation with life? Or are you doing this out of revenge for somebody? Or, finally, out of a madcap curiosity?”

“Ah, Madame⁠—all these motives are for me mere trifles,” answered the visitor decisively. “I’ll tell you the reason in secret. It’s a simple one: it is a perpetual, insatiable desire for man. But not merely always the same man, but an ever new one. Rest assured⁠—this is not sexual psychopathy. The majority of men are the same way about women. But when one lives in society, where one is known by hundreds of people, it’s difficult to satisfy such a capricious demand. To have a love affair, a long, protracted, hampering introduction is necessary; then a farcical act of a fall under compulsion; then the pivotal point of the affair, which with every day becomes more and more flat and tedious; then comes the unavoidable but listless and always complicated finale, with jealousy, reproaches, threats, and⁠—the devil take it!⁠—with inevitable tears; whereas I don’t at all know how to cry⁠—it’s always he who weeps, and threatens to commit suicide. And lo! you have the long awaited, theatrical breaking off, or the secret flight. Faugh! How vulgar! This, then, is why I’ve come to you. In your place things are simpler and more varied. True, I’ve certain apprehensions in regard to disease.⁠ ⁠…”

“Do not perturb yourself. There are far less chances of becoming infected in our place than in the city. And besides, I shall give you certain instructions.”

And she added in a businesslike tone:

“I’ll tell you the truth: I’ve taken a liking to you. You have the makings of an exceptional star boarder in you. And so⁠—go and think over your decision for twenty-four hours. A change of heart, perhaps? But tomorrow, at four in the afternoon, come again. I’ll present you to our honoured mistress. There is only one agreement: never set up for yourself a steady lover on the side⁠—and it would be best if even among the guests you do not favour any particular one. Turn their heads⁠—and that’s all.”

“To me, that’s the most agreeable command. You’ll see⁠—you’ll be satisfied with me.”

“I hope the satisfaction will be mutual.”

“But permit me one little word more, my dear⁠ ⁠…”

“Emma Edwardovna.”

“My dear and respected Emma Edwardovna. That in which I have confessed to you⁠—that is, my obstinate longing for males ever new⁠—will, I hope, remain a secret between the two of us.”

“O, a secret of the grave! Both for you and for me it is important and advantageous. And so, till tomorrow⁠—if you don’t change your mind.”

“Not for anything!”

On the next day this woman moved in as a steady boarder in the house of ill-fame belonging to Anna Markovna, whom she also pleased with her easy deference. Isaiah Savvich alone eyed her askance at first:

“She’s one of the learned ones, nobly-born,” he would say. “Never any good or use has come of the gentry, nor ever will. And when it comes to work, they’re rather sparing, can’t bear much; the least little thing, and they get sick right off.” But he soon became used to her and stopped grousing.

The new girl took for herself the name of Magda⁠—a diminutive of Magdalen.

At first her mates, her seniors in point of service, attempted to torment and bully Magda, making fun of her, perpetrating small unpleasantnesses, indulging in pointed little digs. Thus, always and everywhere, are novices subject to humiliations and made the butt of jokes⁠—in institutions, gymnasia, military schools, soldiers’ companies, and jails. An everyday custom.

But there was in the gaze and the voice of Magda a certain incomprehensible, calm power, which made the affronts powerless and vapid. It never came to serious quarrels between her mates and herself. Besides that, she was always gently, but unsubmissively and untoadyingly, yielding. But it was this same power which put up a barrier against any closer intimacy with her. The final upshot was that, without any friends, without any enemies, she, by degrees, took her own place in this curious microcosmos. It must be admitted that she was even respected for her constant readiness to help, to accommodate, to treat, to make loans. But the interest in her disappeared⁠—and, perhaps, it may never have even existed. It was just as though they had forgotten about her, even though they saw her every hour. Tamara alone would drop in occasionally on Magda, perch on her bed, chat with her for ten or fifteen minutes, and go away dissatisfied.

“You’re some sort of an inanimate being, Magda,” she would say. “Neither fish, flesh, nor good red herring. You have huckleberry jelly instead of a soul!”

Emma Edwardovna was faithful to her word: she had betrayed to none the sexual mystery of Magda. But by degrees she, too, became possessed with a serious perplexity.

Yes, Magda enjoyed success; she was frequently chosen. She made an impression, and was inconceivably attractive. Not infrequently the fattest of the swells, the most finicky of Geewhatawads, the ultra-refined of the visitors, would turn their high attention upon her.

But, strangely⁠—although all sang her praises, almost no one addressed himself to her for a second time. “What incongruous thing have we here?” reasoned to herself Emma Edwardovna⁠—this great connoisseur of bordello psychology. “Can’t understand a thing. She’s handsome, and she’s clever, and she’s a good talker, and has a good personality, and she knows how to make the freiers lay out heavy sugar⁠—yet her success is always cut short.”

She attempted to question certain guests, with whom she was on