Yama, Aleksandr Kuprin [grave mercy TXT] 📗

“What sort of friend?”

“Such a little good-looker! An attractive little brunet⁠ ⁠… No, but you’d better ask⁠—where did I see him?”

“Well, where?” Prokhor Ivanovich comes to a stop for a minute.

“And here’s where: nailed over there, on the fifth shelf with old hats, where we keep all dead cats.”

“Scat! You darn fool!”

Niura laughs shrilly over all Yama, and throws herself down on the sill, kicking her legs in high black stockings. Afterward, having ceased laughing, she all of a sudden makes round astonished eyes and says in a whisper:

“But do you know, girlie⁠—why, he cut a woman’s throat the year before last⁠—that same Prokhor. Honest to God!”

“Is that so? Did she die?”

“No, she didn’t. She got by,” says Niura, as though with regret. “But just the same she lay for two months in the Alexandrovskaya Hospital. The doctors said, that if it were only this teeny-weeny bit higher⁠—then it would have been all over. Bye-bye!”

“Well, what did he do that to her for?”

“How should I know? Maybe she hid money from him or wasn’t true to him. He was her sweetie⁠—her pimp.”

“Well, and what did he get for it?”

“Why, nothing. There was no evidence of any kind. There had been a free-for-all mix-up. About a hundred people were fighting. She also told the police that she had no suspicions of any sort. But Prokhor himself boasted afterwards: ‘I,’ says he, ‘didn’t do for Dunka that time, but I’ll finish her off another time. She,’ says he, ‘won’t get by my hands. I’m going to give her the works.’ ”

A shiver runs all the way down Liuba’s back.

“They’re desperate fellows, these pimps!” she pronounces quietly, with horror in her voice.

“Something terrible! I, you know, played at love with our Simeon for a whole year. Such a Herod, the skunk! I didn’t have a whole spot on me. I always went about in black and blue marks. And it wasn’t for any reason at all, but just simply so⁠—he’d go in the morning into a room with me, lock himself in, and start in to torture me. He’d wrench my arms, pinch my breasts, grab my throat and begin to strangle me. Or else he’d be kissing, kissing, and then he’d bite the lips so that the blood would just spurt out⁠ ⁠… I’d start crying⁠—but that’s all he was looking for. Then he’d just pounce an me like a beast⁠—simply shivering all over. And he’d take all my money away⁠—well, now, to the very last little copper. There wasn’t anything to buy a pack of butts with. He’s stingy, this here Simeon, that’s what, always into the bankbook with it, always putting it away into the bankbook⁠ ⁠… Says when he gets a thousand roubles together⁠—he’ll go into a monastery.”

“Go on!”

“Honest to God. You look into his little room: the twenty-four hours round, day and night, the little holy lamp burns before the images. He’s very strong for God⁠ ⁠… Only I think that he’s that way because there’s heavy sins upon him. He’s a murderer.”

“What are you saying?”

“Oh, let’s drop talking about him, Liubochka. Well, let’s go on further:

“I’ll go to the drug store, buy me some poison,
And I will poison then meself,”

Niura starts off in a very high, thin voice.

Jennie walks back and forth in the room, with arms akimbo, swaying as she walks, and looking at herself in all the mirrors. She has on a short orange satin dress, with straight deep pleats in the skirt, which vacillates evenly to the left and right from the movement of her hips. Little Manka, a passionate lover of card games, ready to play from morning to morning, without stopping, is playing away at “sixty-six” with Pasha, during which both women, for convenience in dealing, have left an empty chair between them, while they gather their tricks into their skirts, spread out between their knees. Manka has on a brown, very modest dress, with black apron and pleated black bib; this dress is very becoming to her dainty, fair little head and small stature; it makes her younger and gives her the appearance of a high-school undergraduate.

Her partner Pasha is a very queer and unhappy girl. She should have been, long ago, not in a house of ill-fame, but in a psychiatric ward, because of an excruciating nervous malady, which compels her to give herself up, frenziedly, with an unwholesome avidity, to any man whatsoever who may choose her, even the most repulsive. Her mates make sport of her and despise her somewhat for this vice, just as though for some treason to their corporate enmity toward men. Niura, with very great versimilitude, mimics her sighs, groans, outcries and passionate words, from which she can never refrain in the moments of ecstasy and which are to be heard in the neighbouring rooms through two or three partitions. There is a rumour afloat about Pasha, that she got into a brothel not at all through necessity or temptation or deception, but had gone into it her own self, voluntarily, following her horrible, insatiable instinct. But the proprietress of the house and both the housekeepers indulge Pasha in every way and encourage her insane weakness, because, thanks to it, Pasha is in constant demand and earns four, five times as much as any one of the remaining girls⁠—earns so much, that on busy gala days she is not brought out to the more drab guests at all, or else refused them under the pretext of Pasha’s illness, because the steady, paying guests are offended if they are told that the girl they know is busy with another. And of such steady guests Pasha has a multitude; many are with perfect sincerity, even though bestially, in love with her, and even not so long ago two, almost at the same time, offered to set her up: a Georgian⁠—a clerk in a store of Cakhetine wines; and some railroad agent, a very proud and very poor nobleman, with shirt cuffs