The Doll - Bolesaw Prus [18]
The traffic was still passing by outside the window, and a crowd of people moved to and fro; from this, every now and then someone would break away to enter the shop.
‘Soap-powder, please …’ ‘Ten groszy’s worth of almonds …’ ‘Licorice for a grosz …’ ‘Grey soap …’
About midday the business at the grocery counter dropped off, but more and more customers now appeared on the right-hand side of the store, which was Jan’s province. They asked for plates, glasses, irons, coffee-mills, dolls and sometimes large greenish-blue or poppy-red umbrellas. These customers, both ladies and gentlemen, were well dressed, sat down on the chairs provided, and asked to be shown a quantity of objects, as they bargained and demanded more.
I recall that when I was tired of going to and fro and of wrapping up groceries on the left-hand side of the shop, what bothered me most on the right-hand side was the thought: what does this customer really want? And does he intend to buy anything? In the end, however, a great deal was sold: the daily income from haberdashery was several times greater than that from groceries and soap.
Old Mincel was in his shop Sundays too. In the morning he said his prayers, and about midday would tell me to come to him for a sort of lesson.
‘Sag mir — tell me: was ist das? What is this? Das ist Schublade — this is a drawer. Look and see what is in the drawer. Es ist Zimt — it is cinnamon. What is cinnamon needed for? For soup, for dessert. What is cinnamon? It is bark from a certain tree. Where does the cinnamon tree grow? In India. Look at the globe — India is over here. Give me 10 groszy worth of cinnamon … O, du Spitzub! If I discipline you ten times, you will know how much cinnamon to sell for 10 groszy …’
We would go through each drawer in the shop and he would tell me the story of every article. When he was not tired, he would dictate problems to me and told me to add up the ledger or copy letters.
Mincel was a very orderly old man, who could not endure dust, and would wipe it off even the tiniest object. But he never needed to dust the canes, thanks to his Sunday lessons in accounting, geography and shop-keeping.
Within a few years we had become so used to each other that old Mincel could not do without me, and I even began to regard his canes as quite natural in family relationships. I remember I could not get over my remorse at smashing an expensive samovar, but instead of seizing a cane, old Mincel merely exclaimed: ‘What have you done, Ignacy? What have you done?’
I would sooner have felt his cane rather than hear that quavering voice again, or see his fearful look.
Weekdays, we ate our dinners in the shop, first the two young Mincels and August Katz, then my master and I. On holidays we all gathered upstairs and sat down at the same table. Every Christmas Eve Mincel would give us gifts, and his mother used to set up a Christmas tree for us (and her son) in the utmost secrecy. On the first day of each month we were all paid our wages (I got ten zloty). On this occasion, Katz, the two nephews, the servant girl and I had to declare how much he or she had saved. Not saving, or rather not putting away even a few groszy every day was as terrible a crime as stealing in the eyes of Mincel. During my time, several clerks and a number of apprentices came and went in the store, all of whom were dismissed by my master only because they saved nothing. The day on which this came to light was their last with us. Promises, vows, kissing of hands and even falling on one’s knees were of no avail. The old man did not stir from his armchair, did not look at the supplicant, only showed him the door with the single word: ‘Fort! … Fort!’ The principle of saving had already grown into a mania with him.
This good man had one fault — he hated Napoleon. He himself never mentioned Napoleon, but at the sound of that name he was seized with a kind of fury: his face grew livid, he spat and shrieked, ‘The rogue! Spitzbub! Bandit!’
On hearing such shameful words for