The Doll - Bolesaw Prus [45]
At this moment Rzecki tiptoed over to him and whispered: ‘That Mraczewski is splendid, isn’t he? He knows how to talk to women!’
‘Like an impertinent barber,’ said Wokulski, without looking up.
‘Our customers have made him so,’ said the old clerk, but when he saw he was interrupting his master, he retired. Wokulski sank into a brown study again. He glanced imperceptibly at Mraczewski and suddenly noticed that the young man had something peculiar in his face.
‘Yes,’ he thought, ‘he is insufferably stupid and that is no doubt why women like him.’
He wanted to laugh both at the looks Izabela had given the handsome young man and at his own delusions, which had left him so suddenly.
Then he shuddered: he heard the name of Izabela and noticed there were no customers in the shop.
‘Well, today you didn’t even have to conceal your devotion,’ said Klein to Mraczewski, with a dismal smile.
‘The way she looked at me, oh my!’ Mraczewski sighed, one hand on his heart, the other twisting his moustache. ‘I am positive,’ he said, ‘that in a day or two I’ll get a scented note. Then — the first rendezvous, then “for your sake I’ll break the rules I’ve been brought up in”, and then “now you despise me?” Beforehand it is all very delightful, but later on a man has trouble with ’em …’
‘What are you talking about?’ Lisiecki interrupted. ‘We know your conquests: they are all called Matilda and you impress them with a pork chop and glass of beer.’
‘The Matildas are for every day, ladies for holidays. But Bela will be the greatest holiday of all. I give you my word that no woman has ever made such an impression on me … And how keen she was on me!’
The door slammed and a grey-haired gentleman entered: he asked for a watch-guard, but shouted and banged his stick so fiercely that one would have thought he wanted to buy up all the trinkets in the shop.
Wokulski listened to Mraczewski’s boasting but did not move. He felt as if a burden had fallen upon his head and shoulders.
‘All in all, it is no concern of mine,’ he whispered.
After the grey-haired gentleman, a lady came in for a parasol, then a middle-aged man for a hat and a young man who wanted a cigar-case, followed by three young ladies, one of whom asked for a pair of Szok’s gloves, and only Szok’s, for she wore no others.
Wokulski put aside the ledger, rose slowly and reached for his hat, then went towards the door. He was out of breath and his head was reeling.
Ignacy stopped him.
‘Are you going out? Perhaps you’ll glance into the other shop,’ he said.
‘No, I’m tired,’ Wokulski replied, without looking at him.
When he had gone, Lisiecki nudged Rzecki.
‘The old man looks as if he’s on his last legs,’ he whispered.
‘Well,’ said Ignacy, ‘organising that deal with Moscow was not a mere trifle. That’s obvious.’
‘What is he going into that for?’
‘To increase our wages,’ replied Ignacy sternly.
‘Then I hope he organises a hundred business deals, even with Irkutsk, if he puts our wages up every year,’ said Lisiecki. ‘I won’t quarrel with that. But anyhow I think he’s devilishly changed, particularly today. The Jews,’ he added, ‘when they get an inkling of what he’s up to, they’ll give him a licking.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘The Jews, I say! … They all keep together and won’t let any Wokulski get in their way, for he’s no Jew, not even a convert.’
‘Wokulski is making connections with the nobility,’ Ignacy replied, ‘and that is where the money is.’
‘Who knows which is worse — the Jews or the nobility?’ put in Klein and raised his eyebrows in a very lamentable manner.
VIII
Meditations
IN THE STREET, Wokulski stood on the pavement as if wondering which way to go. He was not drawn in any particular direction. Not until he happened to glance to the right, at his recently finished shop, in front of which people were already stopping, did he turn away with distaste and go to the left.
‘It’s odd how little it all