The Doll - Bolesaw Prus [50]
‘Wysocki?’ he said. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘We live here, sir, in this house,’ said the man, pointing to a low shack.
‘Why have you stopped coming for carting jobs?’ Wokulski asked.
‘How could I, sir, when my horse died at New Year?’
‘So what are you doing?’
‘Well—nothing. We spent the winter at my brother’s; he’s a guard on the Vienna railroad. But things are going badly for him, they’ve transferred him from Skierniewice to near Częstochowa. He had three acres of land at Skierniewice, and lived like a rich man, but today he’s badly off and his land is going from bad to worse without anyone to look after it.’
‘Well, but what about you yourselves?’
‘My wife does a little laundry, but for people who can’t pay much, and I…well, there it is… We’re going from bad to worse, sir—not the first, and not the last either. In Lent a man keeps up his spirits by saying “Today you’ll fast for the souls of the dead, tomorrow to commemorate Christ eating nothing, the day after in the hope that God will cure evil.” But after the holiday there won’t even be a way to explain to the children why they’re not eating… But you look poorly, sir. Evidently the time has come for us all to perish…’ the destitute man sighed.
Wokulski reflected. ‘Is your rent paid?’ he asked.
‘We haven’t any rent to pay, for they are turning us out, sir.’
‘Why on earth didn’t you come to the shop, to Rzecki?’ Wokulski asked.
‘I dared not. My horse has gone, the Jews have my cart, my coat is like a beggar’s… How could I come and bother other people?’
Wokulski produced his wallet. ‘Here,’ he said, ‘ten roubles for the holiday. Tomorrow afternoon, go to the shop and get a note for Praga. There you will choose a horse yourself from the dealers, and come for work. You will get three roubles a day from me, so you can easily repay your debt. In any case, you will manage.’
The poor man trembled as he took the money. He listened attentively to Wokulski, and the tears flowed down his lean face.
‘Did someone tell you, sir,’ he asked after a moment, ‘that things are like this with us? For someone,’ he added in a whisper, ‘sent a nun, a month back. She said I must be a loafer, and gave us paper for a sack of coal. Did you, maybe, sir…?’
‘Go home, and come to the shop tomorrow,’ Wokulski replied.
‘I will, sir,’ said the man, bowing low.
He left, but kept stopping, obviously pondering over his unexpected good fortune.
At this moment Wokulski felt a peculiar sense of foreboding.
‘Wysocki!’ he called, ‘what’s your brother’s first name?’
‘Kasper, sir,’ the man replied, running back.
‘What station does he live near?’
‘Częstochowa, sir.’
‘Go home. Maybe they’ll transfer Kasper back to Skierniewice.’
But the other man came closer, instead of going away. ‘Excuse me, sir,’ he said timidly, ‘but what if someone asks me where I got this money?’
‘Tell them it was on account from me…’
‘I understand, sir…God…may God…’
But Wokulski was no longer listening; he was walking towards the Vistula, thinking: ‘How fortunate they are, all these people whose apathy is caused merely by hunger, and who only suffer from the cold. And how easy it is to make them happy! With even my small fortune I could elevate several thousand such families. It’s unlikely, yet it is so.’
Wokulski reached the Vistula bank, and looked about in surprise. Here, occupying several acres of space, was a hill of the most hideous garbage, stinking, almost moving under the sun, while only a few dozen yards away lay the reservoirs from which Warsaw drank.
‘Here,’ he thought, ‘is the centre of all infection. What a man throws out of his house today he drinks tomorrow. Later he’s moved to the Powazki cemetery, and then again from the other side of the city he infects those of his dear ones who are still alive… A boulevard here, drains and water from the hill-top—several thousand people could be saved from death, and tens of thousands from diseases… Not much work, but an inestimable profit; nature would know how to compensate for it.’
On the side and in the ravines of the hideous hill he saw what looked like