The Doll - Bolesaw Prus [84]
‘Oh goodness me, surely you understand he went there to fight, Grossmutter!’ Jan interrupted crossly.
But the old lady would shake her head in amazement and mutter: ‘Der Kaffee war ja immer gut und zu Mittag hat er sich doch immer vollgegessen…Warum hat er denn das getan?…’
‘Oh, you think of nothing but coffee and dinner,’ Jan told her impatiently.
As when I spoke of the last moments and terrible death of Katz, the old lady burst into tears admittedly, for the first time since I had known her. Yet when she had wiped the tears away and set to work on her knitting again, she would whisper: ‘Merkwürdig! Der Kaffee war ja immer gut…Warum hat er denn das getan?’
Even so, today, almost every hour, I wonder the same thing about Staś Wokulski. He had a good living after his wife’s death, so why did he go to Bulgaria? He made a fortune there so he would wind up the shop; so why has he now enlarged it? He had an excellent income from the new shop, so why is he creating a new trading company? Why has he rented a huge apartment? Why has he bought a carriage and horses? Why is he striving to get into the aristocracy and avoiding tradesmen, who will never forgive him for it? And why has he concerned himself with the carter Wysocki and his brother, the railwayman? Why has he established workshops for several poor apprentices? Why is he taking care of that harlot who, although she lives at the Magdalenes, is doing his good name so much harm?
And how quick-witted he is! When I heard at the Stock Exchange of Hodl’s attempt to assassinate Emperor Wilhelm, I came back to the shop and, looking into his eyes sharply, said: ‘You know, a certain Hodl has shot at the Emperor Wilhelm…’
He, as if unconcerned, replied: ‘A madman, evidently.’
‘But,’ say I, ‘they will cut the madman’s head off.’
‘And quite rightly,’ he replied, ‘he will not live to increase the lunatic species…’
Not even a muscle quivered as he said this. I turned to stone in the face of such sang-froid.
Dear Staś, you are quick-witted, but I am not a blockhead either. I know more than you suppose, and it only pains me to see you have no confidence in me. The advice of a friend and an old soldier might protect you from more than one folly, if not from stains on your reputation…But why should I express my own views? Let events speak for me.
Early in May we moved into the new store, which occupies five huge rooms. In the first, to the left, are Russian textiles: calico, cretonnes, silks and velvets. The same textiles occupy half the second, and oddments of apparel the other half: hats, collars, ties, umbrellas. In the front room are the most elegant goods: bronzes, majolicaware, crystals, ivory. The next room, to the right, holds toys, wood and metal merchandise, and in the last room, to the right, are rubber and leather goods.
I arranged it this way myself; I do not know if I did it properly, but, as God is my witness, I meant well. Then I asked Staś Wokulski his views: but instead of advising me, he merely shrugged and smiled as if to say: ‘What does it have to do with me?’
Strange man! A plan of genius comes into his head, he carries it out in a general way, but does not care in the least for the details. He had the shop moved, made it a centre for trade in Russian textiles and foreign haberdashery; he organised the entire administration. But since this was done, he has never interfered in the shop; instead, he pays calls on great gentlefolk, or drives in his carriage to the Łazienki park, or disappears somewhere without trace, appearing in the shop for only a few hours each day. In addition, he is absent-minded, irritable, as if he were waiting for something or afraid of something.
But