Knock, Knock, Knock and Other Stories Page 13
floor, he began to speak about the theft. But Emilie at once
interrupted him.
"Don't trouble yourself, it's all right. Auntie has just told me that
the principal things have been found." (Madame Fritsche mumbled
something to herself and went out of the room.) "And there was no need
to go to the police at all; but I can't control myself because I am
so ... You don't understand German? ... So quick, immer so rasch!
But I think no more about it ... aber auch gar nicht!"
Kuzma Vassilyevitch looked at Emilie. Her face indeed showed no trace
of care now. Everything was smiling in that pretty little face: the
eyes, fringed with almost white lashes, and the lips and the cheeks
and the chin and the dimples in the chin, and even the tip of her
turned-up nose. She went up to the little looking glass beside the
cupboard and, screwing up her eyes and humming through her teeth,
began tidying her hair. Kuzma Vassilyevitch followed her movements
intently.... He found her very charming.
VIII
"You must excuse me," she began again, turning from side to side
before the looking glass, "for having so ... brought you home with me.
Perhaps you dislike it?"
"Oh, not at all!"
"As I have told you already, I am so quick. I act first and think
afterwards, though sometimes I don't think at all.... What is your
name, Mr. Officer? May I ask you?" she added going up to him and
folding her arms.
"My name is Kuzma Vassilyevitch Yergunov."
"Yergu.... Oh, it's not a nice name! I mean it's difficult for me. I
shall call you Mr. Florestan. At Riga we had a Mr. Florestan. He sold
capital gros-de-Naples in his shop and was a handsome man, as
good-looking as you. But how broad-shouldered you are! A regular
sturdy Russian! I like the Russians.... I am a Russian myself ... my
papa was an officer. But my hands are whiter than yours!" She raised
them above her head, waved them several times in the air, so as to
drive the blood from them, and at once dropped them. "Do you see? I
wash them with Greek scented soap.... Sniff! Oh, but don't kiss
them.... I did not do it for that.... Where are you serving?"
"In the fleet, in the nineteenth Black Sea company."
"Oh, you are a sailor! Well, do you get a good salary?"
"No ... not very."
"You must be very brave. One can see it at once from your eyes. What
thick eyebrows you've got! They say you ought to grease them with lard
overnight to make them grow. But why have you no moustache?"
"It's against the regulations."
"Oh, that's not right! What's that you've got, a dagger?"
"It's a cutlass; a cutlass, so to say, is the sailor's weapon."
"Ah, a cutlass! Is it sharp? May I look?" With an effort, biting her
lip and screwing up her eyes, she drew the blade out of the scabbard
and put it to her nose.
"Oh, how blunt! I can kill you with it in a minute!"
She waved it at Kuzma Vassilyevitch. He pretended to be frightened and
laughed. She laughed too.
"Ihr habt pardon, you are pardoned," she pronounced, throwing
herself into a majestic attitude. "There, take your weapon! And how
old are you?" she asked suddenly.
"Twenty-five."
"And I am nineteen! How funny that is! Ach!" And Emilie went off into
such a ringing laugh that she threw herself back in her chair. Kuzma
Vassilyevitch did not get up from his chair and looked still more
intently at her rosy face which was quivering with laughter and he
felt more and more attracted by her.
All at once Emilie was silent and humming through her teeth, as her
habit was, went back to the looking glass.
"Can you sing, Mr. Florestan?"
"No, I have never been taught."
"Do you play on the guitar? Not that either? I can. I have a guitar
set with perlenmutter but the strings are broken. I must buy
some new ones. You will give me the money, won't you, Mr. Officer?
I'll sing you a lovely German song." She heaved a sigh and shut her
eyes. "Ah, such a lovely one! But you can dance? Not that, either?
Unmöglich! I'll teach you. The schottische and the
valse-cosaque. Tra-la-la, tra-la-la," Emilie pirouetted once or
twice. "Look at my shoes! From Warsaw. Oh, we will have some dancing,
Mr. Florestan! But what are you going to call me?"
Kuzma Vassilyevitch grinned and blushed to his ears.
"I shall call you: lovely Emilie!"
"No, no! You must call me: Mein Schätzchen, mein Zuckerpüppchen!
Repeat it after me."
"With the greatest pleasure, but I am afraid I shall find it
difficult...."
"Never mind, never mind. Say: Mein."
"Me-in."
"Zucker."
"Tsook-ker."
"Püppchen! Püppchen! Püppchen!"
"Poop ... poop.... That I can't manage. It doesn't sound nice."
"No! You must ... you must! Do you know what it means? That's the very
nicest word for a young lady in German. I'll explain it to you
afterwards. But here is auntie bringing us the samovar. Bravo! Bravo!
auntie, I will have cream with my tea.... Is there any cream?"
"So schweige doch," answered the aunt.
IX
Kuzma Vassilyevitch stayed at Madame Fritsche's till midnight. He had
not spent such a pleasant evening since his arrival at Nikolaev. It is
true that it occurred to him that it was not seemly for an officer and
a gentleman to be associating with such persons as this native of Riga
and her auntie, but Emilie was so pretty, babbled so amusingly and
bestowed such friendly looks upon him, that he dismissed his rank and
family and made up his mind for once to enjoy himself. Only one
circumstance disturbed him and left an impression that was not quite
agreeable. When his conversation with Emilie and Madame Fritsche was
in full swing, the door from the lobby opened a crack and a man's hand
in a dark cuff with three tiny silver buttons on it was stealthily
thrust in and stealthily laid a big bundle on the chair near the door.
Both ladies instantly darted to the chair and began examining the
bundle. "But these are the wrong spoons!" cried Emilie, but her aunt
nudged her with her elbow and carried away the bundle without tying up
the ends. It seemed to Kuzma Vassilyevitch that one end was spattered
with something red, like blood.
"What is it?" he asked Emilie. "Is it some more stolen things returned
to you?"
"Yes," answered Emilie, as it were, reluctantly. "Some more."
"Was it your servant found them?"
Emilie frowned.
"What servant? We haven't any servant."
"Some other man, then?"
"No men come to see us."
"But excuse me, excuse me.... I saw the cuff of a man's coat or
jacket. And, besides, this cap...."
"Men never, never come to see us," Emilie repeated emphatically. "What
did you see? You saw nothing! And that cap is mine."
"How is that?"
"Why, just that. I wear it for dressing up.... Yes, it is mine, und
Punctum."
"Who brought you the bundle, then?"
Emil
ie made no answer and, pouting, followed Madame Fritsche out of
the room. Ten minutes later she came back alone, without her aunt and
when Kuzma Vassilyevitch tried to question her again, she gazed at his
forehead, said that it was disgraceful for a gentleman to be so
inquisitive (as she said this, her face changed a little, as it were,
darkened), and taking a pack of old cards from the card table drawer,
asked him to tell fortunes for her and the king of hearts.
Kuzma Vassilyevitch laughed, took the cards, and all evil thoughts
immediately slipped out of his mind.
But they came back to him that very day. When he had got out of the
gate into the street, had said good-bye to Emilie, shouted to her for
the last time, "Adieu, Zuckerpüppchen!" a short man darted by
him and turning for a minute in his direction (it was past midnight
but the moon was shining rather brightly), displayed a lean gipsy face
with thick black eyebrows and moustache, black eyes and a hooked nose.
The man at once rushed round the corner and it struck Kuzma
Vassilyevitch that he recognised--not his face, for he had never seen
it before--but the cuff of his sleeve. Three silver buttons gleamed
distinctly in the moonlight. There was a stir of uneasy perplexity in
the soul of the prudent lieutenant; when he got home he did not light
as usual his meerschaum pipe. Though, indeed, his sudden acquaintance
with charming Emilie and the agreeable hours spent in her company
would alone have induced his agitation.
X
Whatever Kuzma Vassilyevitch's apprehensions may have been, they were
quickly dissipated and left no trace. He took to visiting the two
ladies from Riga frequently. The susceptible lieutenant was soon on
friendly terms with Emilie. At first he was ashamed of the
acquaintance and concealed his visits; later on he got over being
ashamed and no longer concealed his visits; it ended by his being more
eager to spend his time with his new friends than with anyone and
greatly preferring their society to the cheerless solitude of his own
four walls. Madame Fritsche herself no longer made the same unpleasant
impression upon him, though she still treated him morosely and
ungraciously. Persons in straitened circumstances like Madame Fritsche
particularly appreciate a liberal expenditure in their visitors, and
Kuzma Vassilyevitch was a little stingy and his presents for the most
part took the shape of raisins, walnuts, cakes.... Only once he let
himself go and presented Emilie with a light pink fichu of real French
material, and that very day she had burnt a hole in his gift with a
candle. He began to upbraid her; she fixed the fichu to the cat's
tail; he was angry; she laughed in his face. Kuzma Vassilyevitch was
forced at last to admit to himself that he had not only failed to win
the respect of the ladies from Riga, but had even failed to gain their
confidence: he was never admitted at once, without preliminary
scrutinising; he was often kept waiting; sometimes he was sent away
without the slightest ceremony and when they wanted to conceal
something from him they would converse in German in his presence.
Emilie gave him no account of her doings and replied to his questions
in an offhand way as though she had not heard them; and, worst of all,
some of the rooms in Madame Fritsche's house, which was a fairly large
one, though it looked like a hovel from the street, were never opened
to him. For all that, Kuzma Vassilyevitch did not give up his visits;
on the contrary, he paid them more and more frequently: he was seeing
living people, anyway. His vanity was gratified by Emilie's continuing
to call him Florestan, considering him exceptionally handsome and
declaring that he had eyes like a bird of paradise, "wie die Augen
eines Paradiesvogels!"
XI
One day in the very height of summer, Kuzma Vassilyevitch, who had
spent the whole morning in the sun with contractors and workmen,
dragged himself tired and exhausted to the little gate that had become
so familiar to him. He knocked and was admitted. He shambled into the
so-called drawing-room and immediately lay down on the sofa. Emilie
went up to him and mopped his wet brow with a handkerchief.
"How tired he is, poor pet! How hot he is!" she said commiseratingly.
"Good gracious! You might at least unbutton your collar. My goodness,
how your throat is pulsing!"
"I am done up, my dear," groaned Kuzma Vassilyevitch. "I've been on my
feet all the morning, in the baking sun. It's awful! I meant to go
home. But there those vipers, the contractors, would find me! While
here with you it is cool.... I believe I could have a nap."
"Well, why not? Go to sleep, my little chick; no one will disturb you
here."...
"But I am really ashamed."
"What next! Why ashamed? Go to sleep. And I'll sing you ... what do you
call it? ... I'll sing you to bye-bye, 'Schlaf, mein Kindchen,
Schlafe!'" She began singing.
"I should like a drink of water first."
"Here is a glass of water for you. Fresh as crystal! Wait, I'll put a
pillow under your head.... And here is this to keep the flies off."
She covered his face with a handkerchief.
"Thank you, my little cupid.... I'll just have a tiny doze ... that's
all."
Kuzma Vassilyevitch closed his eyes and fell asleep immediately.
"Schlaf, mein Kindchen, schlafe," sang Emilie, swaying from
side to side and softly laughing at her song and her movements.
"What a big baby I have got!" she thought. "A boy!"
XII
An hour and a half later the lieutenant awoke. He fancied in his sleep
that someone touched him, bent over him, breathed over him. He
fumbled, and pulled off the kerchief. Emilie was on her knees close
beside him; the expression of her face struck him as queer. She jumped
up at once, walked away to the window and put something away in her
pocket.
Kuzma Vassilyevitch stretched.
"I've had a good long snooze, it seems!" he observed, yawning. "Come
here, meine züsse Fräulein!"
Emilie went up to him. He sat up quickly, thrust his hand into her
pocket and took out a small pair of scissors.
"Ach, Herr Je!" Emilie could not help exclaiming.
"It's ... it's a pair of scissors?" muttered Kuzma Vassilyevitch.
"Why, of course. What did you think it was ... a pistol? Oh, how funny
you look! You're as rumpled as a pillow and your hair is all standing
up at the back.... And he doesn't laugh.... Oh, oh! And his eyes are
puffy.... Oh!"
Emilie went off into a giggle.
"Come, that's enough," muttered Kuzma Vassilyevitch, and he got up
from the sofa. "That's enough giggling about nothing. If you can't
think of anything more sensible, I'll go home.... I'll go home," he
repeated, seeing that she was still laughing.
Emilie subsided.
"Come, stay; I won't.... Only you must brush your hair."
"No, never mind.... Don't trouble. I'd better go," said Kuzma
Vassilyevitch, and he took up his cap.
Emil
ie pouted.
"Fie, how cross he is! A regular Russian! All Russians are cross. Now
he is going. Fie! Yesterday he promised me five roubles and today he
gives me nothing and goes away."
"I haven't any money on me," Kuzma Vassilyevitch muttered grumpily in
the doorway. "Good-bye."
Emilie looked after him and shook her finger.