The Complete Works of Isaac Babel Reprint Edition by Isaac Babel, Nathalie Babel, Peter Constantine (96 page)

MENDEL [Walks over to the counter.]: Ryabtsov, I used to have eyes . . . listen to me, Ryabtsov, my eyes were stronger than telescopes, and what did I do with my eyes? My legs ran faster than locomotives, my legs could walk on water, and what did I do with my legs? I ran from eating slops to the outhouse, from the outhouse to eating slops. I’ve mopped floors with my face, but now I’m going to garden!

RYABTSOV: So go ahead and garden! Who’s stopping you?

A VOICE FROM THE TAVERN: Im sure there are one or two people at home who might very well stop him! They’ll step on his tail, and that’ll be that!

MENDEL: I ordered songs! Hey, you, musician! Let’s have a military tune. . . . You’re boring me to death! Come on, let’s have some life here! Come on!

[ Quavering, faltering, MIRON POPYATNIK’.? flute lets out a piercing melody. MENDEL dances, stamping his iron-shod boots.]

MITYA [ Whispering to URUSOV.]: Are you ready for Fomin, or is it early yet?

URUSOV: It’s early yet. [To the musician.] Go for it, Major!

A VOICE FROM THE TAVERN: There’s no point him going for it, the singers are here. Pyatirubel has dragged in the singers.

[The singers enter—blind men in red shirts. They bump into chairs,

waving their canes in front of them. PYATIRUBEL, the blacksmith, is leading them. He is a boisterous man, a friend of MENDEL s.]

PYATIRUBEL: I dragged these devils out of their beds. We’re not going to play, they tell me. It’s night, they tell me, night all over the world, we can’t play anymore. . . . Do you know who I am, I tell them!

MENDEL [Throws himself at the lead singer; a tall, pockmarked blind man.]: Fedya, I’m going to Bessarabia!

THE BLIND MAN [In a thick, deep bass.]: Good luck, master!

MENDEL: A song, one last song for me!

THE BLIND MAN: Shall we sing “The Glorious Sea”?

MENDEL: One last song!

THE BLIND MEN [Start tuning their guitars. They begin singing in deep bass voices.]:

“O holy Baikal—glorious sea.,

My barrel of salmon,, my ship so free!

Hey, oarsman, whip the waves to-and-fro,

For this brave man has far to go. ”

MENDEL [Hurls an empty bottle at the window. The window shatters.]:

Hit it!

PYATIRUBEL: Damn! Hes a hero, the son-of-a-bitch!

MITYA [To RYABTSOV.]: How much shall we charge for the window? RYABTSOV: That’ll be a ruble.

MITYA: Here’s a ruble.

RYABTSOV: Got it.

THE BLIND MEN [Sing.]:

“Long was I shackled in heavy chains,

Over mountains I wandered in the rains.

An old comrade helped me run,

And I survived to see the sun. ”

MENDEL [With a blow of his fist he knocks out the window frame.]: Hit it!

PYATIRUBEL: He’s Satan incarnate, the old bastard!

VOICES FROM THE TAVERN:

Go for it! Now he’s really celebrating!

What do you mean, really celebrating? For him this is normal!

It can’t be, someone must have died!

No one’s died! This is his normal celebrating!

So, what’s the reason? What’s he celebrating?

RYABTSOV: Go find the reason! With one man its money—he celebrates his wealth, with the next its lack of money—he celebrates his poverty. People are always celebrating.

[The song rings out louder and louder. The sound of the guitars reverberates against the walls, and inflames hearts. A star flickers through the broken window. The sleepy girls stand by the door and sing, propping up their breasts with their rough hands. A sailor; his big legs spread apart, sways and sings in a clear tenor.]:

“Shilka and Nerchinsk no longer scare me,

Guards in the mountains did not snare me,

By beasts of the forest I wasnt torn apart.

Henchmens bullets didnt pierce my heart.”

POTAPOVNA \Drunk and happy.]: Mendel, darling, drink with me! Lets drink to my sweet pretty daughter!

PYATIRUBEL: He punched the post office clerk in the face! That’s the way the old dog is! Then he ripped out the telegraph poles and carried them home on his back. . . .

“I walked all night and all day long.

With watchful eye through towns Iflew.

Village women gave bread to make me strong,

And village men the tobacco they grew. ”

MENDEL: Break my back, Nekhama! Pour Jewish soup into my veins!

[He throws himself onto the floor, rolls about, moans, laughs.]

VOICES FROM THE TAVERN:

He’s like an elephant. . .

IVe seen elephants cry real tears . . .

Youre lying! Elephants dont cry . . .

I tell you, IVe seen them cry real tears . . .

At the zoo once I taunted an elephant. . .

MITYA \To URUSOV.]: Are you ready for Fomin, or is it early yet? URUSOV: It’s early yet.

[The singers sing with all their might. The song thunders.

The quivering, quaking guitars play fullforce.]

“O holy Baikal—O glorious sea,

A glorious sail, my caftan fluttering free!

Hey oarsman, whip the waves to andfro,

I hear the thunder louder grow. ”

[The blind men sing the last lines with vehement, joyful, weeping voices. Finishing the song, they rise and leave as one.]

MITYA: Is that all?

THE LEAD SINGER: That’s all.

MENDEL [Jumps up.]: I want a war song! Musicians, some life!

MITYA [To URUSOV.]: Is it time for Fomin, or is it early yet?

URUSOV: It’s time.

[MITYA winks at FOMIN, who is sitting in a far corner.

FOMIN quickly walks over to MENDELs table.]

FOMIN: I wish you a pleasant evening.

URUSOV [To MENDEL.]: Now, my dear friend, this is what well do— there’s a time for work, and a time for play. [He takes out a piece of paper covered with writing.] Shall I read it out loud?

FOMIN: If you’re not in the mood to dance, then I guess you should.

URUSOV: Should I just read the final amount?

FOMIN: I am in agreement with your suggestion.

MENDEL [Stares at FOMIN and moves away.]: I ordered some songs!

FOMIN: Don’t worry, well sing, we’ll celebrate, and when it’s time to die, we’ll die!

URUSOV [Reads, rolling his xs.]: “In accordance with the aforementioned points, I cede my carting establishment, with all its assets, as itemized below, to Vasili Eliseyevich Fomin—”

PYATIRUBEL: Fomin, you clown, do you realize what horses you’re buying? These horses have carted millions of bushels of corn and half the world’s coal! With these horses you’re dragging away everything we’ve got here in Odessa!

URUSOV: “—in total, for the sum of twelve thousand rubles, of which a third is to be paid on signing, with the additional sum—”

MENDEL [Points at the TURK, serenely smoking his hookah in the corner.]: That man sitting there, he’s judging me.

PYATIRUBEL: That’s true, he’s judging you. . . . Come on, let’s drink to it! [To FOMIN.] Just watch, he’s going to kill somebody!

FOMIN: I doubt it.

RYABTSOV: You’re crazy, you fool! That man over there, that Turk, is a holy man!

POTAPOVNA: I’m daddy’s little girl.

FOMIN: Right here, Mendel, that’s where you have to sign.

POTAPOVNA [Thumps FOMIN on the chest.]: This is where he keeps his money, that’s where it is!

MENDEL: I should sign, you said? [Dragging his feet, he walks across the tavern to the TURK and sits down next to him.\ Ha, the girls I’ve had in my time, my dear fellow! The happiness I have seen! I built a house, I had sons—and the price they’re offering me for all that, my dear fellow, is twelve thousand! And then that’s that—you lie down and die!

[The TURK hows, and with his hand touches first his heart and then his forehead. MENDEL kisses him tenderly on the lips.]

FOMIN [To POTAPOVNA.]: Are you trying to make a Yenkel of me?

POTAPOVNA: He’ll sell, Vasili Eliseyevich! On my life, he’ll sell!

MENDEL [Returns to his table, shaking his head.]: How boring!

MITYA: What’s boring is that you have to pay up!

MENDEL: Go away!

MITYA: No, you have to pay!

MENDEL: I’ll kill you!

MITYA: Then you’ll pay for that too!

MENDEL [Lays his head on the table and spits. Saliva hangs from his mouth like a rubber band.]: Go away, I want to sleep. . . .

MITYA: You wont pay? Oy, I’ll kill him!

PYATIRUBEL: Hold on a minute before you start killing him! First, how much have you been swindling out of him per pint?

MITYA [Flares up.]: I’m no pushover! I’ll rip you to pieces!

[Without lifting his head, MENDEL pulls from his pocket some coins and throws them. They roll on the floor. MITYA runs after them, picking them up. A sleepy girl blows out the lamps. It is dark.

MENDEL sleeps, his head resting on the tabled

FOMIN [To POTAPOVNA.]: You couldn’t hold back, could you? Your tongue scampers like a running dog! You ruined everything!

POTAPOVNA [Wiping her tears from her deep, grimy wrinkles.]: Vasili Eliseyevich. It’s my daughter I’m sorry for!

FOMIN: You don’t know what sorrow is yet!

POTAPOVNA: The Yids have surrounded us like lice!

FOMIN: A Yid is no obstacle for a clever man.

POTAPOVNA: He will sell, Vasili Eliseyevich! He’ll swagger about a bit, but then he’ll sell!

FOMIN [Slowly, menacingly.]: But if he doesn’t sell, then I swear to you, old woman, by Jesus Christ our Lord, I will come for you and tear the skin off your back!

Scene Four

POTAPOVNA attic. POTAPOVNA is wearing a colorful new dress, and is leaning out

the window chatting with a neighbor. There is a view of the harbor and the

sparkling sea from the window. On the table is a big pile of purchases: rolls of cloth>

shoes, a silk umbrella.

NEIGHBOR’S VOICE: Come over and show off some of your new things!

POTAPOVNA: Don’t worry, I’ll be over to see you!

NEIGHBOR’S VOICE: Here we’ve been selling chickens in the same market row for nineteen years now, and suddenly—no more Potapovna!

POTAPOVNA: Maybe I won’t have to stay chained to those damn chickens for the rest of my life after all. It looks now like I won’t have to suffer all my life.

NEIGHBOR’S VOICE: It looks like you won’t.

POTAPOVNA: I bet people can’t believe my luck!

NEIGHBOR’S VOICE: No, they can’t! Everyone would want to have your luck! You could bake it and sell it by the pound!

POTAPOVNA [Laughs, her large body shaking]: Not everyone, you see, has a pretty daughter.

NEIGHBOR’S VOICE: They say, though, your daughter’s a bit too skinny.

POTAPOVNA: Don’t worry, dear! The nearer to the bone, the sweeter the meat!

NEIGHBOR’S VOICE: They say his sons are scheming against you.

POTAPOVNA: The girl will outweigh the sons.

NEIGHBOR’S VOICE: That’s what I say, too!

POTAPOVNA: It’s not like an old man will just drop a young girl like that.

NEIGHBOR’S VOICE: I hear he’ll buy you some orchards.

POTAPOVNA: So, what else are people saying?

NEIGHBOR’S VOICE: Nothing, really, they’re just prattling. I can’t make heads or tails of it!

POTAPOVNA: I can! I definitely can! What are they saying about the linen?

NEIGHBOR’S VOICE: They say the old man set you up with fifteen yards.

POTAPOVNA: Thirty-five yards!

NEIGHBOR’S VOICE: A pair of shoes . . .

POTAPOVNA: Three pair!

NEIGHBOR’S VOICE: When old men fall in love—-it’s deadly!

POTAPOVNA: Yes, it looks like we won’t have to stay chained to those damn chickens. . . .

NEIGHBOR’S VOICE: I guess you won’t! Come on, dress up and hop over here to show off some of your new things.

POTAPOVNA: I’ll be over in a bit! See you later, dear!

NEIGHBOR’S VOICE: See you later, dear!

[POTAPOVNA leaves the window. She waddles about the room humming,

and opens the closet. She climbs onto a chair and reaches up to the top shelf,

where there is a big bottle of liquor. She drinks, and then eats a cream puff.

MENDEL, festively dressed, enters the room with MARUSIA.]

MARUSIA [Boisterously.]: Look where our little birdie has hopped up to! Mama, run over to Moseyka, will you?

POTAPOVNA [Climbing down from the chair.]: What do you want me to get?

MARUSIA: Some watermelons, and a bottle of wine, and half a dozen smoked mackerel. ... [To MENDEL.] Give her a ruble!

POTAPOVNA: A ruble won’t be enough.

MARUSIA: Don’t try that on me! It’ll be enough, there’ll even be change!

POTAPOVNA: A ruble really won’t be enough.

MARUSIA: It will! Come back in an hour. [She shoves her mother out the door, slams it shut, and turns the key.]

POTAPOVNA’S VOICE: I’ll be sitting by the gate! If you need me, call!

MARUSIA: Fine! [She throws her hat onto the table, shakes out her golden hair, and starts plaiting it into a braid. In a ringing voicefull of strength and joy, she resumes her interrupted story.] So we arrive at the cemetery, we look—it’s one o’clock and the funeral is over. No one’s there, only people kissing in the bushes. My godfather s grave was so pretty, you wouldn’t believe it! So I took out the booze, the

Madeira you gave me, two bottles of it, and ran to get Father Yoann. You know Father Yoann—he’s the little old man with little blue eyes.

[MENDEL is watching MARUSIA adoringly. He is trembling and mumbles something in answer—what, is unclear]

MARUSIA: Father Yoann sang the psalms for the dead, then I poured him a glass of Madeira, wiped the glass with a towel, and he drank.

I poured him a second. [MARUSIA has finished braiding her hair; and fluffs the end of her braid. She sits down on the bed., and unties the laces of her fashionable yellow boots.\ Xenia, in the meantime, is acting like she’s forgotten she’s at her father’s grave. She’s putting on airs, acting like a mouse in a bag of wheat, all made up and everything, ogling her fiance, Sergei Ivanovich, who all the while is making me one sandwich after another! So to spite her I say: Excuse me, Sergei Ivanovich, shouldn’t you be paying at least a little attention to your fiancee, Xenia Matveyevna? Though I said it straight out, it went in one ear and out the other! So we all drank the Madeira you gave me. [MARUSIA takes off her boots and her stockings. She walks barefoot to the window and pulls the curtain shut.] My godmother couldn’t stop crying, but then got pink in the face like a little girl, so pretty, you wouldn’t believe it! I was drinking too—so I say to Sergei Ivanovich [MARUSIA uncovers the bed.]: C’mon, lets all go to Langeron beach for a swim! And he says: Okay, let’s go! [MARUSIA laughs and struggles to take off her dress, which is too tight] And I bet you Xenia’s back is covered with pimples, and she hasn’t washed her ^ feet in three years—you should have heard some of the things she called me! [MARUSIA is hidden from her head to her waist by the dress she is trying to struggle out of] Ha, she tells me, you’re just acting up, all snooty, hankering after the old man’s money—ha, they won’t let you get your hands on it! [MARUSIA pulls off the dress and jumps into the bed.] So I say to her—you know what, Xenia, darling—I say to her—let sleeping dogs lie! Sergei Ivanovich hears us and dies laughing! [She stretches out her exquisite, bare, girlish arm to MENDEL, and pulls him toward her. She takes off his jacket, and throws it on the floor.] So . . . come here and say, “Marusia darling!”