The Complete Works of Isaac Babel Reprint Edition by Isaac Babel, Nathalie Babel, Peter Constantine (98 page)

SEMYON: I dont care! What I want is my money!

BENYA [Continues writing.]: Why so rude, Semyon?

SEMYON: Give me my money, or 111 cut your throat!

BENYA: My dear man, I spit on you!

SEMYON: Where did you hide the old man?

BENYA: The old man is sick.

SEMYON: Right here on the wall, this is where he wrote how much he owed for the oats, how much for the hay—all nice and clear. And he always paid up! Twenty years I drove for him, and he was always fair and square!

BENYA [Gets up.]: You drove for him, but you re not going to drive for me—he wrote on the wall, but Im not going to write on the wall— he paid you, but as for me, I very well might not pay you, because— MADAME POPYATNIK [Looks at the peasant with extreme disapproval1]: When a man is such an idiot—it’s disgusting!

BENYA: —because, with me, my dear fellow, you might well die before you eat your supper tonight!

SEMYON [Frightenedy but still defiant.]: I want my money!

MADAME POPYATNIK: I am no philosopher, Monsieur Krik, but I can

plainly see that there are people in this world who have no right to be alive!

BENYA: Nikifor!

[NIKIFOR enters, looking about sheepishly. He speaks reluctantly.]

NIKIFOR: Present.

BENYA: Settle up with Semyon and go over to Groshev’s.

NIKIFOR: The day laborers are here and want to know who will be doing the hiring.

BENYA: Til be doing the hiring.

NIKIFOR: And the cook is kicking up a fuss too because she pawned off her samovar to the master. Now she wants to know who she has to pay to get it back.

BENYA: She has to pay me. Settle up the business with Semyon, and bring back five hundred poods of hay from Groshev.

SEMYON \Stunned.]: Five hundred? Twenty years IVe been carting—

MADAME POPYATNIK: When a man has money, he can buy hay, and oats, and even nicer things.

BENYA: And oats, two hundred poods.

SEMYON: I wouldn’t say no to carting for you!

BENYA: Semyon, lose my address!

[SEMYON kneads his hat, looks away, walks off, returns for a moment, and then walks off again.]

MADAME POPYATNIK: A damn peasant giving you all this trouble! My God, if everyone suddenly remembered who owes them money! This very morning I was telling my husband, Major: “Husband, darling, I would never ask for those miserable two rubles that Mendel Krik owes us.”

MAJOR [In a hoarse, melodious voice.]: One ruble, ninety-five kopecks.

BENYA: What two rubles?

MADAME POPYATNIK: Please, it’s not even worth mentioning, really, good heavens, it’s not even worth mentioning! Last Thursday, you see, Monsieur Krik was in a fabulous mood, and ordered marching tunes. . . . [To her husband,.] How many were there?

MAJOR: Marching tunes? Nine.

MADAME POPYATNIK: And then he wanted dance tunes.

MAJOR: Twenty-one dance tunes.

MADAME POPYATNIK: That comes to one ruble, ninety-five. Paying musicians has always been a top priority with Monsieur Krik.

[NIKIFOR enters, dragging his feet. He is looking to the side.]

NIKIFOR: Potapovna is here.

BENYA: What do I care who’s here and who isn’t!

NIKIFOR: She’s making threats.

BENYA: What do I care who’s—

[POTAPOVNA bursts in, hobbling, waving her enormous hip. She is drunk. She throws herself to the floor and stares up at BENYA with dull, fixed eyes.]

POTAPOVNA: Czars in heaven!

BENYA: Yes, Madame Potapovna?

POTAPOVNA: Czars in heaven!

NIKIFOR: She’s come to make trouble.

POTAPOVNA [Winks.]: Y-Y-Y-Yid bubbles are humming ... the bubbles are bouncing about in my head—y-y-y.

BENYA: Get to the point, Madame Potapovna!

POTAPOVNA [Bangs her fist on the floor.]: You’re right! You’re right! Let the clever man measure, and the pig dance the measureka. MADAME POPYATNIK: What a sophisticated lady!

POTAPOVNA [Throws some coins on thefloor.]: Here are the forty kopecks I earned today.... I got up before dawn, it was still dark, and waited for the peasants on Baltskaya Street. . . . [She lifts her head to the sky.] I wonder what time it is now. Maybe three o’clock?

BENYA: Get to the point, Madame Potapovna!

POTAPOVNA: Y-Y-Y, blew bubbles . . .

BENYA: Nikifor!

NIKIFOR: Yes?

POTAPOVNA [Wags herfat, weak, drunken finger at NIKIFOR.]: And now, Nikisha, my own daughter is knocked up!

MADAME POPYATNIK \Totiers, burning with excitement.]: Oh, what a scandal! What a scandal!

BENYA: What are you doing here, Madame Popyatnik? What do you want?

MADAME POPYATNIK [Staggers, her eyes sparkling and fluttering with excitement.]: I’m going, I’m going! God willing we will meet again ... in happiness, in joy, in a blessed hour, in a happy minute!

[She grabs her husband by the hand and starts backing out of the room. She turns around, her eyes crossed andflickering like black flames.

MAJOR follows his wife, wiggling his fingers. They leave.]

POTAPOVNA [Smearing her tears over herflabby, wrinkledface.]'. At night I went to her, felt her breasts—I feel her breasts every night— they’re already filled with milk, they don’t even fit my hands anymore!

BENYA [His sparkle has left him. He speaks quickly, glancing furtively behind him.]: What month?

POTAPOVNA [She stares fixedly up at BENYA from where shes lying on the floor.]: Fourth.

BENYA: You’re lying!

POTAPOVNA: Okay, third.

BENYA: What do you want from us?

POTAPOVNA: Y-Y-Y, blew bubbles . . .

BENYA: What do you want?

POTAPOVNA [Tying her kerchief]: A cleanup costs one hundred rubles.

BENYA: Twenty-five!

POTAPOVNA: I’ll bring in the dockworkers!

BENYA: You’ll bring in the dockworkers? Nikifor!

NIKIFOR: Present.

BENYA: Go upstairs and ask my papa if I should hand over twenty-five—

POTAPOVNA: A hundred!

BENYA: —twenty-five rubles for a cleanup, or doesn’t he want one?

NIKIFOR: I won’t go.

BENYA: You won’t?

[BENYA rushes over to the calico curtains that divide the carting shed in two.\

NIKIFOR [Grabs BENYA by the arm.]: Young man, I’m not afraid of God—I saw God and wasn’t frightened—I will kill without being frightened!

[The curtain stirs and parts. MENDEL enters. He is carrying his boots slung

over his shoulder. His face is blue and swollen, like the face of a dead man.]

MENDEL: Unlock the gates.

POTAPOVNA: Oh, my God!

NIKIFOR: Master!

[ARYE-LEIB and LYOVKA approach the cart shed.]

MENDEL: Unlock the gates.

POTAPOVNA [Crawls on the floor.]: Oh, my God!

BENYA: Go back upstairs to your wife, Papa.

MENDEL: Unlock the gates for me, Nikifor, old friend—

NIKIFOR [Falls on his knees.]: I beg you, master, don’t grovel before me, a simple man!

MENDEL: Why won’t you unlock the gates, Nikifor? Why wont you let me leave this courtyard where I have served my life sentence? [MENDELs voice becomes more powerful, his eyes glitter.] This courtyard, it has seen me be the father of my children, the husband of my wife, the master of my horses. It has seen my strength, and that of my twenty stallions and my twelve carts, reinforced with iron. It has seen my legs, huge as pillars, and my arms, my evil arms ... but now unlock the gates for me, my dear sons, today let me for once do as I wish! Let me leave this courtyard that has seen too much. . . .

BENYA: Go back in the house, Papa, to your wife.

[He approaches his father;]

MENDEL: Don’t hit me, Benchik.

LYOVKA: Don’t hit him.

BENYA: What low-down people! \Pause.] How could you . . . [Pause.] How could you say what you just said?

ARYE-LEIB [To the onlookers.]: Dont you all see that you shouldn’t be here?

BENYA: Animals! Animals!

[BENYA rushes out. LYOVKA follows him.]

ARYE-LEIB [Leads MENDEL to the couch.]: Well rest a bit, Mendel, we’ll take a little nap. . . .

POTAPOVNA [Gets up from the floor and begins to cry.]: TheyVe killed the poor darling!

ARYE-LEIB [Helps MENDEL onto the couch behind the curtain.]: You’ll take a little nap, Mendel. . . .

POTAPOVNA [Throws herself onto the floor by the couch, and starts kissing MENDELs hand\ which is hanging down limply.]: My little son, my sweet little darling!

ARYE-LEIB [Covers MENDELs face with a kerchief sits down, and begins speaking in a quiet, distant voice.]: Once upon a time, in the distant past, there lived a man named David. He was a shepherd and then he was a king, the King of Israel, of Israel’s army and Israel’s wise men.

POTAPOVNA [Sobbing.]: My sweet darling!

ARYE-LEIB: David experienced wealth and experienced glory, but he was not satiated. Strength brings thirst, only grief quenches the heart. Having grown old, King David saw Bathsheba, General Uriah’s wife, on the roofs of Jerusalem, under the skies of Jerusalem. Bathsheba’s breasts were beautiful, her legs were beautiful, her gaiety was great. And General Uriah was sent into battle, and the king coupled with Bathsheba, the wife of a man not yet dead. Her breasts were beautiful, her gaiety was great. . .

Scene Eight

The KRIKS’ dining room. Evening. The room is brightly lit by a homemade hanging

lamp, candles in candelabras, and old-fashioned blue lamps fixed to the wall.

MADAME POPYATNIK, wearing a silk dress, is busy bustling about a table decorated

with flowers andfilled with food and wine. MAJOR is sitting silently in the back of

the room. His paper shirtfront is jutting out, his flute is lying on his knees. He is twiddling his fingers and bobbing his headfrom side to side. There are many guests. Some are strolling in groups about the open rooms, others sitting along the walls. The pregnant KLASHA ZUBARYEVA enters the room. She is wearing a shawl with a gigantic flower pattern. LYOVKA, wearing a hussar s parade uniform, stumbles in after her, drunk.

LYOVKA [Barks out cavalry orders.]:

Horsemen, friends!

Forward trot!

If your horses are hungry,

Then feed them a lot!

KLASHA [Laughs out loud!]: Oy, my belly! Oy, I’m going to miscarry! LYOVKA:

Mount your horses, left leg high,

Hold on tight, or you will fly!

KLASHA: Oy, I’m dying!

[They stroll on, passing BOYARSKY, who is wearing a frock coat, and DVOIRA KRIK.]

BOYARSKY: Mademoiselle Krik, I dont call black white, nor am I the kind of man who would permit himself to call white black. With three thousand, we can set up a pret-a-porter boutique on Deribasovskaya Street, and get happily married.

DVOIRA: It’s got to be the whole three thousand, all at once?

BOYARSKY: Right now were in the middle of July, and July isn’t September. Light overcoats move in July, ladies’ coats in September. And after September, you ask? Nothing! September, October, November, December. I don’t call night day, nor am I the kind of man who would allow himself to call day night. . . .

[They stroll on. BENYA and BOBRINETS enter.]

BENYA: Is everything ready, Madame Popyatnik?

MADAME POPYATNIK: Even Czar Nicholas II wouldn’t turn up his nose at such a table.

BOBRINETS: Explain your idea to me, Benya.

BENYA: This is my idea: A Jew no longer in the prime of life, a Jew who used to go about naked, barefoot, and filthy like a convict on Sakhalin island! And now that, thank God, he is getting up there in years, it is time to put an end to this life sentence of hard labor— it is time to turn the Sabbath into Sabbath.

[BOYARSKY and DVOIRA stroll by.]

BOYARSKY: September, October, November, December . . .

DVOIRA: But then, Boyarsky, I also want you to love me, at least a little.

BOYARSKY: What am I supposed to be doing with you if I wont be loving you? Turn you into meatballs? You make me laugh!

[They stroll by. Near the wall\ under a blue lamp, sit a poised cattle dealer and a thick-legged young man in a three-piece suit.

The young man is carefully cracking sunflower seeds with his teeth and putting the shells in hispocket.]

THICK-LEGGED YOUNG MAN: Pow! A right hook in the face! Pow! A left hook—and wham, the old man went down!

CATTLE DEALER: Ha! Even the Tartars respect their elders! “Walking through life, oh the toil, oh the strife.”

THICK-LEGGED YOUNG MAN: If he had lived by the book, but he . . . [He spits out a shell] he did whatever he wanted. So whats there to respect?

CATTLE DEALER: You’re an idiot!

THICK-LEGGED YOUNG MAN: Benya bought more than a thousand poods of hay.

CATTLE DEALER: For the old man a hundred was enough!

THICK-LEGGED YOUNG MAN: Either way, they’re going to cut the old mans throat.

CATTLE DEALER: Yids? Their own father?

THICK-LEGGED YOUNG MAN: They’ll slit the old man’s throat, all right.

CATTLE DEALER: Youre an idiot!

[BENYA and BOBRINETS stroll by.]

BOBRINETS: But what do you want, Benya?

BENYA: I want the Sabbath to be Sabbath. I want us to be people as good as anyone else. I want to walk with my legs on the ground and my head held high. . . . Do you understand what I’m saying, Bobrinets?

BOBRINETS: I understand what you’re saying, Benya.

[By the wall\ next to PYATIRUBEL, sit MR. AND MRS. WEINER, smothered by the greatness of their wealth.]

PYATIRUBEL [Seeking their sympathy in vain.]: He used to rip the belts off policemen and beat the clerk at the main post office. He’d down a gallon of vodka on an empty stomach. He had all of Odessa by the throat. That’s what the old man was like!

[WEINER keeps rolling his heavy, slobbering tongue, but it’s impossible to make out what he is saying.]

PYATIRUBEL [Timidly.]: The gentleman has a speaking problem?

MADAME WEINER [Viciously.]: What do you think!

[DVOIRA and BOYARSKY stroll by.]

BOYARSKY: September, October, November, December . . .

DVOIRA: And I do want a child, Boyarsky.

BOYARSKY: Absolutely! A child in a pret-a-porter boutique is very pretty— it looks good. As for a child without a business, how will that look?