The Doll (91 page)

Yes! I must live. But what sort of life would it be?

I went into the house. Another tableau! Mrs Stawska sitting pale on a little stool, and Mrs Misiewicz with a kerchief soaked in cooling water over her head. The old lady smelled of camphor from two yards away and spoke in a mournful voice: ‘Oh, noble Mr Rzecki, who isn't ashamed of unhappy humiliated women … Just fancy the misfortune: Helena's court case tomorrow … Just think what will happen if the court makes a mistake, and condemns this unhappy woman to the hulks? But calm yourself, Helena, be brave, perhaps God will avert it … Though last night I had a terrible dream …'

(She had a dream, and I met prisoners … It won't pass without a disaster!)

‘But,' say I, ‘for goodness sake! Our case is proved, we'll win it … Besides, what is this compared to the terrible matter of the plague?' I added, to turn Mrs Misiewicz's attention another way.

And I managed beautifully! For didn't she shriek out: ‘The plague? Here in Warsaw? There now, Helena, didn't I tell you? Ah, we're all done for! During the plague everyone shuts themselves up indoors … They pass food to you on poles … They pull the dead bodies out on hooks!'

Ugh … I saw I'd upset the worthy old thing, so in order to stop her dwelling on the plague, I mentioned the trial again, whereupon the dear lady replied with a long exposition on the disgrace pursuing her family, on the possible imprisonment of Mrs Stawska, on the way the samovar was leaking … In a word, the last evening before the court case, when energy was most needed, that last evening passed for us between plague and death, disgrace and prison. My mind grew so muddled that when I found myself outside in the street I didn't know whether to turn right or left.

Next morning (the case was to be heard at ten o'clock), I went by eight in a carriage to my ladies, but found no one home. They had all gone to confession: mother, daughter, granddaughter and cook, and they united themselves with God until nine-thirty while unfortunate I (after all, this was January) walked up and down in front of the gate in the frost, and thought: ‘A fine business! They'll be late for court, if they aren't already, the court will give a verdict in absentia, they'll of course condemn Mrs Stawska, they'll think she has absconded and will send out a warrant for her arrest … It's always the way with these women!'

Finally all four of them arrived, with Wirski (can that pious man also have been to confession today?) and we went to court in two droshkies: I and Mrs Stawska and little Helena, Wirski with Mrs Misiewicz and the cook. Too bad they didn't take the frying-pans, samovar and oil-stove with them! In front of the court we saw Wokulski's carriage, in which he and his lawyer had driven up. They were waiting for us at the stairs, which looked as muddy as if a battalion of infantry had passed that way — and their expressions were perfectly calm. I would even wager they'd been talking about something entirely different, not about Mrs Stawska at all.

‘Oh, my dear Mr Wokulski, who isn't ashamed of poor women covered in …' Mrs Misiewicz began. But Staś gave her his arm, the lawyer Mrs Stawska, Wirski took little Helena by the hand, and I assisted Marianna, and thus we went into the court-room.

It reminded me of a school: the judge was sitting on an elevation, like a professor at his desk, and facing him on two rows of benches were lodged the accused and witnesses. At this moment, my youthful years came so clearly to my mind, that I involuntarily glanced to the stove, certain I would see there a porter with his cane, and the bench on which we were whipped. I even wanted, in my absent-minded way, to cry out: ‘I won't do it again, teacher!' but I recollected myself in time.

We began installing our ladies on the benches, and squabbling as we did so with the Jews who, as I later was informed, are the most patient of all audiences at court cases, especially those involving stealing or cheating. We even found a seat for honest Marianna, whose face, as she sat down, looked as though she wanted to cross herself and say a prayer.

Wokulski, our lawyer and I placed ourselves on the front bench, next to an individual in a torn overcoat with a black eye, at whom one of the policemen was looking in a nasty manner.

‘Some other incident with the police, no doubt,' thought I.

Suddenly my mouth dropped open of its own accord for surprise: for I now perceived a whole crowd of persons known to me in front of the judge's bench. To the left of the table was Baroness Krzeszowska, her poor little thing of a lawyer and that scoundrel Maruszewicz, while to the right were the two students. One was marked by his very shabby overcoat and unusually fluent speech; the other by a still shabbier overcoat, a coloured scarf around his neck, and he looked, goodness me, as if he'd escaped from a morgue.

I looked more closely at him. Yes, it was he, the same skinny young man who, during Wokulski's first visit to Mrs Stawska, had dropped a herring on the Baroness's head. The dear fellow! But I never saw anyone so thin and yellow-looking.

At first, I thought a court case was going on between these charming young men and the Baroness in respect to that herring. Then, however, I realised that something else was the matter — namely, that Baroness Krzeszowska, now that she was the owner of the house, wanted to expel from it her most fervent enemies, who were at the same time her least profitable tenants. The case between the Baroness and the young men had reached its climax.

One of the students, a handsome lad with whiskers and sideburns, rising on tiptoe and falling back on his heels, was telling the judge something: meanwhile he was executing circular movements with his right hand, and with his left twirling his moustache, sticking out his little finger which was adorned by a ring without any jewels in it.

The second young man was gloomily silent, hiding himself behind his colleague. I noticed something odd in his attitude: he was pressing both hands to his chest, with his palms extended as though he were holding a book or picture.

‘What are your names, gentlemen?' asked the judge.

‘Maleski,' said the owner of the side-burns with a bow, ‘and Patkiewicz,' he added, indicating his gloomy companion with a very distinguished gesture.

‘But where is the third gentlemen?'

‘He's poorly,' Mr Maleski replied airily, ‘he is our sub-tenant, and in any case he very rarely stays in our apartment.'

‘How so? Very rarely? Where does he go by day?'

‘He's at the University, in the anatomical laboratory, sometimes having dinner.'

‘But at night?'

‘In that respect, I can only give you confidential information, your honour.'

‘But where is he registered as living?'

‘Oh, he's registered at our address, because he don't want to be subject to the authorities,' Mr Maleski explained in a lordly manner.

The judge turned to Baroness Krzeszowska: ‘So you, madam, don't want to keep these gentlemen on?'

‘Not at any price,' the Baroness lamented. ‘All night long they roar, howl, stamp and whistle … There isn't a servant girl in the house they haven't inveigled into the apartment. Oh, Lord!' she cried, turning away her head.

The judge was startled by this exclamation, but not I … For I'd seen that Mr Patkiewicz, without removing his hands from his chest, had suddenly turned up his eyes and dropped his jaw so that he looked like a living corpse. His face and entire attitude would indeed have appalled even a healthy man.

‘The most dreadful thing is that these gentlemen pour some liquid or other out of their windows …'

‘On you, madam?' asked Mr Maleski, impudently.

The Baroness turned livid with rage, but was silent: she was ashamed to admit it.

‘What more?' said the judge.

‘The very worst of all (which has brought me into a nervous decline) is that these gentlemen knock on my windows several times a day with a human skull …'

‘Do you indeed, gentlemen?' asked the judge.

‘Allow me the privilege of explaining to your honour,' replied Maleski, with the attitude of a man about to dance a minuet, ‘we are looked after by the caretaker of the house, who lives downstairs; so as not to waste time going up and down to the third floor, we have a long piece of string, and we tie to it whatever comes to hand (sometimes it may even be a human skull) … and we knock on his window with it,' he concluded, in such dulcet tones that no one could be alarmed by an equally delicate tapping.

‘Oh Heavens!' cried the Baroness, tottering.

‘A sick woman, evidently,' Maleski muttered.

‘Not so,' the Baroness cried, ‘pray hear me, your honour! I can't bear to see that other one … He keeps making faces like a dead body … I lost my daughter not long ago,' she concluded in tears.

‘On my word of honour, the lady is seeing things,' said Maleski, ‘who here looks like a dead body? Patkiewicz? A handsome young fellow like Patkiewicz?' he added, pushing forward his colleague who, at this very moment, was pretending for the fifth time to be a dead body.

Everyone burst out laughing: to preserve his gravity, the judge buried himself in documents and, after a long pause, decreed that laughing was not allowed and anyone disturbing the peace would be fined.

Taking advantage of the confusion, Patkiewicz tugged his colleague by the sleeve and gloomily whispered: ‘What's this, you beast, are you making fun of me in public, Maleski?'

‘Well, but you're handsome, Patkiewicz. Women go crazy over you.'

‘Not on that account, though,' Patkiewicz muttered in a much more tranquil tone.

‘Well, now — will you gentlemen pay the twelve roubles fifty kopeks for the month of January?' asked the judge.

This time, Mr Patkiewicz imitated a man who had a cataract and the left side of his face paralysed. Mr Maleski plunged meanwhile into deep meditation. ‘If we could stay until the vacation,' he said after a moment, ‘then … But no! Let the Baroness take away our furniture!'

‘No, I don't want any more, I don't … Just move out, gentlemen! I won't claim any rent!' the Baroness cried.

‘How that woman is compromising herself,' our lawyer whispered. ‘Venturing into the law courts with a scoundrel like that adviser of hers!'

‘But we have claims against you, madam, for damages and loss,' Maleski cried. ‘Who ever heard of a person refusing lodgings to respectable people at this time of year? Even if we find lodgings, they'll be so wretched that two of us at least will die of consumption.'

Mr Patkiewicz, no doubt with a view to adding greater weight to the speaker's words, began moving his ears and the skin on the top of his head, which provoked a new attack of mirth in the court.

‘I've never seen anything like it!' said our lawyer.

‘Such a court case?' asked Wokulski.

‘No — that fellow moving his ears. He's an artist!'

Meanwhile the judge entered sentences and announced that Messrs Maleski and Patkiewicz were to pay the twelve roubles and fifty kopeks rent and leave the apartment before February 8th. At this point an unusual incident occurred. On hearing the sentence, Mr Patkiewicz underwent such a powerful moral shock that his face turned green and he swooned away. Fortunately he fell into the embrace of Mr Maleski; otherwise the poor devil would have injured himself quite dreadfully.

Of course, voices of sympathy were raised in the court room, and Mrs Stawska's cook burst into tears. Embarrassed, the judge interrupted the sitting and, with a nod to Wokulski (how comes it they are acquainted?) went into his office, while two porters almost carried out the unfortunate young man, who this time really resembled a dead body.

Not until he was laid on a bench in the vestibule, and one of those present declared he should be sprinkled with water, did the sick man suddenly sit up and say, threateningly: ‘Come, now! No silly jokes, if you please.'

With this he at once put on his coat, energetically pulled on his shabby galoshes and quit the court with a light step, much to the confusion of the porters, the accused and the witnesses.

At this moment, a court official approached our bench and whispered to Wokulski that the judge would be pleased to have him to lunch. Staś went out, but Mrs Misiewicz began calling to me with desperate signals: ‘Oh dear me! Oh goodness!' said she, ‘Do you know why the judge has summoned that most noble gentleman? He wants to tell him that Helena is lost! Oh, that wicked Baroness must have great friends in high places! She's already won one case, and no doubt it will be the same with Helena. Oh, woe is me! Do you happen to have any cordial drops, Mr Rzecki?'

‘Are you poorly, madam?'

‘Not yet, though there's such a smell in here … I'm terrible afraid for Helena's sake … If they sentence her, she will certainly swoon and perhaps die if we don't bring her around quickly. Don't you think it would be a good idea, Mr Rzecki, if I were to beg the judge on my knees to …'

‘Quite unnecessary, madam. Our lawyer has just said that the Baroness may want to withdraw the charge, but it's too late.'

‘But if we too yield?' cried the old lady.

‘Come, not that, my dear madam,' I exclaimed, somewhat impatiently, ‘either we leave the court completely cleared, or …'

‘We shall perish! Is that what you were going to say?' the old lady interrupted. ‘Oh, don't say so … You don't even know, sir, how disagreeable it is at my age to hear death mentioned.'

I retreated from the despairing old lady and went to Mrs Stawska: ‘How do you feel?'

‘Very well,' she replied energetically, ‘though last night I was terribly frightened; but now, after confession, I breathe more easily, and since I've been here I've been quite calm.'

I pressed her hand long … long … in the way that only true lovers press hands and hurried to my place, for Wokulski, followed by the judge, had come back into court.

My heart was beating like a hammer. I looked around. Mrs Misiewicz was evidently praying with her eyes shut, Mrs Stawska was very pale but firm, the Baroness was tugging at her wrap and our lawyer eyed the ceiling, stifling a yawn.