Read Online The Complete Works of Isaac Babel Reprint Edition by Isaac Babel, Nathalie Babel, Peter Constantine by Peter Constantine Isaac Babel Nathalie Babel - Free Book Online Page A
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stupid he had been.
His room was different from all the other rooms in Barbara Stepanovnas apartment. It was neat, filled with bibelots, and covered with carpets. Drawing utensils, foppish pipes, English tobacco, ivory paper knives were carefully laid out on the tables.
Before Stanislaw even managed to change into his dressing gown, Rimma quietly slipped into his room. He gave her a chilly reception.
“Are you angry, Stanny?” the girl asked.
“I am not angry,” the Pole answered. “It is just that in the future I would prefer not to be encumbered with having to bear witness to your mothers excesses.”
“It’ll all be over very soon,” Rimma said. “Stanny, I’m going to be free!”
She sat down next to him on the sofa and embraced him.
“I am a man,” Stanny began. “This platonic business is not for me, I have a career before me.”
He gruffly told her the things that men more or less say to certain women when they’ve had enough. There’s nothing to talk to them about, and flirting with them is pointless, as it is quite obvious they are not prepared to get down to business.
Stanny said that he was consumed by desire; it was hampering his work, making him nervous. The matter had to be settled one way or the other—he didn’t care in the least which, as long as it was settled.
“Why are you saying such things to me?” Rimma asked him pensively. “What is all this ‘I am a man’ about, and what do you mean by ‘the matter has to be settlecT? Why is your face so cold and nasty? And why can we talk about nothing else but that one thing? This is so sad, Stanny! Spring is in the streets, its so beautiful, and we are in such an ugly mood.”
Stanny didnt answer. They both remained silent.
A fiery sunset was sinking over the horizon, flooding the distant sky with a scarlet glow. On the opposite horizon a volatile, slowly thickening darkness was descending. The room was illuminated by the last glowing light. On the sofa, Rimma leaned more and more tenderly toward the student. They were doing what they always did at this exquisite hour of the day.
Stanislaw kissed the girl. She rested her head on the pillow and closed her eyes. They both burst into flame. Within a few minutes, Stanislaw was kissing her incessantly, and in a fit of malicious, unquenchable passion began shoving her thin, burning body about the room. He tore her blouse and her bodice. Rimma, with parched mouth and rings under her eyes, offered her lips to be kissed, while with a distorted, mournful grin she defended her virginity. Suddenly there was a knock at the door. Rimma began rushing about the room, clutching the hanging strips of her torn blouse to her breast.
They eventually opened the door. It turned out to be a friend of Stanislaws. He eyed Rimma with ill-concealed derision as she rushed past him. She slipped into her room furtively, changed into another blouse, and went to stand by the chilly windowpane to cool down.
• • •
The pawnbroker only gave Barbara Stepanovna forty rubles for the family silver. Ten rubles she had borrowed from Marchotski, and the rest of the money she got from the Tikhonovs, walking all the way from Strastny Boulevard to Pokrovka. In her dismay, she forgot that she could have taken a tram.
At home, besides the raging Rastokhins, she found Mirlits, a bar-risters assistant, waiting for her. He was a tall young man with decaying stumps for teeth, and foolish, moist gray eyes.
Not too long ago, the shortage of money had driven Barbara Stepanovna to consider mortgaging a cottage her husband owned in Kolomna. Mirlits had brought over a draft of the mortgage. Barbara
Stepanovna felt that something was wrong with the draft, and that she ought to get some more advice before signing. But she told herself that she was being beset by altogether too many problems of every kind. To hell with everything—boarders, daughters, rudeness.
After the business discussion, Mirlits uncorked a bottle of Crimean
His room was different from all the other rooms in Barbara Stepanovnas apartment. It was neat, filled with bibelots, and covered with carpets. Drawing utensils, foppish pipes, English tobacco, ivory paper knives were carefully laid out on the tables.
Before Stanislaw even managed to change into his dressing gown, Rimma quietly slipped into his room. He gave her a chilly reception.
“Are you angry, Stanny?” the girl asked.
“I am not angry,” the Pole answered. “It is just that in the future I would prefer not to be encumbered with having to bear witness to your mothers excesses.”
“It’ll all be over very soon,” Rimma said. “Stanny, I’m going to be free!”
She sat down next to him on the sofa and embraced him.
“I am a man,” Stanny began. “This platonic business is not for me, I have a career before me.”
He gruffly told her the things that men more or less say to certain women when they’ve had enough. There’s nothing to talk to them about, and flirting with them is pointless, as it is quite obvious they are not prepared to get down to business.
Stanny said that he was consumed by desire; it was hampering his work, making him nervous. The matter had to be settled one way or the other—he didn’t care in the least which, as long as it was settled.
“Why are you saying such things to me?” Rimma asked him pensively. “What is all this ‘I am a man’ about, and what do you mean by ‘the matter has to be settlecT? Why is your face so cold and nasty? And why can we talk about nothing else but that one thing? This is so sad, Stanny! Spring is in the streets, its so beautiful, and we are in such an ugly mood.”
Stanny didnt answer. They both remained silent.
A fiery sunset was sinking over the horizon, flooding the distant sky with a scarlet glow. On the opposite horizon a volatile, slowly thickening darkness was descending. The room was illuminated by the last glowing light. On the sofa, Rimma leaned more and more tenderly toward the student. They were doing what they always did at this exquisite hour of the day.
Stanislaw kissed the girl. She rested her head on the pillow and closed her eyes. They both burst into flame. Within a few minutes, Stanislaw was kissing her incessantly, and in a fit of malicious, unquenchable passion began shoving her thin, burning body about the room. He tore her blouse and her bodice. Rimma, with parched mouth and rings under her eyes, offered her lips to be kissed, while with a distorted, mournful grin she defended her virginity. Suddenly there was a knock at the door. Rimma began rushing about the room, clutching the hanging strips of her torn blouse to her breast.
They eventually opened the door. It turned out to be a friend of Stanislaws. He eyed Rimma with ill-concealed derision as she rushed past him. She slipped into her room furtively, changed into another blouse, and went to stand by the chilly windowpane to cool down.
• • •
The pawnbroker only gave Barbara Stepanovna forty rubles for the family silver. Ten rubles she had borrowed from Marchotski, and the rest of the money she got from the Tikhonovs, walking all the way from Strastny Boulevard to Pokrovka. In her dismay, she forgot that she could have taken a tram.
At home, besides the raging Rastokhins, she found Mirlits, a bar-risters assistant, waiting for her. He was a tall young man with decaying stumps for teeth, and foolish, moist gray eyes.
Not too long ago, the shortage of money had driven Barbara Stepanovna to consider mortgaging a cottage her husband owned in Kolomna. Mirlits had brought over a draft of the mortgage. Barbara
Stepanovna felt that something was wrong with the draft, and that she ought to get some more advice before signing. But she told herself that she was being beset by altogether too many problems of every kind. To hell with everything—boarders, daughters, rudeness.
After the business discussion, Mirlits uncorked a bottle of Crimean
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