jumped up.
âThat good living,â he said, clenching his fist, âwas stifling me and had stifled me for six years ⦠Donât you remember how many times a day I was reminded of the two generations of Mincels or of the angelic goodness of my late wife? Was there anyone among my closest or not so close acquaintances â except you â who did not torment me with a word, gesture or look? How often was it said of me, and almost to me, that I was tied to my wifeâs apron-strings, that I owed every penny to the industry of the Mincels, and nothing, nothing at all to my own efforts, though it was I who built up the shop and doubled its profits â¦
âThe Mincels, it was always the Mincels! Why donât they compare me to the Mincels now? In six months Iâve made ten times the money that two generations of Mincels made in a half-century. A thousand Mincels in their shops and night-caps would have to sweat their hearts out to make what Iâve made amidst bullets, knives and typhus. Now I know how many Mincels Iâm worth, and I swear Iâd risk it all again for this result! Iâd sooner fear bankruptcy and death than owe it to the people who buy umbrellas in my store, or than kiss the hands of people who deign to equip themselves in my store with water-closets â¦â
âYouâre still the same,â Ignacy murmured.
Wokulski cooled down. He put one hand on Ignacyâs arm and looked into his eyes as he mildly said: âYouâre not angry, old fellow?â
âWhy? As if I didnât know that a wolf doesnât look after sheep ⦠Naturally enough â¦â
âWhatâs the latest here â tell me!â
âPrecisely what I told you in my reports. Business going well, goods arriving, still more orders coming in. We need another clerk.â
âWeâll hire two, weâll expand the store, it will be splendid.â
âFancy that â¦â
Wokulski glanced sideways at him and smiled to see that the old man had regained his good humour.
âBut what is going on in town? Things must be going well as long as you are in the shop.â
âIn the town?â
âHave any of my regular customers quit business?â Wokulski interrupted, now pacing about the room.
âNo one! New ones have appeared â¦â
Wokulski stopped, as if hesitating. He poured another glass of wine and tossed it off.
âIs ÅÄcki buying at our store?â
âMostly on credit â¦â
âAh â¦â Wokulski sighed with relief. âWhat is his financial position?â
âThey say heâs quite bankrupt and that his apartment house will be put up for auction later this year.â
Wokulski leaned over and began to play with Ir.
âWell ⦠And Miss ÅÄcka isnât married yet?â
âNo.â
âIsnât she engaged?â
âI doubt it. Who today would marry a girl with expensive tastes and no dowry? Sheâs getting older too, though sheâs still pretty. Naturally enough â¦â
Wokulski straightened his back and took a deep breath. His stern face bore a strangely tender expression.
âMy dear old fellow,â he said, taking Ignacy by the hand, âmy honest old friend! You canât begin to guess how glad I am to see you again, still here in this room. Do you recall how many evenings and nights Iâve spent here? ⦠how you used to give me dinner ⦠how you gave me clothes ⦠Remember?â
Rzecki looked at him attentively and thought the wine must have been good to unlock Wokulskiâs lips so.
Wokulski sat down on the sofa, leaned his head against the wall, and spoke as if to himself: âYouâve no idea what I suffered, far away from everyone, never knowing whether I should ever see them again, so terribly alone. For, donât you see, the worst loneliness is not the one that surrounds a man, but the emptiness
âThat good living,â he said, clenching his fist, âwas stifling me and had stifled me for six years ⦠Donât you remember how many times a day I was reminded of the two generations of Mincels or of the angelic goodness of my late wife? Was there anyone among my closest or not so close acquaintances â except you â who did not torment me with a word, gesture or look? How often was it said of me, and almost to me, that I was tied to my wifeâs apron-strings, that I owed every penny to the industry of the Mincels, and nothing, nothing at all to my own efforts, though it was I who built up the shop and doubled its profits â¦
âThe Mincels, it was always the Mincels! Why donât they compare me to the Mincels now? In six months Iâve made ten times the money that two generations of Mincels made in a half-century. A thousand Mincels in their shops and night-caps would have to sweat their hearts out to make what Iâve made amidst bullets, knives and typhus. Now I know how many Mincels Iâm worth, and I swear Iâd risk it all again for this result! Iâd sooner fear bankruptcy and death than owe it to the people who buy umbrellas in my store, or than kiss the hands of people who deign to equip themselves in my store with water-closets â¦â
âYouâre still the same,â Ignacy murmured.
Wokulski cooled down. He put one hand on Ignacyâs arm and looked into his eyes as he mildly said: âYouâre not angry, old fellow?â
âWhy? As if I didnât know that a wolf doesnât look after sheep ⦠Naturally enough â¦â
âWhatâs the latest here â tell me!â
âPrecisely what I told you in my reports. Business going well, goods arriving, still more orders coming in. We need another clerk.â
âWeâll hire two, weâll expand the store, it will be splendid.â
âFancy that â¦â
Wokulski glanced sideways at him and smiled to see that the old man had regained his good humour.
âBut what is going on in town? Things must be going well as long as you are in the shop.â
âIn the town?â
âHave any of my regular customers quit business?â Wokulski interrupted, now pacing about the room.
âNo one! New ones have appeared â¦â
Wokulski stopped, as if hesitating. He poured another glass of wine and tossed it off.
âIs ÅÄcki buying at our store?â
âMostly on credit â¦â
âAh â¦â Wokulski sighed with relief. âWhat is his financial position?â
âThey say heâs quite bankrupt and that his apartment house will be put up for auction later this year.â
Wokulski leaned over and began to play with Ir.
âWell ⦠And Miss ÅÄcka isnât married yet?â
âNo.â
âIsnât she engaged?â
âI doubt it. Who today would marry a girl with expensive tastes and no dowry? Sheâs getting older too, though sheâs still pretty. Naturally enough â¦â
Wokulski straightened his back and took a deep breath. His stern face bore a strangely tender expression.
âMy dear old fellow,â he said, taking Ignacy by the hand, âmy honest old friend! You canât begin to guess how glad I am to see you again, still here in this room. Do you recall how many evenings and nights Iâve spent here? ⦠how you used to give me dinner ⦠how you gave me clothes ⦠Remember?â
Rzecki looked at him attentively and thought the wine must have been good to unlock Wokulskiâs lips so.
Wokulski sat down on the sofa, leaned his head against the wall, and spoke as if to himself: âYouâve no idea what I suffered, far away from everyone, never knowing whether I should ever see them again, so terribly alone. For, donât you see, the worst loneliness is not the one that surrounds a man, but the emptiness
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