Yama by Aleksandr Kuprin (best ereader for pdf TXT) 📕

around his mouth⁠ ⁠… He used to come to me as far back as last winter⁠ ⁠… And then suddenly I took pity on him⁠ ⁠… Not because he was very handsome and very young; and not because he had always been very polite⁠—even tender, if you will⁠ ⁠… No, both the one and the other had come to me, but I did not spare them: with enjoyment I marked them off, just like cattle, with a red-hot brand⁠ ⁠… But this one I suddenly pitied⁠ ⁠… I myself don’t understand⁠—why? I can’t make it out. It seemed to me, that it would be all the same as stealing money from a little simpleton, a little idiot; or hitting a blind man, or cutting a sleeper’s throat⁠ ⁠… if he only were some dried-up marasmus or a nasty little brute, or a lecherous old fellow, I would not have stopped. But he was healthy, robust, with chest and arms like a statue’s⁠ ⁠… and I could not⁠ ⁠… I gave him his money back, showed him my disease; in a word, I acted like a fool among fools. He went away from me⁠ ⁠… burst into tears⁠ ⁠… And now since last evening I haven’t slept. I walk around as in a fog⁠ ⁠… Therefore⁠—I’m thinking right now⁠—therefore, that which I meditated; my dream to infect them all, to infect their fathers, mothers, sisters, brides⁠—even all the world⁠—therefore, all this was folly, an empty fantasy, since I have stopped?⁠ ⁠… Once again, I don’t understand anything⁠ ⁠… Sergei Ivanovich, you are so wise, you have seen so much of life⁠—help me, then, to find myself now!⁠ ⁠…”

“I don’t know, Jennechka!” quietly pronounced Platonov. “Not that I fear telling you, or advising you, but I know absolutely nothing. This is above my reason⁠ ⁠… above conscience⁠ ⁠…”

Jennie crossed her fingers and nervously cracked them.

“And I, too, don’t know⁠ ⁠… Therefore, that which I thought⁠—is not the truth. Therefore, there is but one thing left me⁠ ⁠… This thought came into my head this morning⁠ ⁠…”

“Don’t, don’t do it, Jennechka!⁠ ⁠… Jennie!⁠ ⁠…” Platonov quickly interrupted her.

“There’s one thing: to hang myself⁠ ⁠…”

“No, no, Jennie, anything but that!⁠ ⁠… If there were other circumstances, unsurmountable, I would, believe me, tell you boldly: well, it’s no use, Jennie; it’s time to close up shop⁠ ⁠… But what you need isn’t that at all⁠ ⁠… If you wish, I can suggest one way out to you, no less malicious and merciless; but which, perhaps, will satiate your wrath a hundredfold⁠ ⁠…”

“What’s that?” asked Jennie, wearily, as though suddenly wilted after her flare-up.

“Well, this is it⁠ ⁠… You’re still young, and I’ll tell you the truth, you are very handsome; that is, you can be, if you only want to, unusually stunning⁠ ⁠… That’s even more than beauty. But you’ve never yet known the bounds and the power of your appearance; and, mainly, you don’t know to what a degree such natures as yours are bewitching, and how mightily they enchain men to them, and make out of them more than slaves and brutes⁠ ⁠… You are proud, you are brave, you are independent, you are a clever woman. I know⁠—you have read a great deal, let’s presuppose even trashy books, but still you have read, you have an entirely different speech from the others. With a successful turn of life, you can cure yourself, you can get out of these ‘Yamkas,’ these ‘Little Ditches,’ into freedom. You have only to stir a finger, in order to see at your feet hundreds of men; submissive, ready for your sake for vileness, for theft, for embezzlement⁠ ⁠… Lord it over them with tight reins, with a cruel whip in your hands!⁠ ⁠… Ruin them, make them go out of their minds, as long as your desire and energy hold out!⁠ ⁠… Look, my dear Jennie, who manages life now if not women! Yesterday’s chambermaid, laundress, chorus girl goes through estates worth millions, the way a countrywoman of Tver cracks sunflower seeds. A woman scarcely able to sign her name, at times affects the destiny of an entire kingdom through a man. Hereditary princes marry the streetwalkers, the kept mistresses of yesterday⁠ ⁠… Jennechka, there is the scope for your unbridled vengeance; while I will admire you from a distance⁠ ⁠… For you⁠—you are made of this stuff⁠—you are a bird of prey, a spoliator⁠ ⁠… Perhaps not with such a broad sweep⁠—but you will cast them down under your feet.”

“No,” faintly smiled Jennka. “I thought of this before⁠ ⁠… But something of the utmost importance has burned out within me. There are no forces within me, there is no will within me, no desires⁠ ⁠… I am somehow all empty inside, rotted⁠ ⁠… Well, now, you know, there’s a mushroom like that⁠—white, round⁠—you squeeze it, and snuff pours out of it. And the same way with me. This life has eaten out everything within me save malice. And I am flabby, and my malice is flabby⁠ ⁠… I’ll see some little boy again, will take pity on him, will be punishing myself again⁠ ⁠… No, it’s better⁠ ⁠… better so!⁠ ⁠…”

She became silent. And Platonov did not know what to say. It became oppressive and awkward for both. Finally, Jennka got up, and, without looking at Platonov, extended her cold, feeble hand to him.

“Goodbye, Sergei Ivanovich! Excuse me, that I took up your time⁠ ⁠… Oh, well, I can see myself that you’d help me, if you only could⁠ ⁠… But, evidently, there’s nothing to be done here⁠ ⁠… Goodbye!”

“Only don’t do anything foolish, Jennechka! I implore you!⁠ ⁠…”

“Oh, that’s all right!” said she and made a tired gesture with her hand.

Having come out of the square, they parted; but, having gone a few steps, Jennka suddenly called after him:

“Sergei Ivanovich, oh Sergei Ivanovich!⁠ ⁠…”

He stopped, turned around, walked back to her.

“Roly-Poly croaked last evening in our drawing room. He jumped and he jumped, and then suddenly plumped down⁠ ⁠… Oh, well, it’s an easy death at least! And also I forgot to ask you, Sergei Ivanovich⁠ ⁠… This is the last, now⁠ ⁠… Is there a God or no?”

Platonov knit his eyebrows.

“What answer can I make? I don’t know. I think that there is, but not