Yama by Aleksandr Kuprin (best ereader for pdf TXT) 📕
Description
Yama (The Pit) recounts the lives of a group of prostitutes living and working in Anna Markovna’s brothel in the town of K⸺. The women, subject to effective slavery through the removal of their papers and onerous debts, act out a scene of easy affability every evening for the part ignorant, part monstrous clients, while keeping secret their own pasts and wished-for futures.
The book was Kuprin’s attempt to denormalize the cultural ambiguity of the legal brothels of the time. His dedication—“to mothers and youths”—expresses his desire that there should no longer be a silent acceptance of the actions of the “fathers, husbands, and brothers.” The novel was notable for portraying the inhabitants of the brothels as living, breathing people with their own hopes and desires, not purely as a plot point or scenario.
The critical response was mixed: many found the subject matter beyond the pale. Kuprin himself placed his hopes on a favourable review from Leo Tolstoy, which didn’t come; but there was praise for Yama as both social commentary and warning, and an appreciation for Kuprin’s attempt to detail the everyday lives of his subjects.
The novel had a troubled genesis, with the first part taking nine years between initial proposal and first publication; the second and third parts followed five years later. It was a victim of the Russian censors who, tellingly, disapproved more of scenes involving officials visiting the brothels, than the brothels themselves. It was only later during preparations for an anthology of his work that an uncensored version was allowed to be released. This edition is based on the translation to English by Bernard Guilbert Guerney of that uncensored version, and was first published in 1922.
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- Author: Aleksandr Kuprin
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“Klimenko.”
“It seems I’ve met him somewheres … All right … Who is the district inspector in your precinct station?”
“Berkesh.”
“Aha, I know … Such a strong, virile fellow, with a red beard in a fan … Yes?”
“Yes, that is he.”
“I know him very well! There, now, is somebody that a sentence to hard labour is hankering after … Some ten times he fell into my hands; and always, the skunk, gave me the slip somehow. Slippery, just like an eelpout … We will have to slip him a little present. Well, now! And then the anatomical theatre … When do you want to bury her?”
“Really, I don’t know … I would like to do it as soon as possible … if possible, today.”
“Hm … Today … I don’t vouch for it—we will hardly manage it … But here is my memorandum book. Well, take even this page, where are my friends under the letter T—just write the very same way: Tamara, and your address. In two hours I will give you an answer. Does that suit you? But I repeat again, that probably you will have to postpone the burial till tomorrow … Then—pardon my unceremoniousness—is money needed, perhaps?”
“No, thank you!” refused Tamara. “I have money. Thanks for your interest! … It’s time for me to be going. I thank you with all my heart, Ellen Victorovna! …”
“Then expect it in two hours,” repeated Ryazanov, escorting her to the door.
Tamara did not at once ride away to the house. She turned into a little coffeehouse on Catholicheskaya Street on the way. There Senka the Depot was waiting for her—a gay fellow with the appearance of a handsome Tzigan; not black- but blue-haired; black-eyed, with yellow whites; resolute and daring in his work; the pride of local thieves—a great celebrity in their world, the first leader of experience, and a constant, all-night gamester.
He stretched out his hand to her, without getting up. But in the way in which he so carefully, with a certain force, seated her in her place could be seen a broad, good-natured endearment.
“How do you do, Tamarochka! Haven’t seen you in a dog’s age—I grew weary … Do you want coffee?”
“No! Business first … Tomorrow we bury Jennka … She hanged herself …”
“Yes, I read it in a newspaper,” carelessly drawled out Senka through his teeth. “What’s the odds? …”
“Get fifty roubles for me at once.”
“Tamarochka, my sweetheart—I haven’t a kopeck! …”
“I’m telling you—get them!” ordered Tamara, imperiously, but without getting angry.
“Oh, my Lord! … Yours, now, I didn’t touch, like I promised; but then, it’s Sunday … The savings banks are closed …”
“Let them! … Hock the savings book! In general, it’s up to you!”
“Why do you need this, my dearie?”
“Isn’t it all the same to you, you fool? … For the funeral.”
“Oh! Well, all right then!” sighed Senka. “Then I’d best bring it to you myself in the evening … Right, Tamarochka? … It’s so very hard for me to stand it without you! Oh, my dearie, how I’d kiss and kiss you; I wouldn’t let you close your eyes! … Shan’t I come? …”
“No, no! … You do as I ask you, Senechka … Give in to me. But you mustn’t come—I’m housekeeper now.”
“Well, what d’you know about that! …” drawled out the astonished Senka and even whistled.
“Yes. And don’t you come to me in the meantime. But afterwards, afterwards, sweetheart, whatever you desire … There will be an end to everything soon!”
“Oh, if you wouldn’t make me suffer so! Wind things up as soon as you can!”
“And I will wind ’em up! Wait one little week more, dearie! Did you get the powders?”
“The powders are a trifle!” discontentedly answered Senka. “And it isn’t powders at all, but pills.”
“And you’re sure when you say that they’ll dissolve at once in water?”
“Sure, I saw it myself.”
“But he won’t die? Listen, Senya: he won’t die? Is that right? …”
“Nothing will happen to him … He’ll only snooze for a while … Oh, Tamara!” exclaimed he in a passionate whisper; and even suddenly stretched himself hard from an unbearable emotion, so that his joints cracked. “Finish it, for God’s sake, as soon as possible! … Let’s turn the trick and—bye-bye! Wherever you want to go to, sweetheart! I am all at your will: if you want to, we start off for Odessa; if you want to—abroad. Finish it up as soon as possible! …”
“Soon, soon …”
“You just wink at me, and I’m all ready … with powders, with instruments, with passports … And then—choo-choo! The machine is off! Tamarochka! My angel! … My precious, my sparkler! …”
And he, always restrained, having forgotten that he could be seen by strangers, already wanted to embrace and hug Tamara to himself.
“Now, now! …” rapidly and deftly, like a cat, Tamara jumped off the chair. “Afterwards … afterwards, Senechka, afterwards, little dearie! … I’ll be all yours—there won’t be any denial, nor forbiddance. I’ll myself make you weary of me … Goodbye, my little silly!”
And with a quick movement of her hand having rumpled up his black curls, she hastily went out of the coffeehouse.
VIIIOn the next day, on Monday, toward ten o’clock in the morning, almost all the inmates of the house—formerly Madame Shaibes’, but now Emma Edwardovna Titzner’s—rode off in cabs to the centre of the city, to the anatomical theatre—all, except the farsighted, much-experienced Henrietta; the cowardly and insensible Ninka; and the feebleminded Pashka, who for two days now had not gotten up from her bed, kept silent, and to questions directed at her answered by a beatific, idiotical smile and with some sort of inarticulate animal lowing. If she were not given to eat, she would not even ask; but if food were brought, she would eat with greediness, right with her hands. She became so slovenly and forgetful, that it was necessary to remind her of certain necessary functions in order to avoid unpleasantness. Emma Edwardovna did not send out Pashka to her steady guests, who asked for Pashka every day.
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