Short Fiction by Aleksandr Kuprin (nonfiction book recommendations .txt) 📕

signals which they communicated to one another at a distance.

“Do you know who these men are?” he asked the captain’s mate.

The captain’s mate, a rather dark boy without a mustache, who, in the saloon, played the part of an old sea-wolf, was very kindly disposed toward the student. During his watches he would tell Drzhevetzky unseemly stories out of his past life and uttered abominable things about all the women who were then on the ship⁠—and the student would hear him out patiently and attentively, even though with a certain coolness.

“These?” the captain’s mate repeated the student’s question. “Commission merchants, beyond a doubt. Probably trading in flour or grain. Well, we shall find out right away. Listen, mister⁠—what’s your name⁠—listen!” he called out, leaning over the railings. “Are you with a freight? With grain?”

“All through!” answered the Jew, lifting up his clever, observant face. “Now I am travelling for my own pleasure.”

In the evening the young lady from Moscow again sang⁠—“Who Wedded Us”; the justice of the peace shouted about the good to be derived from exterminating all the sheenies and inaugurating corporal punishment throughout all the Russias; the colonel was ordering Sevriuzhka à l’Américaine, with capers. The two commission merchants sat down to a game of “sixty-six”⁠—with old cards; then, as though by chance, the third one sat down with them, and the game changed to “preference.” At the final settlement one of the players was short of change⁠—he could find only banknotes of large denominations.

He said:

“Well, gentlemen, how are we going to settle? Do you want to play at rouge et noir?”

“Oh, no, thanks⁠—I don’t play at any games of chance,” answered one of the others. “But then, it’s a mere trifle. You can keep the change.”

The first man appeared to take offense, but at this juncture the third one intervened:

“Gentlemen⁠—we aren’t any steamboat sharpers, I think, and are in good company. Pardon me⁠—how much did you win?”

“My, but you are a hot-tempered fellow,” said the first. “Six roubles and twenty kopecks.”

“Very well, then⁠ ⁠… I’ll play you for the whole thing.”

“Oi, don’t scare me!” said the first, and began to deal.

He lost, and in his vexation doubled his stakes. And so, within a few minutes, a lively game of the hazardous Polish banco was on⁠—in which game the banker deals three cards to each partner, and turns up one card for each partner for himself.

Not even half an hour had passed before the table was covered with heaps of banknotes, little stacks of gold and piles of silver. The banker was losing all the time, and, with all this, his portrayal of amazement and indignation was done with exceeding verisimilitude.

“Do you always have such a run of luck on steamers?” he would ask a partner with a venomous smile.

“Yes⁠—and on Thursdays especially,” the other would answer with sang froid.

The unlucky player demanded that the cards be cut anew. But once more he began to lose. First and second class passengers had crowded around their table. The play had, little by little, inflamed them all. The first to come in with them was the good-natured colonel of artillery; he was followed by the clerk of the excise, who was going to Akhsbad, and by the bearded editor. Madame Kostretzova’s eyes became enkindled⁠—a proof of her high-strung nervous temperament.

“Do put your stakes against him,” she said in an angry whisper to her husband. “Can’t you see that bad luck is pursuing him?”

“Mais, ma chérie.⁠ ⁠… Only God knows who these people are,” the justice of the peace protested feebly.

“Idiot!” said she, in a vehement whisper. “Bring my pocketbook from the cabin.”

III

The student had long since fathomed just what the matter was. It was perfectly clear to him that these three men formed the usual party of steamer card sharpers. But, evidently, it was necessary for him to ponder over certain things and to comprehend them. He took a long black cigar at the counter, and settled down on the balcony, watching the steamer’s shadow gliding over the yellow water, refracting the fantastic little spots of sunlight. The captain’s mate upon seeing him ran down from the bridge, laughing significantly.

“Do you want me to show you one of the most interesting people in Russia, professor?”

“Really?” said the student indifferently, flicking the ashes off his cigar with a fingernail.

“Look at that gentlernan over there⁠—the one with the gray mustaches and a green silk shade over his eyes. That’s Balunsky⁠—the King of the Cardsharpers.”

The student grew animated and threw a quick glance to his right.

“That fellow? Really? Is that truly Balunsky himself?”

“Yes. The very same.”

“Well, is he playing now?”

“No. He’s done for, entirely. And even if he were to sit down to play⁠—why then, as you know yourself, it would be our bounden duty to warn the public.⁠ ⁠… All he does is to hang about the tables, just watching and nothing more.”

At this moment Balunsky was passing by them, and the student’s eyes followed him with the liveliest interest. Balunsky was a tall, splendidly formed old man, with fine, proud features. The student saw much in his appearance: a habit from of old of bearing himself unconstrainedly with self-assurance before the eyes of a great gathering; soft, well-cared for hands; an assumed, extrinsic air of seigneur. But the student also noticed a slight defect in the use of his right leg, and the time-whitened seams of his one time splendid Parisian overcoat. And the student, with an unfailing attentiveness and some peculiar feeling compounded of indifferent pity and a contempt devoid of any malice, observed all these trifles.

“There was a chap for you⁠—but he’s all done for now,” said the captain’s mate.

“There’s rather a big game going on downstairs,” said the student calmly.

Then, suddenly, turning toward the captain’s mate and staring stonily into his very pupils, he said as simply as if he were ordering his breakfast or dinner:

“To tell you the truth, mon cher ami, I have been keeping my eye