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

contemptuously in reply to the warm, sincere, probably truthful but clumsily put word. “But why fiddlesticks?” “Because it’s twaddle, nonsense,” answer they, shrugging their shoulders; and it is as though they did for a man by hitting him with a stone over the head. There are many more sorts of such people, bearing the bell at the head of the meek, the shy, the nobly modest, and often even the big minds; and to their number did Simanovsky belong.

However, toward the middle of the dinner everybody’s tongue became loosened⁠—except Liubka’s, who kept silent, answered “yes” and “no,” and left her food practically untouched. Likhonin, Soloviev, and Nijeradze talked most of all. The first, in a decisive and businesslike manner, trying to hide under the solicitous words something real, inward, prickling and inconvenient. Soloviev, with a puerile delight, with the most sweeping of gestures, hitting the table with his fist. Nijeradze, with a slight doubtfulness and with unfinished phrases, as though he knew that which must be said, but concealed it. The queer fate of the girl, however, had seemingly engrossed, interested them all; and each one, in expressing his opinion, for some reason inevitably turned to Simanovsky. But he kept his counsel for the most part, and looked at each one from under the glasses of his pince-nez, raising his head high to do so.

“So, so, so,” he said at last, drumming with his fingers upon the table. “What Likhonin has done is splendid and brave. And that the Prince and Soloviev are going to meet him halfway is also very good. I, for my part, am ready to cooperate with your beginnings with whatever lies in my power. But will it not be better, if we lead our friend along the path of her natural inclinations and abilities, so to speak? Tell me, my dear,” he turned to Liubka, “what do you know, what can you do? Well, now, some kind of work, or something. Sewing, knitting, embroidering or something.”

“I don’t know anything,” said Liubka in a whisper, letting her eyes drop low, all red, squeezing her fingers under the table. “I don’t understand anything of this.”

“And really, now,” interposed Likhonin; “why, we haven’t begun the business from the right end. By talking about her in her presence we merely place her in an awkward position. Just see⁠—even her tongue doesn’t move from confusion. Let’s go, Liubka, I’ll escort you home for just a little while, and return in ten minutes. And in the meanwhile we’ll think over ways and means here, without you. All right?”

“As for me, I don’t mind,” almost inaudibly answered Liubka. “I’ll do just as you like, Vassil Vassilich. Only I wouldn’t like to go home.”

“Why so?”

“It’s awkward for me there alone. I’d best wait for you on the boulevard, at the very entrance, on a bench.”

“Ah, yes!” Likhonin recollected: “It’s Alexandra who has inspired her with such a terror. My, but I’ll make it hot for this old lizard! Well, let’s go, Liubochka.”

She timidly, in some sidelong way, put out her hand to each one, folding it like a little spade; and walked out under the escort of Likhonin.

After several minutes he returned and sat down at his place. He felt that something had been said about him during his absence, and he ran his eyes uneasily over his comrades. Then, putting his hands on the table, he began:

“Gentlemen, I know that you’re all good, close friends,” he gave a quick and sidelong look at Simanovsky, “and responsive people. I heartily beg of you to come to my aid. The deed was done by me in a hurry⁠—this I must confess⁠—but done through a sincere, pure inclination of the heart.”

“And that’s the main thing,” put in Soloviev.

“It’s absolutely all one to me what acquaintances and strangers will begin saying about me; but from my intention to save⁠—pardon the fool word, which slipped out⁠—to encourage, to sustain this girl, I will not decline. Of course, I’m able to rent an inexpensive, small room for her; to give her something for board at first; but what’s to be done further⁠—that’s what presents difficulties to me. The matter, of course, isn’t one of money, which I’d always find for her; but, then, to compel her to eat, drink, and with all that to do nothing⁠—that would mean to condemn her to idleness, indifference, apathy; and you know what the end will be then. Therefore, we must think of some occupation for her. And that’s the very matter which we must exert our brains about. Make an effort, gentlemen; advise something.”

“We must know what she’s fitted for,” said Simanovsky. “For she must have been doing something before getting into the house.”

Likhonin, with an air of hopelessness, spread out his hands.

“Almost nothing. She can sew just the least bit, just like any country lass. Why, she wasn’t fifteen when some government clerk led her astray. She can sweep up a room, wash a little, and, if you will, cook cabbage soup and porridge. Nothing more, it seems.”

“Rather little,” said Simanovsky, and clacked his tongue.

“And in addition to that, she’s illiterate as well.”

“But that’s not at all important!” warmly defended Soloviev. “If we had to do with a well-educated girl, or, worse still, with a half-educated one, then only nonsense would result out of all that we’re preparing to do, a mere soap-bubble; while here before us is maiden ground, untouched virgin soil.”

“He-ee!” Nijeradze started neighing equivocally.

Soloviev, now no longer joking, but with real wrath, pounced upon him:

“Listen, Prince! Every holy thought, every good deed, can be made disgusting, obscene. There’s nothing clever or worthy in that. If you regard that which we’re preparing to do so like a stallion, then there’s the door and God be with you. Go away from us!”

“Yes, but you yourself just now in the room⁠ ⁠…” retorted the Prince in confusion.

“Yes, I too,” Soloviev at once softened and cooled down. “I popped out with a stupidity and I regret it. But now I willingly admit