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

it out to Likhonin together with the blank, while he stretched out the money to her; at which, during the time of the operation, they both looked at each other’s eyes and hands intently and warily. It was apparent that they both felt no especially great mutual trust. Likhonin put the documents away in his wallet and was preparing to depart. The housekeeper escorted him to the very stoop, and when the student was already standing in the street, she, remaining on the steps, leaned out and called after him:

“Student! Hey! Student!”

He stopped and turned around.

“What now?”

“And here’s another thing. Now I must tell you, that your Liubka is trash, a thief, and sick with syphilis! None of our good guests wanted to take her; and anyway, if you had not taken her, then we would have thrown her out tomorrow! I will also tell you, that she had to do with the porter, with policemen, with janitors, and with petty thieves. Congratulations on your lawful marriage!”

“Oo-ooh! Vermin!” Likhonin roared back at her.

“You green blockhead!” called out the housekeeper and banged the door.

Likhonin went to the station house in a cab. On the way he recalled that he had not had time to look at the blank properly, at this renowned “yellow ticket,” of which he had heard so much. This was an ordinary small white sheet, no larger than a postal envelope. On one side, in the proper column, were written out the name, father’s name, and family name of Liubka, and her profession⁠—“Prostitute”; and on the other side, concise extracts from the paragraphs of that placard which he had just read through⁠—infamous, hypocritical rules about behaviour and external and internal cleanliness. “Every visitor.” he read, “has the right to demand from the prostitute the written certificate of the doctor who has inspected her the last time.” And again sentimental pity overcame the heart of Likhonin.

“Poor women!” he reflected with grief. “What only don’t they do with you, how don’t they abuse you, until you grow accustomed to everything, just like blind horses on a treadmill!”

In the station house he was received by the district inspector, Berkesh. He had spent the night on duty, had not slept his fill, and was angry. His luxurious, fan-shaped red beard was crumpled. The right half of the ruddy face was still crimsonly glowing from lying long on the uncomfortable oilcloth pillow. But the amazing, vividly blue eyes, cold and luminous, looked clear and hard, like blue porcelain. Having ended interrogating, recording, and cursing out with obscenities the throng of ragamuffins, taken in during the night for sobering up and now being sent out over their own districts, he threw himself against the back of the divan, put his hands behind his neck, and stretched with all his enormous, heroic body so hard that all his ligaments and joints cracked. He looked at Likhonin just as at a thing, and asked:

“And what will you have, Mr. Student?”

Likhonin stated his business briefly.

“And so I want,” he concluded, “to take her to me⁠ ⁠… how is this supposed to be done with you?⁠ ⁠… in the capacity of a servant, or, if you want, a relative, in a word⁠ ⁠… how is it done?⁠ ⁠…”

“Well, in the capacity of a kept mistress or a wife, let’s say,” indifferently retorted Berkesh and twirled in his hands a silver cigar case with monograms and little figures. “I can do absolutely nothing for you⁠ ⁠… at least right now. If you desire to marry her, present a suitable permit from your university authorities. But if you’re taking her on maintenance⁠—then just think, where’s the logic in that? You’re taking a girl out of a house of depravity, in order to live with her in depraved cohabitation.”

“A servant, finally,” Likhonin put in.

“And even a servant. I’d trouble you to present an affidavit from your landlord⁠—for, I hope, you’re not a houseowner? Very well, then, an affidavit from your landlord, as to your being in a position to keep a servant; and besides that, all the documents, testifying that you’re that very person you give yourself out to be; an affidavit, for instance, from your district and from the university, and all that sort of thing. For you, I hope, are registered? Or, perhaps, you are now, eh?⁠ ⁠… Of the illegal ones?

“No, I’m registered!” retorted Likhonin, beginning to lose patience.

“And that’s splendid. But the young lady, about whom you’re troubling yourself?”

“No, she’s not registered as yet. But I have her blank in my possession, which, I hope, you’ll exchange for a real passport for me, and then I’ll register her at once.”

Berkesh spread his arms out wide, then again began toying with the cigar case.

“Can’t do anything for you, Mr. Student, just nothing at all, until you present all the papers required. As far as the girl’s concerned, why, she, as one not having the right of residence, will be sent to the police without delay, and there detained; unless she personally desires to go there, where you’ve taken her from. I’ve the honour of wishing you good day.”

Likhonin abruptly pulled his hat over his eyes and went toward the door. But suddenly an ingenious thought flashed through his head, from which, however, he himself became disgusted. And feeling nausea in the pit of his stomach, with clammy, cold hands, experiencing a sickening pinching in his toes, he again walked up to the table and said as though carelessly, but with a catch in his voice:

“Pardon me, inspector. I’ve forgotten the most important thing; a certain mutual acquaintance of ours has instructed me to transmit to you a small debt of his.”

“Hm! An acquaintance?” asked Berkesh, opening wide his magnificent azure eyes. “And who may he be?”

“Bar⁠ ⁠… Barbarisov.”

“Ah, Barbarisov? So, so, so, I recollect, I recollect!”

“So then, won’t you please accept these ten roubles?”

Berkesh shook his head, but did not take the bit of paper.

“Well, but this Barbarisov of yours⁠—that is, ours⁠—is a swine. It isn’t ten roubles he owes me at all, but a quarter of