SHIFRIN CAME INTO the room, a tall, poised gymnasium student dressed somewhat pretentiously like a dandy. Upon seeing Mirkin he began speaking in an affected manner, with a barely detectable note of sarcasm in his voice: “B-bon soir-r, Monsieur Mirkin,”1 and he shook his hand.
Then he went up to Yegorova, bowed to her elegantly and respectfully, and said, “Olga Andreevna!”2
He inclined his head a bit to one side and wanted to add something, but refrained.
Yegorova nodded her head coolly, and a shadow crossed her face.
“What were you talking about, ladies and gentlemen?” Shifrin asked nonchalantly, sensing he was superfluous in the room.
“The weather!” Liza replied nimbly.
“I don’t believe that!” he exclaimed sarcastically. “Even more so in the presence of . . .”
He wanted to say “Mirkin” and even looked at him, but felt that it might be rude, so he changed his mind: “In the presence of Moleschott’s book!”
Turning to face Yegorova, he asked her almost defiantly:
“Are you planning to go to the club the day after tomorrow to attend the ball?”
“No!” Yegorova replied simply.
“What a pity! I hoped to invite you to dance a waltz.”
“You know I don’t dance,” replied Yegorova, regarding him with a look of cold surprise.
Shifrin shriveled under her gaze. He felt like teasing her, angering this girl whom he really liked and who remained cool and indifferent to all his advances. Turning to Mirkin, he asked with undisguised sarcasm, “Tell me, Mirkin, did Pisarev know how to dance?”
“I don’t know!” replied Mirkin abruptly, and immediately added harshly, “Leave Pisarev in peace!”
“A taboo topic!” Shifrin said, raising his arm theatrically and glancing fleetingly at Yegorova.
She remained calm and addressed the younger Shifrina: “Manechka,3 you wanted to show me your embroidery. Let’s go. . . .”
Without looking at Shifrin, she went to the door and nodded her head to Mirkin.
“Olga Andreevna, are you offended because I mentioned Pisarev?” he called out after her, with a note of sarcasm and distraught entreaty in his voice.
“No—because of you!” Yegorova replied calmly and categorically in the doorway. She left without turning around.
“You certainly never manage to hide your feelings, Levushka!”4 observed Liza with a soft reproach.
“Oh, sister of mine!” Shifrin exclaimed theatrically, placing his hand over his heart. “If you only knew-w-w how I suf-f-fer!”
“Don’t pretend . . . I know you’re suffering!” his sister interrupted him somewhat cruelly.
Mirkin vaguely understood that something had taken place between Shifrin and Yegorova; he was pleased that the girl had demonstratively left. At the same time, he realized that after her departure he had nothing more to do here now.
“Ah, yes!” Shifrin addressed him hastily, grateful for the chance to change the subject. “Concerning that special collection you’ve asked for, there’s nothing more I can do. . . . I can contribute a ruble myself, but if you want more—I’m sorry about that!”
An expression of deep aggravation spread across Mirkin’s face. Shifrin noticed it and, unconsciously wishing to aggravate him even further, added, emphasizing his words, “I must warn you that I won’t agree to undertake these collections in the future. You know, it’s simply disgusting! It’s just like pleading. . . .”
“What else can we do?” Mirkin said with sadness. “We have to pay the metalworker six rubles. And several days ago two more boys showed up without any means of support!”
“What were they expecting?” cried Shifrin in indignation. “Why, that’s terrible! They just keep on coming and coming; it’s as if there were piles of gold waiting for them here!”
“What can we do?” Mirkin replied guiltily.
“Russians,” Shifrin continued, “behave not at all like this! With them, if a man lacks the means to study, he finds himself some sort of job, some work to do. But your yeshiva students and Talmudists—they don’t want to know anything of the sort! They all think they’re Lomonosovs. They don’t think about anything other than ‘edd-yu-cay-shun,’ ” he concluded with a contemptuous grimace, distorting the word “education.”
Mirkin cringed at these words but controlled himself; looking down with a stern expression, he bit his lips.
“What do you think we should do?” he asked with restraint, but with internal agitation. “Send an order out to all the villages that no one else should dare come here to study? Or should we erect a barrier?”
“You just said that two new students arrived,” Shifrin continued, getting carried away, not listening to Mirkin. “How can you guarantee that tomorrow twenty more won’t show up?”
Mirkin lifted his head suddenly and stared sternly at Shifrin; his expression revealed a small spark of annoyance.
“If I can’t guarantee it, then so what?” he said in a louder, somewhat challenging voice. “They’ll come—let them come! Thank God! I’ll be very glad!”
“Yes! You have plenty of time to worry about them. . . .”
“But you don’t have any time—so don’t worry about them! No one’s forcing you. . . .”
“You’re wrong! They are forcing me. . . .”
“Leva! Leva!” Liza suddenly interrupted him; she’d been following the conversation anxiously. “Why have you flown into such a rage?”
“I haven’t,” Shifrin replied, however, with more restraint. “I’m merely saying that nothing would be lost if nine-tenths of these would-be Lomonosovs, these Faeviches and Shmaeviches,5 would stay home. . . . I assure you, Mirkin, you’d act in a more reasonable manner if, instead of playing nursemaid for these little boys, you advised them to go back home. . . .”
“Home?” Mirkin cried with a tremor in his voice. “Advise them to return to that accursed darkness from which they’ve escaped with such difficulty?”
“Ah, what pathetic words!” Shifrin interrupted him contemptuously.
“Pathetic?” Mirkin cried with deep indignation. “Yes, they may be pathetic, empty words for you! Do you know why? I’m not embarrassed to tell you!”
“Well, then tell me!” Shifrin challenged him.
“Mirkin! Mirkin!” Liza said, trying to stop him.
But Mirkin was already beside himself with rage; looking Shifrin right in the eye, he almost shouted at him, “You think that because you have a wealthy father who feeds you and educates you that you’ve become some sort of superior being? You think that because you’ve collected a few rubles for these Faeviches and Shmaeviches, as you call them, that you’ve earned the right to make fun of them? They’d like to spit on your money! They’ll manage without it and without your advice! We spit on all of your . . . aristocratism!!”
And, completely beside himself, he went running out of the room.
“What a fool!” Shifrin shouted after him.
1. (French) “Good evening, Mr. Mirkin.”
2. His affectation influences both his French and Russian pronunciation.
3. Diminutive form of her name.
4. Diminutive form of his name.
5. A standard comic deflation in Yiddish is the distortion of a word by the addition of an initial “sh” or “shm.”