WHICH MAY BE ENTITLED: THE BEAST IN THE SNARE.
A FEW days later, I do not know well whether five or six, in a private room of the public-house in Barania-Glova sat Burak the mayor, the councilman Gomula, and young Repa. The mayor took his glass,—
“You might stop quarrelling, when there is nothing to quarrel about.”
“But I say that the Frenchman will not give up to the Prussian,” replied Gomula, striking the table with his fist.
“The Prussian is cunning, the dog blood!” answered Repa.
“What good is it that he is cunning? The Turk will help the Frenchman, and the Turk is the strongest.”
“What do ye know! The strongest is Harubanda [Garibalda].”
“You must have got out of bed shoulders first. But where did you pull out Harubanda?”
“What need had I to pull him out? Haven’t people said that he sailed down the Vistula in boats with a great army? But the beer in Warsaw didn’t please him, for generally it is better at home, so he went back.”
“Don’t lie for nothing. Every Schwab 8 is a Jew.”
“But Harubanda is no Schwab.”
“What is he?”
“Well what? He must be Cæsar and that’s the end of it!”
“You are terribly wise!”
“You are not wiser.”
“But if you are so wise, then tell what was the surname of our first father?”
“How? Yadam, of course.”
“That is a Christian name; but his surname?”
“Do I know?”
“See there! But I do. His surname was Skrushyla.”
“You must have the pip.”
“If you don’t believe, then listen:—
“‘Gwiazdo morza, któraś Pana
Mlekiem swojém wykarmila
Tyś śmiercì szczep, który wszczepił
Pierwszy rodzic, wszczepił.’” 9
“Well, and isn’t it Skrushyla?”
“You are right this time.”
“You had better take another drink,” said the mayor.
“Your healths, gossips!”
“Your health!”
“Haim!”
“Siulim!”
“God give happiness!”
All three drank; but since that was at the time of the Franco-German War, Councilman Gomula returned again to politics.
“Well, drink again!” said Burak, after a while.
“The Lord God give happiness!”
“The Lord God reward!”
“Well, to your health!”
They drank again, and, since they drank arrack, Repa struck his empty glass on the table, and said,—
“Ei! that was good! good!”
“Well, have another?” asked Burak.
“Pour it out!”
Repa grew still redder; Burak kept filling his glass.
“But you,” said he at last to Repa, “though you are able to throw a korzets of peas on your shoulder with one hand, would be afraid to go to the war.”
“Why should I be afraid? If to fight, then, fight.”
“One man is small, but very brave; another is strong, but cowardly,” said Gomula.
“That is not true!” answered Repa. “I am not cowardly.”
“Who knows what you are?”
“But I will go,” said Repa, showing his fist, which was as big as a loaf of bread. “If I should go into one of you with this fist, you would fly apart like an old barrel.”
“But I might not.”
“Do you want to try?”
“Be quiet!” interrupted the mayor. “Are you going to fight or what? Let us drink again.”
They drank again; but Burak and Gomula merely moistened their lips. Repa emptied a whole glass of arrack, so that his eyes were white.
“Let us kiss now,” said the mayor.
Repa burst into tears at the embraces and kisses, which was a sign that he was well drunk; then he fell to complaining, lamenting bitterly over the blue calf which had died two weeks before in his cowhouse at night.
“Oh, what a calf that was which the Lord God took from me!” cried he, piteously.
“Well, don’t mourn aver the calf!” said Burak. “A writing has come to the secretary from the government, that the landlord’s forests will go to the cottagers.”
“And in justice!” answered Repa. “Was it the landlord who planted the forest?”
Then again he began to lament,—
“Oi! what a calf that was! When he bunted the cow with his head while sucking, her hind part flew up to the crossbeam.”
“The secretary said—”
“What is the secretary to me?” asked Repa, angrily. “The secretary is no more for me,—
“‘He is no more for me
Than Ignatsi—’”
“Let us drink again!”
They drank again. Repa grew calm somehow, and sat down on the bench; that moment the door opened, and on the threshold appeared the green cap, the upturned nose, and the goatee of the secretary.
Repa, who had his cap pushed to the back of his head, threw it at once on the floor, stood up and bellowed out:
“Be praised.”
“Is the mayor here?” asked the secretary.
“He is!” answered three voices.
The secretary approached, and at the same moment flew up Shmul, the shopkeeper, with a glass of arrack. Zolzik sniffed it, made a wry face, and sat down at the table.
Silence reigned for a moment. At last Gomula began,
“Lord secretary?”
“What?”
“Is that true about this forest?”
“True. But you must write a petition as a whole commune.”
“I will not subscribe,” said Repa, who had the general peasant aversion to subscribing his name.
“No one will beg of thee. If thou wilt not subscribe, thou wilt not receive. Thy will.”
Repa fell to scratching his head; the secretary, turning to the mayor and the councilman, said in an official tone,—
“It is true about the forest; but each one must surround his own part with a fence to avoid disputes.”
“That’s it; the fence will cost more than the forest is worth,” put in Repa.
The secretary paid no attention to him.
“To pay for the fence,” said he to the mayor and the councilman, “the government sends money. Every one will receive profit even, for there will be fifty rubles to each man.”
Repa’s eyes just flashed, though he was drunk.
“If that is so, I will subscribe. But where is the money?”
“I have the money,” said the secretary. “And here is the document.”
So saying, he took out a paper folded in four, and read something which the peasants did not understand, though they were greatly delighted; but if Repa had been more sober, he would have seen how the mayor muttered to the councilman.
Then, O wonder! The secretary, taking out the money, said,—
“Well, who will write first?”
All subscribed in turn; when Repa took the pen, Zolzik took away the document, and said,—
“Perhaps thou are not willing? All this is of free will.”
“Why shouldn’t I be willing?”
“Shmul!” called the secretary.
Shmul appeared in the door. “Well, what does the lord secretary wish?”
“Come here as a witness that everything is of free will.” Then, turning to Repa, he said, “Perhaps thou art not willing?”
But Repa had subscribed already, and fixed on the paper a jew 10 no worse than Shmul; then he took the money from Zolzik, fifty whole rubles, and, putting them away in his bosom, cried,—
“Now give us some more arrack!”
Shmul brought it. They drank once and a second time; then Repa planted his fists on his knees and began to doze. He nodded once, nodded a second time; at last he dropped from the bench, muttering, “God be merciful to me a sinner,” and fell asleep.
Repa’s wife did not come for him; she knew that if he were drunk he would abuse her, perhaps. He used to do so. The next day he would beg her pardon, and kiss her hands. When he was sober, he never said an evil word to the woman; but sometimes he attacked her when he was drunk.
So Repa slept all night in the public house. Next morning he woke at sunrise. He looked, stared, saw that it was not his cottage, but the dram-shop, and not the room in which they were sitting the evening before, but the general room, where the counter was.
“In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost!”
He looked still more carefully; the sun was rising and shining in through the colored window-panes, and at the window was Shmul, dressed in a shroud with a head-band and plate on his forehead; he was standing, nodding and praying aloud.
“Shmul, dog faith!” cried Repa.
But Shmul made no answer. He swayed backward and forward, prayed on.
Then Repa began to feel of himself, as every peasant does who has slept a night in a drinking-house. He felt the money.
“Jesus, Mary! but what is this?”
Meanwhile, Shmul had finished praying; he removed the shroud and cap, put them away in the room, then returned with slow step, important and calm.
“Shmul!”
“Well, what dost thou want?”
“What money is this that I have here?”
“Knowest not, stupid fellow? Thou didst agree last night with the mayor to take the place of his son; thou didst take the money and sign an agreement.”
Repa became as pale as a white wall; then he threw his cap on the floor, dropped onto it, and roared till the window-panes rattled.
“Now go out, thou soldier!” said Shmul, phlegmatically.
Half an hour later, Repa was approaching his cottage; his wife, who was cooking breakfast just then, heard him when the gate squeaked, and ran straight from the fire to meet him; she was very angry.
“Thou drunkard!” began she.
But when she looked at the man, she was frightened, for she hardly knew him.
“What is the matter with thee?”
Repa went into the cottage, and at first could not say a word; he only sat on the bench and looked at the floor.
But Marysia began to inquire, and got everything out of him finally.
“They sold me,” said he.
Then she in her turn broke into a great lament; he after her; the child in the cradle began to roar; Kruchek, the dog, outside the door howled so piteously that women with spoons in their hands ran among other cottages and inquired one of another,—
“What has happened there at Repa’s?”
“It must be that he is beating her, or something.”
Meanwhile Repa’s wife was lamenting still more than Repa himself, for she loved him, poor woman, above everything in the world.