Yama [The Pit], a Novel in Three PartsKuprin, A. I. (Aleksandr Ivanovich)
General
Yama [The Pit], a Novel in Three Parts
Kuprin, A. I. (Aleksandr Ivanovich)
Prostitutes -- Russia -- Fiction; Russia -- Fiction; Russian fiction -- Translations into English
“No,” she responded dully, after a long silence, “no, this won’t work
out with me: fate has chewed me all up! ... I’m not a human being any
more, but some sort of dirty cud ... Eh!” she suddenly made a gesture
of despair. ‘Let’s better drink some cognac, Jennechka,’” she addressed
herself, “‘and let’s suck the lemon a little! ...’ Brr ... what nasty
stuff! ... And where does Annushka always get such abominable stuff? If
you smear a dog’s wool with it, it will fall off ... And always, the
low-down thing, she’ll take an extra half. Once I somehow ask her—‘What
are you hoarding money for?’ ‘Well, I,’ she says, ‘am saving it up for
a wedding. What sort,’ she says, ‘of joy will it be for my husband,
that I’ll offer him up my innocence alone! I must earn a few hundreds
in addition.’ She’s happy! ... I have here, Tamara, a little money in
the little box under the mirror; you pass it on to her, please...”
“And what are you about, you fool; do you want to die, or what?”
sharply, with reproach, said Tamara.
“No, I’m saying it just so, if anything happens ... Take it, now, take
the money! Maybe they’ll take me off to the hospital ... And how do you
know what’s going to take place there? I left myself some small change,
if anything happens ... And supposing that I wanted to do something to
myself in downright earnest, Tamarochka—is it possible that you’d
interfere with me?”
Tamara looked at her fixedly, deeply, and calmly. Jennie’s eyes were
sad, and as though vacant. The living fire had become extinguished in
them, and they seemed turbid, just as though faded, with whites like
moonstone.
“No,” Tamara said at last, quietly but firmly. “If it was on account of
love, I’d interfere; if it was on account of money, I’d talk you out of
it: but there are cases where one must not interfere. I wouldn’t help,
of course; but I also wouldn’t seize you and interfere with you.”
At this moment the quick-limbed housekeeper Zociya whirled through the
corridor with an outcry:
“Ladies, get dressed! The doctor has arrived ... Ladies, get dressed!
... Lively, ladies! ...”
“Well, go on, Tamara, go on,” said Jennka tenderly, getting up. “I’ll
run into my room for just a minute—I haven’t changed my dress yet,
although, to tell the truth, this also is all one. When they’ll be
calling out for me, and I don’t come in time, call out, run in after
me.”
And, going out of Tamara’s room, she embraced her by the shoulder, as
though by chance, and stroked it tenderly.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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