That which you said was, between us, paradoxical; but then, how it was said! … To this day I remember the tone of your voice, so warm, expressive … And so, Ellena Victorovna,” he turned to Rovinskaya again, sitting down on a small, low chair without a back, “in what can I be of use to you?
I am at your disposal.”
Rovinskaya, with a languid air, again applied the tips of her fingers to her temples.
“Ah, really, I am so upset, my dear Ryazanov,” said she, intentionally extinguishing the sparkle of her magnificent eyes, “and then, my miserable head … May I trouble you to pass me the pyramidon what-not from that table … Let Mile.
Tamara tell you everything … I can not, I am not able to … This is so horrible! … ”
Tamara briefly, lucidly, narrated to Ryazanov all the sad history of Jennka’s death; recalled also about the card left with Jennie; and also how the deceased had reverently preserved this card; and — in passing— about his promise to help in case of need.
“Of course, of course!” exclaimed Ryanzanov, when she had finished; and at once began pacing the room back and forth with big steps, ruffling and tossing back his picturesque hair through habit. “You are performing a magnificent, sincere, comradely action!
That is good! … That is very good! … I am yours … You say— a permit for the funeral … Hm … God grant me memory! … ”
He rubbed his forehead with his palm.
“Hm … hm … If I’m not mistaken— Monocanon, rule one hundred seventy … one hundred seventy … eight … Pardon me, I think I remember it by heart … Pardon me! … Yes, so! ’If a man slayeth himself, he shall not be chanted over, nor shall a mass be said for him, unless he were greatly astonied, that is, to wit, out of his mind’… Hm … See St. Timothy Alexandrine … And so, my dear miss, the first thing … You say, that she was taken down from the noose by your doctor— i.e., the official city doctor … His name? … ”
“Klimenko.”
“It seems I’ve met him somewheres … All right … Who is the district inspector in your precinct station?”
“Kerbesh.”
“Aha, I know … Such a strong, virile fellow, with a red beard in a fan … Yes?”
“Yes, that is he.”
“I know him very well!
There, now, is somebody that a sentence to hard labour is hankering after … Some ten times he fell into my hands; and always, the skunk, gave me the slip somehow.
Slippery, just like an eel-pout … We will have to slip him a little present.
Well, now!
And then the anatomical theatre … When do you want to bury her?”
“Really, I don’t know … I would like to do it as soon as possible … if possible, to-day.”
“Hm … To-day … I don’t vouch for it— we will hardly manage it … But here is my memorandum book.
Well, take even this page, where are my friends under the letter T— just write the very same way: Tamara, and your address.
In two hours I will give you an answer.
Does that suit you?
But I repeat again, that probably you will have to postpone the burial till to-morrow … Then— pardon my unceremoniousness— is money needed, perhaps?”
“No, thank you!” refused Tamara. “I have money.
Thanks for your interest! … It’s time for me to be going.
I thank you with all my heart, Ellen Victorovna! … ”
“Then expect it in two hours,” repeated Ryazanov, escorting her to the door.
Tamara did not at once ride away to the house.
She turned into a little coffee-house on Catholicheskaya Street on the way.
There Senka the Depot was waiting for her— a gay fellow with the appearance of a handsome Tzigan; not black— but blue-haired; black-eyed, with yellow whites; resolute and daring in his work; the pride of local thieves— a great celebrity in their world, the first leader of experience, and a constant, all-night gamester.
He stretched out his hand to her, without getting up.
But in the way in which he so carefully, with a certain force, seated her in her place could be seen a broad, good-natured endearment.
“How do you do, Tamarochka!
Haven’t seen you in a long time— I grew weary … Do you want coffee?”
“No!
Business first … To-morrow we bury Jennka … She hanged herself… ”
“Yes, I read it in a newspaper,” carelessly drawled out Senka through his teeth. “What’s the odds? … ”
“Get fifty roubles for me at once.”
“Tamarochka, my sweetheart— I haven’t a kopeck! … ”
“I’m telling you— get them!” ordered Tamara, imperiously, but without getting angry.
“Oh, my Lord! … Yours, now, I didn’t touch, like I promised; but then, it’s Sunday … The savings banks are closed… ”
“Let them! … Hock the savings book!
In general, it’s up to you!”
“Why do you need this, my dearie?”
“Isn’t it all the same to you, you fool? … For the funeral.”
“Oh!
Well, all right then!” sighed Senka. “Then I’d best bring it to you myself in the evening … Right, Tamarochka? … It’s so very hard for me to stand it without you!