The Spy

Yakov Zarubin and Yevsey's chief, Kapiton Ivanovich, the man with the grey mustache, whom everybody called Smokestack behind his back, remained in the chancery with him for night work more frequently than the others. The chief's shaven face was often covered with little red stubble, which glistened golden from afar, and at close range resembled tiny twigs. From under his grey lashes and the eyelids that drooped wearily spiritless eyes gleamed angrily. He spoke in a grumbling growl, and incessantly smoked thick yellow cigarettes. The clouds of bluish smoke always hovering about his large white head distinguished him from all the others workers, and won him the nickname, Smokestack.

"What a grave man he is," Yevsey once said to Zarubin.

"He's cracked in the upper story," Zarubin answered, pointing to his head. "He spent almost a whole year in an insane asylum. But he's a quiet man."

Yevsey saw that sometimes the Smokestack took a small black book from the pocket of his long grey jacket, brought it close to his face, and mumbled something through his mustache, which moved up and down.

"Is that a prayer-book?"

"I don't know."

Zarubin's swarthy face quivered spasmodically. His little eyes bulged, he swung himself over toward Yevsey, and whispered hotly.

"Do you go to girls?"

"No."

"Why?"

Yevsey answered in embarrassment:

"I'm afraid."

"Ugh! Come with me. All right? We can get it for nothing. We need only twenty-five kopeks for beer. If we say we are from the Department of Police, they'll let us in, and give us girls for nothing. They are afraid of police officers. Everybody is afraid of us." In a still lower voice, but with more fire and appetite he continued. "And what girls there are! Stout, warm, like down feather-beds! They're the best, by golly! Some fondle you like your own mother, stroke your head, and so you fall asleep. It's good!"

"Have you a mother?"

"Yes, only I live with my aunt. My mother is a sow. She's a lewd woman, and lives with a butcher for her support. I don't go to her. The butcher won't let me. Once I went there, and he kicked me on the back. Ugh!"

Zarubin's little mouse ears quivered, his narrow eyes rolled queerly, he tugged at the black down on his upper lip with a convulsive movement of his fingers, and throbbed all over with excitement.

"Why are you such a quiet fellow? You ought to be bolder, or else they'll crush you with work. I was afraid at first, too, so they rode all over me. Come, let's be friends for the rest of our lives!"

Though Yevsey did not like Zarubin and was intimidated by his extreme agility, he replied:

"All right. Let's be friends."

"Your hand. There, it's done! So to-morrow we'll go to the girls?"

"No, I won't go."

They did not notice the Smokestack coming up to them.

"Well, Yakov, who will do whom?" he growled.

"We're not fighting," said Zarubin, sullenly and disrespectfully.

"You lie," said the Smokestack. "Say, Klimkov, don't give in to him, do you hear?"

"I do," said Yevsey rising before him.

A feeling of reverent curiosity drew him to the man. Once, as usual unexpectedly to himself, he took courage to speak to the Smokestack.

"Kapiton Ivanovich."

"What is it?"

"I want to ask you, if you please – "

Without looking at him, the Smokestack said:

"Get up some spunk! Get up some spunk!"

"Why do people live so badly?" Yevsey brought out with a great effort.

The old man raised his heavy brows.

"What business is it of yours?" he rejoined, looking into Klimkov's face.

Yevsey was staggered. The old man's question was like a blow on the chest. It stood before him in all the power of its inexplicable simplicity.

"Aha!" said the old man quietly. Then he drew his brows together, whipped a black book from his pocket, and tapping it with his finger said, "The New Testament. Have you read it?"

"Yes."

"Did you understand it?"

"No," answered Yevsey timidly.

"Read it again. Well, anyway – " Moving his mustache the old man hid the book in his pocket. "I've been reading this book for three years, yes, three years. Nobody understands it. It's a book for children, for the pure of heart. No one can understand it."

He grumbled kindly, and Yevsey felt a desire to ask more questions. They did not formulate themselves, however. The old man lighted a cigarette, the smoke enveloped him, and he apparently forgot about his interlocutor. Klimkov glided off quietly. His attraction for the Smokestack had grown stronger, and he thought:

"It would be good for me to sit nearer to him."

Henceforth this became his dream, which, however, came into direct conflict with the dream of Yakov Zarubin.

"You know what?" Zarubin said in a hot whisper. "Let's try to get into the Department of Safety, and become political spies. Then what a life we'll lead! Ugh!"

Yevsey was silent. The political spies frightened him because of their stern eyes and the mystery surrounding their dark business and dark life.

CHAPTER X

An accident happened at home. Dorimedont appeared late at night in torn clothes, without hat or cane, his face bruised and smeared with blood. His bulky body shook, tears ran down his swollen cheeks. He sobbed, and said in a hollow voice:

"It's all over! I must go away – to another city – the minute I can."

Rayisa silently, without haste, wiped his face with a towel dipped in brandy and water. He started and groaned.