Three Stories/Poldik the Scavenger/Chapter 2

by Vítězslav Hálek

 

CHAPTER II.

 

ND a time came when Poldik’s irregularities became almost the rule.

At mid-day he stopped with his vehicle not far from Naplavka in the shadow of a lofty wall, where he and his horses celebrated the dinner hour. Having hung the oat bags to the horses muzzles, he waited for the coming of Malka.

Malka, his little neighbour, brought his dinner to him, from the same house where Poldik dwelt or rather where he and his horses just bivouacked for the night. His neighbour herself, Malka’s mother, it must be understood, used to cook and bring his dinner, but when she fell sick her daughter brought it, and not till then did Poldik become aware that his neighbour had a daughter. Then this neighbour died, and Malka was crying when she brought his dinner.

Poldik could have wept with her, for under all his apparent roughness lay a tender heart. And here he was prompted to say “Poor thing.” By this he meant the dead mother.

But when Malka only cried the more, he looked at her and said “Poor, poor thing, don’t cry any more, it can’t be helped.”

When that afternoon he drove off with his sand, he felt as though all the time he had Malka’s tears in his own heart, and sometimes for a score paces his throat was parched, and “hee!” remained only in ‘posse,’ or it stuck in his throat, and he felt as though he should cry if he succeeded in saying it. He cracked his whip moodily, and the lash curled itself round the handle like a flag round its flagstaff when the fête is over. His swearing was such that the horses could make nothing of it, and stopped continually, both at the ale-house, the blacksmith’s, the fruit stall, and the tobacconist’s.

When Malka came with dinner on the following day, Poldik scrutinised her while she was still in the distance to see whether she was crying. She was not crying, and consequently when she approached Poldik smiled faintly. He was hungry, and when he had half finished his dinner, he said “Malka, you are a capital cook.” On this even Malka smiled faintly, and Poldik gave his horses their oats. That afternoon you might have heard Poldik’s “hee” from one end of the street to the other, and he swore more in jest than in earnest, so that the horses were puzzled to know what it all meant. Even his own pace was fresher than usual, so that he overtook his vehicle and found himself walking by the shafts, after which he halted, and with a selfconscious smirk, awaited until the cart again overtook him.

And now Malka was no longer in tears when she brought the dinner, but still Poldik always turned his eyes to meet her, and to see how she looked. Malka was sometimes already smiling in the distance, and after this it appeared to Poldik that only one person in the world could cook so well, and that his dinner tasted excellent. He did not say so, indeed, in so many words, but his looks expressed as much. When he replaced the first plate in her basket he smiled, and also smiled after the second course, and concluded with the words “You are a capital cook, Malka.” Malka smiled too, but with modest downcast eyes; when she departed Poldik gave her his hand, and was long enough in saying good-bye. For once in their lives his horses got plenty of oats.

All that afternoon this incident left traces of irregularity in his gait and action, which were apparent to everyone even at a distance. His face looked as if he were still all the time munching his dinner, and praising Malka for her cooking. He kept saying “Cl! cl!” and even his “hee!” was frequently exchanged for these euphonious sounds. And when he cracked his whip it was with an air which plainly said “How proud I am to be able to crack a whip.” He swore with a face that belied the oath, and seemed to say “I really scarce know why a fellow should swear after all.” And all the time his mind was occupied with Malka more than with anything else. She was for the present complete mistress of Poldik’s mental economy, and he was delighted to think what roguish eyes she had, what pretty dimples when she laughed, what a fresh healthy face, in a word, that she was a girl whom anyone would turn to look at as she passed.

Afterwards it came to pass, that it was not enough to give her his hand in along good-bye, but he also greeted her with a shake of the hand when she brought the dinner, and he laughed more frequently during the meal, and said “Troth, troth, Malka, it is charming.” After this he always gave his horses an extra feed of oats, so that now none of his comrades passed them without measuring them with a look which seemed to say, “Look at him! he means to turn his jades into horses still.” It is true they still pulled like jades, but already they might any day have trotted away like horses.

Once, I know not by what accident, he was behind his time in driving to the mid-day halting place. Hitherto, be it understood, he had always been first with his cart at the mid-day trysting place, and it was only after he had given his horses their first feed of oats that Malka made her appearance. But owing to this delay it happened that he overtook Malka on the road, indeed in one of the several streets which he threaded before debouching on Naplavka, and when he overtook her he said “Malka, let me give you and the dinner a lift.” “He said this with a touch of pride, for it was not everyone who could say “Malka, have a lift.” He took the basket out of her hands, placed it in the cart, then helped Malka to scramble up, pointed out to her how she was to sit, and drove the vehicle standing.

Lord! what a drive that was! All the time that Poldik held the reins he felt as though he was holding Malka and helping her into the cart. His features were quite playful, his eyes were quite beaming, then he confused “Hee” and “Heesta” together, smacked his whip as if he were off to the festival, and only swore when it was absolutely necessary. After which he always looked at Malka with a broad smile which seemed to enquire “There! what do you think of that now for a drive?” It was a delightful moment to him when Malka smilingly replied “Quite charming, Poldik dear, quite charming.” Here at last Poldik felt that he might allow himself a certain latitude; he incited his steeds and coaxed them with “Cl” “Cl” in such a way that it put them in mind of their youthful years; so that they exchanged their sluggish pace for a fresher step, so that in places they even frisked, so that the cart bumped over the cobble stones until Poldik had to skip from one foot to the other, and Malka was in difficulties, not knowing whether she ought to clutch the dinner basket to prevent it from being jolted out, or whether she ought to keep herself there by clutching with both hands. It delighted Poldik beyond measure this fear of hers, which was at the same time half laughter. I do not know what the horses had to say to all that coaxing and whip cracking, but they understood it, and for the nonce shook off several years of their lives. But, indeed, even Poldik felt himself younger and scarcely rememembered when he felt so young as he did that day.

Well, and when they halted not far from Naplavka (the Quay) in the shadow of the lofty wall, he actually bounded from the cart, and when he looked at Malka and her face was covered with smiles and dimples, and she said “What a ride we have had!”—Oh! then it seemed as though they must be married to-morrow morning. Finally he helped her out of the cart. Malka took his hand with much simplicity, rested her other hand on his shoulder, and giving a spring allowed herself to be lifted off her feet and placed on the ground. Poldik felt thoroughly self-satisfied, and never in his life imagined that he could have courted a girl so well.

What came to pass fortuitously to day, came to pass again on the morrow and the day after, and then for many a day. From some cause or other he always happened to overtake Malka about mid-day in some street, settled her in the cart, drove about with her, smirked at her, urged on the horses until the cart bumped over the paving stones, and then again lifted her from the cart and took his dinner. At that time Poldik’s horses fared well, so that they thought nothing of their accelarated speed. They had plainly grown rich, both in the matter of speed and their provisions for life, and displayed it in every step.

At this period, you will understand, Poldik’s own feet moved brisker and were firmer planted. He was as it were on the highway to something better, and showed a touch of the dandy and of the world, though indeed any one at the first glance would have recognised his original uniformity and ponderousness latent beneath it all.

At this period it happened that once as Poldik was helping Malka from the cart, a certain chum of his passing by them grinned ironically at the couple, and enquired “and pray, when are you two going to pair off?” To this question Poldik ought to have replied with a smart repartee, and Malka with silence. But as it happened Malka replied with a laugh-indeed, a very boisterous laugh, and Poldik’s blood boiled and he never answered a word, but stood agape as though he had done something amiss.

It is possible that some sprightly young lady reader has already condemned his faint-heartedness, and given it its proper appellation. I, however, have no objection to it, and have merely to add that it never occurred to me to exhibit his character in a more favourable light than that in which it exhibited itself.

But the truth is, that though he stood agape and blushed at the question, still the question itself ran in his head. “When are you two going to pair off” continually buzzed in his mind, and every “hee,” every “heesta” was the outward expression of that enquiry, every oath was a sort of a rejection of all possible obstacles, every smack of the whip was an asseveration that pair off they must. Ay, yet more. From that moment every time Poldik looked at Malka, he always saw in her that smile which had been called into existence by the original enquiry “When are you two going to pair off.” Thus things evolve themselves from one another.

At that time he used to stop less frequently at the ale-house and the fruit stall. He had indeed saved and put by sundry groschen at home, but still it appeared to him that he ought to add every penny he could to what he had already scraped together, in order to have enough capital to begin housekeeping. And he saved and added and reckoned in his mind when the marriage could come off. Malka pleased him, about that there was no longer any doubt.

One Sunday she brought his dinner into the stable where his horses were stalled, and here for the first time Poldik said “And perhaps, Malka, on Sunday we might dine together in your lodging.” He thought that in saying this he had said a great deal, and that it was a consequence of that much revolved sentence “When are you two going to pair off.” But any one at all versed in the expression of ideas, will agree with me that it really said very little.

Such apparently was Malka’s opinion. And she replied laughingly, “What an idea, Poldik, when we are as we are! What would people say?”

Malka said much more than Poldik had done previously, indeed she led him a good piece of the way to the goal he had in view, perhaps even farther than was becoming in so young a girl. But Poldik being, properly speaking, slow, vacillating, and indecisive in mind did not perceive that she beckoned him so far in order that he might say the word, and then that they might reach the end in view. Poldik only gathered from her reply that he was not to be admitted to her table or to eat in her company. “At present she thinks she couldn’t yet” he said to himself, and then wondered when the happy hour would come. And though it was his Sunday dinner and Malka had taken particular pains with it, Poldik scarcely smiled, and scarcely praised her cookery.

When the meal was over, Malka said “Dear me, Poldicek, aren’t you going anywhere this fine Sunday.”

Here Poldik did smile again, for he more easily understood this immediate project.

“Malka, would you like,” he said.

“I should like to have a look at Nussle or Liska (i.e. the Fox inn) well enough—wait just a moment till I have changed my things.”

Once again Poldik thought the world fairer by a whole Sunday. Only to think that he should never have hit upon the device of inviting her to take a walk with him, and there was Malka inviting him herself! True she had excluded him from one thing, but then she had freely invited him to another. And it almost seemed to Poldik that the second thing had the greater value. What was dinner? It only lasted an instant. But an outing with her lasted the whole afternoon until evening.

Then Malka came, and she was dressed in her best. Poldik chuckled with delight when he saw how it became her, and thought that there was none to compare with Malka. And proud he felt as he marched through the streets with her on his arm. He felt young again at her side, and he quite forgot his sluggish unsteady pace, and stepped out as if he had never tramped behind a scavenger’s cart and his horses. He never could have believed himself capable of so much animation. And he felt glad when he realized that he was; and he began to love Malka more and more for that very reason.

After a time they went into some gardens, seated themselves at a table, and Poldik treated Malka. It was beyond everything dear to him to have a being beside him who was pleased to be seated near him; and who was glad that they had gone out and were there together. Poldik looked smilingly at her as at a fair picture, and all through that afternoon he felt as if he must say continually how he loved her. But he did not say it. Indeed all he managed to force himself to say was “Well then, Malka, when are we two to pair off.”

“That is for you to settle Poldik, dear,” responded Malka. And here Poldik thought that he knew everything, and that he had need of nothing more in the world.