'I respect your talent, otherwise I am long ago throwing you out of window,' he said with an enraged glare.
Then he burst into tears. This was why Bronze wasn't often asked
to play in the band, but only in some dire crisis, when one of the Jews was unavailable.
Jacob was always in a bad mood because of the appalling waste of money he had to endure. For instance, it was a sin to work on a Sunday or a Saint's Day, while Mondays were unlucky, so that made two himdred odd days a year when you had to sit around idle. And that was all so much money wasted. If someone in town held a wedding without music, or Shakhkes didn't ask Jacob to play, that meant stiU more losses. The police superintendent had been il for two years now. He was wasting away, and Jacob had waited impatiently for him to die, but the man had left for treatment in the county townwn, and da^ed if he didn't peg out there. Now, that was at least ten roubles downwn the drain, as his would have been an expensive coffin complete with brtocade lining. Thoughts of these losses hounded Jacob mostly at night. He would put his fiddle on the bed beside him, and when some such tomfoolery preyed on his mind he would touch the strings and the fiddle would twang in the darkncn. That made him feel better.
On the sixth of May in the previous year Manha had suddenly fallen ill. The old woman breathed heavily, drank a lot of water, was ^teady on her feet, but she would stiU do the stove herself of a morning, and even fetch the water. By evening, though, she would already be in bed. Jacob fiddled away all day. But when it was quite dark he took the book in which he listed his losses daily and began, out of sheer boredom, to add up the armual total. It came to more ^^ a thousand roubles. This so shocked him that he flung his abacus on the foor and stamped his feet. Then he picked up the abacus and clicked away again for a while, sighing deep, heartfelt sighs. His face was purple and wet with sweat. He was ^^^mg that if he had put that lost thousand in the bank he would have received at least forty roubles' interest a year. So that was forty more roubles downwn the drain. How- ever hard you tried to wriggle out of it, everything was just a dead loss in fact.
Then he suddenly heard Martha call out. jacob, I'm dying.'
He looked round at his wife. Her face was flushed in the heat, her expression was exceptionally bright and joyous. Accustomed to her pale face and timid, unhappy expression, Bronze was put out. She really did look as if she was dying, glad to be saying a permanent good-bye to hut, coffms and Jacob at long last.
Gazing at the ceiling and moving her lips, she looked happy, as ifshe could actually see her saviour Death and was whispering to him.
It was dawnwn and the first rays were seen through the window. Ashe looked at the old woman, it vaguely occurred to Jacob that for some reason he had never shownwn her any affection all his life. Never had he been kind to her, never had he thought of buying her a kerchief or bringing her sweetmeats from a wedding. All he had done was yell at her, blame her for his 'losses', threaten to punch her. True, he never had hit her. Still he had frightened her, she had always been petrified with fear. Yes, he had said she couldn't have tea because they had enough other expenses without that, so she only drank hot water. And now he knew why she looked so strangely joyous, and a chiU went through him.
^^en it was fully light he borrowed a neighbour's horse and drove Martha to hospital. There were not many patients, so he did not have long to wait. Only about three hours. To his great joy the patients were not received on this occasion by the doctor, who was il himself, but by his assistant Maxim, an old fellow said by everyone in townwn to be better than the doctor, d^nken brawler though he was.
'I humbly greet you,' said Jacob, taking his old woman into the consulting-room. 'You must excuse us troubling you with our ^^mg affairs, sir. Now, as you see, guv'nor, my old woman has faUen sick. She's my better ^^ in a manner of speaking, if you'll pardon the expression '
Frowning, stroking his side-whiskers, the white-eyebrowed auistant examined the old woman, who sat hunched on a stool, wizened, sharp-nosed, open-mouthed, her profile like a thirsty bird' s.
'H^romph. Well, yes,' the assistant slowly pronounced, and sighed. 'It's influenza, fever perhaps. There's typhus in townwn. Ah well, the old woman's lived her life, praise the Lord. How old is she?'
'Seventy come next year, guv'nor.'
'Ah well, her life's over. Time she was on her way.'
'It's true enough, what you just said, sir.' Jacob smiled out of politeness. 'And we thanks you most kindly for being so nice about it, like. But, if you'll pardon the exprewion, every insect wants to live.'
'Not half it does.' The assistant's tone suggested that it depended on him whether the old woman lived or died. 'Now then, my good man, you put a cold compress on her head and give her one of these powders twice a day. And now cheerio to you. A very bong jour.'
From his face Jacob could tell that it was all up, and that no powders would help now. Obviously Martha was going to die soon, either today or tomorrow. He gave the assistant's elbow a push and winked.
'We ought to cup her, Mr. Maxim sir,' he said in a low voice.
'Haven't the time, my good man. Take your old woman and be off with you. So long and all that.'
'Begging your kindnes, sir,' implored Jacob. 'As you know, mister, if it was her guts or her innards, like, what was sick, then it's powders and drops she should have. But this here is a chill, and the great thing with chills is to bleed 'em, sir.'
But the assistant had already called for his next patient, and a vilage woman with a little boy bad come into the consulting-room.
'Buzz off you, beat it!' The assistant frowned at Jacob. 'Don't hang around.'
'Then at least put some leeches to her. I'll be grateful to you all my life, I wil.'
The auistant lost his temper.
'Don't you bandy words widi me,' he yelled. 'D-da^ed oaf!'
Jacob lost his temper too, and ^med completely crimson. But he grabbed Martha's arm without a single word and took her out of the room. Only when they were getting into their cart did he cast a stem, mocking look at that hospital.
'They're a high and mighty lot round here,' he said. 'He'd have cupped a rich man, I'll be bound, but for a poor one he grudges even a single leech. Bastards!'
They arrived home, and Martha, after entering the house, stood for about ten minutes gripping the stove. If she was to lie downwn Jacob would talk about all the money he'd lost and blame her for lolling about and not wanting to work—or so she thought. And Jacob looked at her miserably, remembering that tomorrow was St. John's Day, and the day after that was St. Nicholas's Day, after which came Sunday and Unlucky Monday. That made four days when he couldn't work. But Martha was sure to die on one of those days, so he must make the coffin today. He took his iron ruler, went up to the old woman and measured her. Then she lay downwn and he crossed and staned on the coffin.
When the work was finished, Jacob put on his spectacles and wrote in his book.
'Martha Ivanov: to one coffin, .2 roubles 40 copecks.'
He sighed. The old woman lay there all the time silently, her eyes shut, but when it grew dark that evening she suddenly called the old man.
'Remember fifty years ago, Jacob?' She looked at him happily. 'God gave us a little fair-haired baby, remember? We were always sitting by the river, you and I, singing songs under the willow tree.' She laughed bitterly. 'The little girl died.'