Tarabas

11

IN the days that followed, Colonel Tarabas, the terrible king of Koropta, ceased to feel at home within his kingdom. When he awoke in the morning in the wide and cosy bed which Kristianpoller had destined for his comfort, King Tarabas no longer knew what had taken place the day before. And the expectation of that which the day itself might bring only added to the confusion in his mind. For the events accumulating round the colonel day by day were truly such as to bewilder him; the devil was in them. Devilish papers were delivered to him by frequent couriers hot-foot from the capital, some in carriages, some on horse-back, some in ancient army motor-cars, some on foot. Tarabas had no doubt whatever that his new country was under the rule of a paper devil, at whose direction thousands of rabid clerks in the new capital sat concocting ruseful plans for the undoing of Tarabas. Red-haired clerks they were, red-haired Jews perhaps.

Every morning the colonel’s orderly had to dress, shave, and brush down his master. He must put on the tight and heavy riding-boots, kneel down beside the bed, bend forward his head and shoulders between the colonel’s outspread legs and then bend back again, his strong brown hands alternately working at the pulling-straps of either boot, after which he must crouch back and pound the heels and soles energetically until the feet were settled comfortably in their encasement. For it was as though all Tarabas’s repugnance for the new day which stood and threatened him outside the window collected into his rebellious feet. To force them to accept the earth again he then would stamp a few times violently where he stood, and stretch himself, yawning with a hollow, long-drawn howl. Lastly he allowed himself to be belted and armed with pistol and dagger at his sides. It looked like the harnessing of a royal steed. This was the moment when the Jew Kristianpoller, having eavesdropped at the door since earliest dawn, hurried on silent slippers down into the bar to make the tea. When the colonel at length emerged into the parlour, Kristianpoller called out a “good-morning” that sounded as though it was meant to greet a whole town with. The Jew’s great joy at finally seeing his illustrious guest again seemed to ring out in the resounding welcome.

“Good morning, Jew,” answered the terrible one.

Kristianpoller’s noisy greeting was pleasant to his ear; it made him feel properly awake at last, and gave him the confirmation that he was still mightier than the approaching day, no matter what new quantities of paper it might bring. Greedily and in huge gulps he drank the boiling tea, then left the table, saluted, and went his rattling way to the barracks. Everyone made way for him along the route, and stood still, bowing low, until he passed. But he looked at nobody.

Fresh misfortune awaited him in his office. He was an educated man, a university man even. At one time, years ago, he had been able to understand the most confounded formulæ he had passed examinations. Ah, he had had a pretty good head on his shoulders, had Tarabas! Today he had appointed two captains to help him; four clerks in charge of a non-commissioned officer experienced in that line of work sat there and wrote — like devils too. All of these people together made still further complications of the innumerable decrees arriving from the capital; they solved none of the many enigmas, but only thickened the fog which seemed to rise out of the papers. They appeared before Tarabas with unintelligible reports, asked him if they should do this and that, and when he told them kindly to leave him in peace they vanished like ghosts, the earth swallowed them up, and there he was, left alone with all the torment of responsibility! Ah, he longed for war, the mighty Tarabas! The random horde which composed this new army of his were not his soldiers of the old days. Hunger had driven them to Tarabas, nothing else. Every day new desertions were reported. Every day he came into the drill ground he noticed fresh gaps in the lines. The drilling was slatternly and no more than half awake. Yes, some of his officers had not a notion even how to drill a company. What a horror for a Tarabas! He could rely on no one but the few faithful men of his old guard whom he had brought there with him to this Koropta. The others feared him still, that was certain; but already he had begun to feel that that fear might bring forth treachery and even assassination. Were his commands still carried out? They were merely received without demur. Resistance would have pleased him better. And Tarabas called back to mind the fatal Sunday when the red stranger had appeared before him for the first time, and the great havoc had begun. Now and then a bitter hatred of his subordinates overwhelmed him, as it never had against the enemy. And in the evenings when he was sure that all these enemies were long since asleep, he would get up from the peaceful table in the inn, leave his drinking comrades without a greeting, and hurry off to the barracks, striding fiercely and thirsting for revenge. He inspected the guard, left the dormitories open, pulled the covers form the sleepers’ naked bodies, searched beds and straw mattresses, ruck-sacks and bundles, pockets and pillows, even the water-closets, threatened to shoot all and sundry, demanded to see their military papers and passports, questioned this one and that as to the battles he had fought in, was suddenly touched and within a hair’s breadth of apologizing, then filled again with new fury, this time against himself, followed by pity and sadness. Profoundly ashamed, but hiding the shame behind his clattering frightfulness, he would depart stamping — how gladly would he have made his steps inaudible — and return to the inn.

So far no pay had been sent him for his men, nor for himself and his officers either. His old guard stole and pilfered what they required, in houses and farm-yards, as they had always done. In accordance with the custom prevailing in conquered territory, he had ordered the inhabitants to deliver foodstuffs to the regiment every afternoon until further orders. Every day on the stroke of four o’clock the townsfolk of Koropta stood in the barracks yard with bundles and baskets. For the meat, eggs, butter, and cheese they brought they received so-called receipts, tiny scraps of paper, bits of discoloured waste stationery from the offices, written on in Kontsev’s unschooled hand and signed by Tarabas with an energetic “T.” One day, according to Tarabas’s announcement, proclaimed with a loud flourish of drums by three of his own men in the streets of Koropta, these receipts would be honoured and paid out against in cash. But the people did not believe the drummers. How often in the course of this war had drummers said the same to the Koropta folk! But frightened now, as then, they brought what they could spare to the barracks, either from their own stores or else bought for the purpose — and even the poorest contributed their mite, a pot of dripping, a slice of bread, potatoes, turnips, radishes, or baked apples.

The Jew Kristianpoller boarded the insatiable officers. The ancient, helpful, cruel God sent to the Jew Kristianpoller each new day a new gift. From the hamlet of Hupki came his good brother-in-law, Leib, with half an ox. And on the next day the slaughterer Kuropkin put in an unlooked-for appearance, hoping to exchange a stolen pig for a quart of brandy. He had not hoped in vain. Two quarts Kristianpoller gave him for it. For this Kuropkin slew the pig with his own hands and roasted it on a fire in the open yard. With money only the terrible Tarabas had paid so far; from the others Kristianpoller had not had even receipts. But what was the use of this new money which the new state was circulating, these hastily printed paper notes? Would they ever be exchanged for honest cash in Kristianpoller’s lifetime? Hard gold, five rolls of ten-ruble pieces, each a yard high — Kristianpoller had them stored in the second subterranean story of his cellar. He was envisaging the time when, if he must go on satisfying the greed of his hated guests, he would have to go down there and take something away from one of the rolls. But he prayed that that time might not come by many a long day yet.