Hard Times

UPKEEPER OF MORALS

UPKEEPER OF MORALS

Vaska Lob and I hadn’t seen each other for ages.

Once we always rejoiced on meeting, even though we weren’t the best of friends…

Fate had first brought us together accidentally. We had common interests and often used to sit over a mug of beer in the Bayadere or the Eureka.

Vaska was no stranger to any of the pubs, and I wanted to be one of the boys too…

I always had money; Vaska liked beer, and vodka too! In other words, we complemented one another.

Vaska Lob and I often did the rounds of the subterranean catacombs, where he was also one of the boys, and we frequented thieves’ dens too.

Vaska broadened my knowledge of the coarse side of life; he drank a lot, ate no less, and in moments of extreme affection, he slapped me on the back and said softly:

“You’re so naïve! You’re a real fine lad, one of the boys, but you’re just so naïve, man… Doesn’t matter, you’ll learn! Just listen to me.”

I liked Vaska… Perhaps because he was a ‘one-time actor’, maybe for some other reason… I was eager to listen to him.

“Eh, you,” Vaska would say to me. “You’re nothing much! Now me, I’m an actor! Eh, if only you knew how good I was… There were times I’d come out on stage and sing:

Oh why, my dea-rest dar-ling,

Are you not with me tonight?

“They all simply swooned!”

And Vaska began to sing…

At such moments, the barman would come up, tug at Vaska’s sleeve and say:

“Singing ain’t allowed here!”

But Vaska always finished off the verse and washed it down with a beer.

“All right, quit pestering us. I’ve finished!”

And he grew pensive… At such times I marvelled at his forehead… Ah, what a forehead Vaska had! What a forehead! Actually, you couldn’t see the forehead for the wave of hair covering it. Peculiarly styled, it seemed to arch onto his forehead, every hair in place, then curved around and raced off to cover his temple, becoming lost in Vaska’s small head… But this course taken by Vaska’s hairdo, its neatness and small curls at the tips – all this was superb and it covered Vaska’s forehead quite artfully… The only way to style hair like this is to wet it, comb it carefully onto the forehead, and then press it down with the palm of the left hand. Then with the sweep of a comb held in the right hand, the hair is manoeuvred in a semicircle toward the temple… Only then are you left with such a hairdo… No other way! And not everyone can manage it… But Vaska always wore his hair this way, and it was the best hairdo I have ever seen…

That was Vaska for you! What a hairstyle! That’s why I liked Vaska. Later we went our separate ways. I lost track of Vaska. Didn’t see him for three years. Even began to forget about him. But as the saying goes, only mountains never meet…

The other day, I was lying face down on the green grass in the local park, watching one insect bite another’s head off on the leaves of an orange dandelion…

As I watched, depressing thoughts passed through my head:

‘Why does one insect bite another’s head off? And why the head?’

Suddenly somebody whacked me with a stick. I glanced around – it was Vaska…

“Risen from the dead? Is it really you, Vaska?”

“It’s me, all right!”

“Where’d you spring from? And why are you here? Looking like that too!”

Vaska stood before me in a new dark-green suit, in gangster shoes and a suede glove on his left hand. He was smoking an Espero cigarette. And his hairdo? Better than ever! So magnificent and clearly not wetted down with water, but with hair oil…

“Where’d you spring from, Vaska? What d’you do for a living these days? My, Vaska, you look a real dandy now!”

“Want to know? I’m better off than ever, my friend… In the money, and the job’s not that difficult, and interesting to boot… I live off love…”

“Married?”

“You kidding? Me get married? I live off other people’s love.”

“How’s that?”

“Still naïve, I see. Others fall in love, and I make a living out of it...”

“They fall in love with you?”

“Gee, you’re thick. They fall in love with one another and I live off them.”

“How d’you mean?”

“All right, listen! Only not a peep of this to anyone. I’ll let you in on the secret… But no competition, because I’m strict about such things these days… People love one another here in the park. Understand?”

“Not really...”

“Come on, man! Right, so you’re sitting here in the park… And a streetcar stops across the road. Couples get off and stroll into the park… As though they’re out for a walk. You watch out for their intentions. This is where you need intuition. That I’ve got. You can’t fool me anymore. A couple turns into a side alley, clinging to one another. I follow them at a distance, acting nonchalant. And keep an eye out for where they sit down. I make a mental note of where they sit down, but I don’t rouse them straight away. In say ten-fifteen minutes I stroll toward the spot. I walk along and chance upon them… I come up to them: ‘A-ah! Such indecency! And in a public place! You should be ashamed of yourselves! People come here for a breath of fresh air, and you put on such a display! All right, come with me to the station! We’ll make out a report.’

“Now they become very anxious, of course: ‘Come on, comrade, we weren’t doing anything!’

“And I answer: ‘I’m no comrade of anyone who acts so immorally! Follow me!’

“At this point I put on a stern expression…

“Well at this point, of course, they start to beg: ‘But it’s all so unpleasant… But…’

“And I say: ‘It was pleasant enough when you were carrying on! Come along, let’s not waste any time.’

“‘But citizen...’ they begin.

“At this point you can soften a little: ‘In the circumstances, I could fine you on the spot. I’ve got a receipt book with me. The fine’s ten rubles and you’ll get a receipt. But I don’t want to catch you at it again!’

“Usually they pay up, because you pick on the right people… You take the tenner and write out a receipt. I specially bought a receipt book, see… And I write: ‘Ten rubles received for acting indecently in the park…’

“‘Surname?’ I ask them.

“‘There’s no need for that, is there?’

“‘What d’you mean, no need? I need it for the record.’

“I take them for a ride…

“‘Just write down any name,’ they beg me.

“‘All right, I’ll take pity on you. I’ll make up some name. Here’s your receipt. But let this be the last time! All right, on your way...’

“They scram. And I continue to stroll through the park. In a day, I manage to find around five suckers… Life’s not treating me too badly, as you can see. And at the same time, it’s a morally satisfying job…”

Vaska rose to his feet and stared somewhere ahead.

“Well, I’ll be off! The fish are biting. It’s a never-ending job. See you ’round, then!”

And Vaska hurried off. I watched him go and thought:

‘There’s Vaska for you! A real moralist!’

November 1926