“I told her to take a good lawyer,” said Korableva. “Well? To Siberia?” she asked.
Maslova wished to answer but could not, and, crying, she produced from the roll the box of cigarettes, on which a picture of a red lady with a high chignon and triangle-shaped, low cut neck was printed, and gave it to Korableva. The latter looked at the picture, disapprovingly shook her head, chiefly because Maslova spent money so foolishly, and, lighting a cigarette over the lamp, inhaled the smoke several times, then thrust it at Maslova. Maslova, without ceasing to cry, eagerly began to inhale the smoke.
“Penal servitude,” she murmured, sobbing.
“They have no fear of God, these cursed blood-suckers!” said Korableva. “They have condemned an innocent girl.”
At this moment there was a loud outburst of laughter among those standing near the window. The delicate laughter of the little girl mingled with the hoarse and shrill laughter of the women. This merriment was caused by some act of a prisoner without.
“Oh, the scoundrel! See what he is doing!” said the red-headed woman, pressing her face against the grating, her whole massive frame shaking.
“What is that drum-hide shouting about?” said Korableva, shaking her head at the red-haired woman, and then again turning to Maslova. “How many years?”
“Four,” said Maslova, and the flow of her tears was so copious that one of them fell on the cigarette. She angrily crushed it, threw it away and took another.
The watch-woman, although she was no smoker, immediately picked up the cigarette-end and began to straighten it, talking at the same time.
“As I said to Matveievna, dear,” she said, “it is ill-luck. They do what they please. And we thought they would discharge you. Matveievna said you would be discharged, and I said that you would not, I said. ‘My heart tells me,’ I said, ‘that they will condemn her,’ and so it happened,” she went on, evidently listening to the sounds of her own voice with particular pleasure.
The prisoners had now passed through the court-yard, and the four women left the window and approached Maslova. The larged-eyed illicit seller of spirits was the first to speak.
“Well, is the sentence very severe?” she asked, seating herself near Maslova and continuing to knit her stocking.
“It is severe because she has no money. If she had money to hire a good lawyer, I am sure they would not have held her,” said Korableva. “That lawyer–what’s his name?–that clumsy, big-nosed one can, my dear madam, lead one out of the water dry. That’s the man you should take.”
“To hire him!” grinned Miss Dandy. “Why, he would not look at you for less than a thousand rubles.”
“It seems to be your fate,” said the old woman who was charged with incendiarism. “I should say he is severe! He drove my boy’s wife from her; put him in jail, and me, too, in my old age,” for the hundredth time she began to repeat her story. “Prison and poverty are our lot. If it is not prison, it is poverty.”
“Yes, it is always the same with them,” said the woman-moonshiner, and, closely inspecting the girl’s head, she put her stocking aside, drew the girl over between her overhanging legs and with dexterous fingers began to search in her head. “Why do you deal in wine? But I have to feed my children,” she said, continuing her search.
These words reminded Maslova of wine.
“Oh, for a drop of wine,” she said to Korableva, wiping her tears with the sleeve of her shirt and sobbing from time to time.
“Some booze? Why, of course!” said Korableva.
CHAPTER XXXII.
Maslova produced the money from one of the lunch-rolls and gave it to Korableva, who climbed up to the draught-hole of the oven for a flask of wine she had hidden there. Seeing which, those women who were not her immediate neighbors went to their places. Meantime Maslova shook the dust from her ‘kerchief and coat, climbed up on her cot and began to eat a roll.
“I saved some tea for you, but I fear it is cold,” said Theodosia, bringing down from a shelf a pot, wrapped in a rag, and a tin cup.
The beverage was perfectly cold, and tasted more of tin than of tea, but Maslova poured out a cupful and began to drink.
“Here, Finashka!” she called, and breaking a piece from the roll thrust it toward the boy, who gazed at her open-mouthed.
Korableva, meanwhile, brought the flask of wine. Maslova offered some to Korableva and Miss Dandy. These three prisoners constituted the aristocracy of the cell, because they had money and divided among themselves what they had.
In a few minutes Maslova became brighter and energetically began to relate what had transpired at the court, mockingly imitating the prosecutor and rehearsing such parts as had appealed to her most. She was particularly impressed by the fact that the men paid considerable attention to her wherever she went. In the court-room every one looked at her, she said, and for that purpose constantly came into the prisoners’ room.
“Even the guard said: ‘It is to look at you that they come here.’ Some one would come and ask for some document or something, but I saw that it was not for the document that he came. He would devour me with his eyes,” she said, smiling and shaking her head as if perplexed. “They are good ones!”
“Yes, that is how it is,” chimed in the watch-woman in her melodious voice. “They are like flies on sugar. If you needed them for any other purpose, be sure they would not come so quickly. They know a good thing when they see it.”
“It was the same here,” interrupted Maslova. “As soon as I was brought here I met with a party coming from the depot. They gave me no rest, and I could hardly get rid of them. Luckily the warden drove them off. One of them bothered me particularly.”
“How did he look?” asked Miss Dandy.
“He had a dark complexion, and wore a mustache.”
“It is he.”
“Who?”
“Stchegloff. He passed here just now.”
“Who is Stchegloff?”
“She don’t know Stchegloff! He twice escaped from Siberia. Now he has been caught, but he will escape again. Even the officers fear him,” said Miss Dandy, who delivered notes to prisoners, and knew everything that transpired in the jail. “He will surely escape.”
“If he does he won’t take either of us with him,” said Korableva. “You’d better tell me this: What did the lawyer say to you about a petition–you must send one now.”
Maslova said that she did not know anything about a petition.
At this moment the red-haired woman, burying her two freckled hands into her tangled, thick hair, and scratching her head with her nails, approached the wine-drinking aristocrats.
“I will tell you, Katherine, everything,” she began. “First of all, you must write on paper: ‘I am not satisfied with the trial,’ and then hand it to the prosecutor.”
“What do you want here?” Korableva turned to her, speaking in an angry basso. “You have smelled the wine! We know you. We don’t need your advice; we know what we have to do.”
“Who is talking to you?”
“You want some wine–that’s what you want.”
“Let her alone. Give her some,” said Maslova, who always divided with others what she had.
“Yes, I will give her,” and Korableva clenched her fist.
“Try it! Try it!” moving toward Korableva, said the red-haired woman. “I am not afraid of you.”
“You jail bird!”
“You are another!”
“You gutter rake!”
“I am a rake–am I? You convict, murderess!” shrieked the red-haired woman.
“Go away, I tell you!” said Korableva frowning.
But the red-haired woman only came nearer, and Korableva gave her a push on the open, fat breast. The other seemingly only waited for this, for with an unexpected, quick movement of one hand she seized Korableva’s hair and was about to strike her in the face with the other, when Korableva seized this hand. Maslova and Miss Dandy sprang up and took hold of the hands of the red-haired woman, endeavoring to release her hold on Korableva, but the hand that clutched the hair would not open.
For a moment she released the hair, but only to wind it around her fist. Korableva, her head bent, with one hand kept striking her antagonist over the body and catching the latter’s hand with her teeth. The women crowded around the fighters, parting them and shouting. Even the consumptive came near them, and, coughing, looked on. The children huddled together and cried. The noise attracted the warden and the matron. They were finally parted. Korableva loosened her gray braid and began to pick out the pieces of torn hair, while the other held the tattered remnant of her shirt to her breast–both shouting, explaining and complaining against one another.
“I know it is the wine–I can smell it,” said the matron. “I will tell the superintendent to-morrow. Now, remove everything, or there will be trouble. There is no time to listen to you. To your places, and be silent!”
But for a long time there was no silence. The women continued to curse each other; they began to relate how it all commenced, and whose fault it was. The warden and matron finally departed; the women quieted down and took to their cots. The old woman stood up before the image and began to pray.
“Two Siberian convicts,” suddenly said the red-haired woman in a hoarse voice, accompanying every word with a
