The Doll by Boleslaw Prus Read Free Book Online Page B

hand indifferently and scratched his head all day long in a manner which might have indicated great weariness or great grief. Hardly a morning passed without his uncle, eyeing his tactics, grimacing with derision, asking him: ‘Well … where did you go, you rascal?’
    Meanwhile noises began in the street, and more and more passers-by moved along beyond the shop-window. Now a servant girl, then a woodcutter, then a gentleman in a cap, or a tailor’s apprentice, or perhaps a lady wearing a cloak — they passed to and fro like figures in a moving panorama. Carriages, droshkies, carts drove down the street — to and fro … more and more people, more carts and carriages, until finally one great flood of traffic was flowing along, from which someone would pop into our shop from time to time on an errand: ‘A twist of pepper …’ ‘A pound of coffee, please …’ ‘Rice …’ ‘A half-pound of soap …’ ‘A groszy’s worth of bay leaves …’
    Gradually the shop filled up, mainly with servant girls and poorly dressed women. Then Franz Mincel scowled the most, as he opened or shut drawers, wrapped up groceries in twists of grey paper, ran up his ladder, wrapped things, all with the dismal look of a man forbidden to yawn. Finally, so many customers collected that both Jan Mincel and I often had to help Franz out.
    The old man kept writing and giving change, sometimes touching his white night-cap, the blue tassel of which hung down over one eye. Sometimes he tugged at the Cossack, and sometimes seized a cane with the speed of lightning and used it upon one of his nephews. I could rarely understand what was amiss: for his nephews were reluctant to explain the causes of his irascibility.
    About eight o’clock the number of customers decreased. Then a fat servant girl would appear out of the depths of the shop with a basket containing rolls and mugs (Franz always turned his back to her), then the mother of our master, a thin old lady in a yellow dress, with a great cap on her head and a jug of coffee in her hand. Putting this vessel on the table, the old lady would squeak:
    â€˜
Gut Morgen, meine Kinder! Der Kaffee ist schon fertig …
’
    And she would pour the coffee into the white mugs.
    Old Mincel would go up and kiss her hand, with: ‘
Gut Morgen, meine Mutter!
’
    For this, he obtained a mug of coffee and three rolls.
    Then Franz Mincel went up, followed by Jan Mincel, August Katz and at the end me. Each kissed the old lady’s dry hand, which was etched with blue veins, and said: ‘
Gut Morgen, Grossmutter!
’
    And each obtained his mug and three rolls.
    When we had hastily drunk the coffee, the servant girl carried away the empty basket and the mugs, the old lady her jug, and both disappeared.
    The traffic was still passing by outside the window, and a crowd of people moved to and fro; from this, every now and then someone would break away to enter the shop.
    â€˜Soap-powder, please …’ ‘Ten groszy’s worth of almonds …’ ‘Licorice for a grosz …’ ‘Grey soap …’
    About midday the business at the grocery counter dropped off, but more and more customers now appeared on the right-hand side of the store, which was Jan’s province. They asked for plates, glasses, irons, coffee-mills, dolls and sometimes large greenish-blue or poppy-red umbrellas. These customers, both ladies and gentlemen, were well dressed, sat down on the chairs provided, and asked to be shown a quantity of objects, as they bargained and demanded more.
    I recall that when I was tired of going to and fro and of wrapping up groceries on the left-hand side of the shop, what bothered me most on the right-hand side was the thought: what does this customer really want? And does he intend to buy anything? In the end, however, a great deal was sold: the daily income from haberdashery was several