Isaac Babellodes stories. Isaac babel - Odessa stories - read the book for free

As soon as the wedding was over and they began to prepare for the wedding dinner, an unknown young man approached the Moldavian raider Ben Creek, nicknamed the King, and said that a new bailiff had arrived and a raid was being prepared on Benya. The king replies that he knows about the bailiff and about the raid that will begin tomorrow. She will be there today, the young man says. Benya perceives this news as a personal insult. He is having a holiday, he is marrying his forty-year-old sister Dvoira, and the spies are going to spoil his celebration! The young man says that the spies were afraid, but the new bailiff said that where there is an emperor, there can be no king and that pride is dearer to him. The young man leaves, and with him three of Benin's friends leave, who return in an hour.

The wedding of the sister of the raider king is a great celebration. Long tables are laden with food and wines from the smugglers. The orchestra plays carcasses. Leva Katsap smashes a bottle of vodka on the head of her beloved, Monya the Gunner shoots into the air. But the apogee comes when they begin to present the young. Tied in crimson vests, in red jackets, the aristocrats of the Moldavian woman, with a careless movement of their hands, throw gold coins, rings, and coral threads onto silver trays.

In the midst of the feast, anxiety seizes the guests, who unexpectedly felt the smell of burning, the edges of the sky begin to turn pink, and somewhere a tongue of flame, narrow, like a sword, shoots up high. Suddenly, that unknown young man appears and, giggling, reports that the police station is on fire. He says that forty policemen left the station, but as soon as they retired fifteen steps, the station caught fire. Benya forbids the guests to go to watch the fire, but he himself with two comrades still goes there. Policemen are scurrying around the precinct, throwing chests out of the windows, the arrested run away under the sly. The firefighters cannot do anything because there was no water in the adjacent tap. Passing by the bailiff, Benya gives him military honor and expresses his sympathy.

How it was done in Odessa

There are legends about the robber Bene Creek in Odessa. Old man Arie-Leib, sitting on the cemetery wall, tells one of these stories. At the very beginning of his criminal career, Benchik approached the one-eyed bandit and raider Froim Hrach and asked to see him. When asked who he is and where he is from, Benya offers to try him. The raiders, on their advice, decide to try Benya on Tartakovsky, which has contained so much insolence and money as no other Jew. At the same time, those gathered blush, because nine raids have already been carried out on "one and a half Jews", as Tartakovsky is called in Moldavanka. He was twice stolen for ransom and once buried with the singers. The tenth raid was already considered a rude act, and therefore Benya left, slamming the door.

Benya writes a letter to Tartakovsky, in which he asks him to put money under a barrel of rainwater. In his reply, Tartakovsky explains that he is sitting with his wheat without profit and therefore there is nothing to take from him. The next day Benya comes to him with four comrades in masks and with revolvers. In the presence of the frightened clerk Muginstein, the unmarried son of Aunt Pesya, the raiders rob the cash register. At this time, Savka Butsis, a Jew who was late for business, burst into the office, drunk as a water carrier. He stupidly waves his arms and, by an accidental shot from a revolver, mortally wounds the clerk Muginstein. By order of Benya, the raiders flee from the office, and he swears to Savka Butsis that he will lie next to his victim. An hour after Muginshtein is taken to the hospital, Benya appears there, calls the senior doctor and a nurse, and, introducing himself, expresses a desire that the sick Joseph Muginshtein recuperate. Nevertheless, the wounded man dies at night. Then Tartakovsky raises a fuss all over Odessa. "Where does the police start," he yells, "and where does Benya end?" Benya drives up to Muginstein's house in a red car, where Aunt Pesya is beating on the floor in despair, and demands from the “Jew and a half” sitting here for her a one-time allowance of ten thousand and a pension until death. After the squabble, they agree on five thousand in cash and fifty rubles a month.

The funeral of Muginstein Benya Krik, who was not yet called the King, arranges for the first category. Odessa has never seen such a magnificent funeral. Sixty choristers walk in front of the funeral procession, black plumes swing on white horses. After the commencement of the funeral service, a red car drives up, four raiders, led by Benya, get out of it and bring a wreath of unprecedented roses, then they take the coffin on their shoulders and carry it. Benya makes a speech over the grave, and in conclusion he asks everyone to take everyone to the grave of the late Savely Butsis. Astonished, those present obediently follow him. He makes Kantor sing a full memorial service over Savka. After it ends, everyone rushes to run in horror. At the same time, the lisping Moiseika, sitting on the cemetery wall, utters the word "king" for the first time.

Father

The story of Benny Creek's marriage is as follows. His daughter Basia, a woman of gigantic stature, with huge sides and cheeks of brick color, comes to the Moldavian bandit and raider Froim Grach. After the death of his wife, who died of childbirth, Froim gave his newborn mother-in-law, who lives in Tulchin, and since then he has not seen his daughter for twenty years. Her unexpected appearance embarrasses and puzzles him. The daughter immediately takes on the improvement of the father's house. Young people from Moldavian women like the son of grocer Solomonchik Kaplun and the son of the smuggler Monya Artillerist do not ignore the large and curvy Basya. Basia, a simple provincial girl, dreams of love and marriage. This is noticed by the old Jew, Blu, engaged in matchmaking, and shares his observation with Froim Rook, who brushes off the discerning Blu and turns out to be wrong.

Since the day Basya saw Kaplun, she spends all the evenings outside the gate. She sits on a bench and sews a dowry for herself. Next to her are pregnant women waiting for their husbands, and before her eyes is the abundant life of a Moldavian woman - "a life filled with sucking babies, drying rags and wedding nights full of suburban chic and soldier's tirelessness." At the same time, Basia becomes aware that the daughter of a dray driver cannot count on a worthy party, and she stops calling her father a father, and calls him nothing more than a "red thief."

This continues until Basya has made herself six nightgowns and six pairs of pantaloons with lace frills. Then she cried and through tears said to the one-eyed Froim Rook: “Each girl has her own interest in life, and only one I live as a night watchman in someone else's warehouse. Or do something with me, papa, or I am making the end of my life ... ”This makes an impression on Rook: having dressed solemnly, he goes to the grocer Kaplun. He knows that his son Solomonchik is not averse to uniting with Baska, but he also knows something else - that his wife Madame Kaplun does not want Froim Grach, just as a man does not want death. In their family, they have been grocers for several generations, and the Capons do not want to break traditions. The upset, offended Rook goes home and, without saying anything to his dressed-up daughter, goes to bed.

Waking up, Froim goes to the innkeeper Lubka Kazak and asks her for advice and help. He says that the grocers are very fat, but he, Froim Grach, is left alone and he has no help. Lyubka Kazak advises him to turn to Bene Crick, who is single and whom Froim has already tried at Tartakovsky. She leads the old man to the second floor, where there are women for visitors. She finds Benya Krik at Katyusha's and tells him everything she knows about Bas and the affairs of the one-eyed Rook. “I'll think about it,” Benya replies. Until late at night, Froim Grach sits in the corridor near the door of the room, from where the groans and laughter of Katyusha are heard, and patiently waits for Beni's decision. Finally Froim knocks on the door. Together they go out and agree on a dowry. They also agree that Benya should take from Kaplun, guilty of insulting family pride, two thousand. This is how the fate of the arrogant Kaplun and the fate of Basi's girl are decided.

Lyubka Kazak

The house of Lyubka Schneweis, nicknamed Lyubka Kazak, stands on Moldavanka. It houses a wine cellar, an inn, an oat shop and a dovecote. In addition to Lyubka, the house is home to Evzel, the dovecote owner and keeper, Pesya-Mindl, the cook and procurer, and Tsudechkis, the manager, with whom many stories are connected. Here is one of them - about how Tsudechkis acted as a manager at Lubka's inn. Once he savored a thresher for a landowner and in the evening took him to Lyubka to celebrate the purchase. The next morning it was discovered that the landowner who had spent the night had fled without paying. The watchman Evzel demands money from Tsudechkis, and when he refuses, he locks him in Lyubka's room until the hostess arrives.

From the window of the room, Tsudechkis observes how Lyubkin's infant is tormented, not accustomed to a nipple and demanding mother's milk, while his mother, in the words of Pesya-Mindl, who looks after the child, “gallops through her quarries, drinks tea with Jews in a tavern” The bear “buys contraband in the harbor and thinks of his son like last year's snow ...”. The old man takes a crying baby in his arms, walks around the room and, swinging like a tzaddik in prayer, sings an endless song until the boy falls asleep.

In the evening Kazak returns from the city of Lyubka. Tsudechkis scolds her for trying to capture everything for herself, and leaves her own child without milk. When the smuggling sailors from the Plutarch ship, from whom Lyubka sells goods, leave drunk, she goes up to her room, where she is met with reproaches from Tsudechkis. He puts a small comb to Lyubka's chest, to which the child reaches, and he, having pricked, cries. The old man slips a nipple on him and thus weanes the child from the mother's breast. Grateful Lyubka releases Tsudechkis, and a week later he becomes her manager.

KING

The wedding ended, the rabbi sank into a chair, then he left
rooms and saw tables set along the entire length of the courtyard. They were like this
many that they stick their tails out of the gates on Hospital Street.
Tables covered with velvet curled around the courtyard like snakes with
patches of all colors, and they sang in thick voices - patches from
orange and red velvet.
The apartments have been converted into kitchens. The fat beat through the smoky doors
flames, drunken and puffy flames. In its smoky rays old woman's faces were baked,
woman's shaking chins, greasy breasts. Sweat as pink as blood
pink, like the foam of a mad dog, flowed around these heaps of overgrown, sweet
stinking human meat. Three cooks, not counting the dishwashers, cooked
wedding supper, and over them reigned eighty-year-old Reisle, the traditional,
like a Torah scroll, tiny and hunchbacked.
Before dinner, a young man, unknown to the guests, crept into the yard. He
asked Benya Crick. He took Benya Crick aside.
- Listen, King, - said the young man, - I have to tell you a couple
words. Aunt Khan sent me with Kostetskaya ...
- Well, well, - answered Benya Krik, nicknamed the King, - what is this
a couple of words?
- A new bailiff arrived at the station yesterday, your aunt told you to tell
Hana ...
- I knew about it the day before yesterday, - Benya Krik answered. - Further.
- The bailiff gathered the site and gave the site a speech ...
- The new broom is sweeping clean, - Benya Krik answered. - He wants a round-up.
Further...
- And when there will be a round-up, you know. King?
- She will be tomorrow.
- King, she will be today.
- Who told you that, boy?
“Aunt Hana said that. Do you know Aunt Hana?
- I know Aunt Hana. Further.
- ... The bailiff gathered the site and gave them a speech. "We must strangle Benya
Shout, - he said, - because where there is a sovereign emperor, there is no
king. Today, when Scream marries off his sister and they will all be there,
we need to do a round-up today ... "
- Further.
- ... Then the spies began to be afraid. They said if we do today
a round-up when he has a holiday, so Benya will get angry, and a lot of blood will go away.
So the bailiff said - pride is dearer to me ...
“Well, go,” answered the King.
- What to say to Aunt Hana for the raid.
- Say: Benya knows for the raid.
And he left, this young man. He was followed by three people from
Benin's friends. They said they would be back in half an hour. And they returned
after half an hour. That's all.
They sat at the table not by seniority. Foolish old age is pitiful no less than
cowardly youth. And not for wealth. The lining of the heavy wallet is made of
tears.
At the table in the first place were the bride and groom. This is their day. On the
second place was taken by Sender Eichbaum, the King's father-in-law. This is his right. History
Sender Eichbaum should be known because this is not a simple story.
How did Benya Krik, the raider and king of the raiders, become Eichbaum's son-in-law?
How he became the son-in-law of a man who had sixty milk cows
without one? It's all about the plaque.

Babel Isaac
Odessa stories
Isaac Babel
Odessa stories
Content:
King
How it was done in Odessa
Father
Lyubka Kazak
Fairness in brackets
You missed, captain!
The story of my dovecote
The first love
Karl-Yankel
In the basement
Awakening
End of the almshouse
Di Grasso
Froim Grach
Sunset
KING
The wedding ended, the rabbi sank into a chair, then he left the room and saw tables set along the entire length of the courtyard. There were so many of them that they stuck their tails out of the gates on Hospital Street. Tables covered with velvet curled around the courtyard like snakes with patches of all colors on their belly, and they sang in thick voices - patches of orange and red velvet.
The apartments have been converted into kitchens. Thick flames, drunken and puffy flames beat through the smoky doors. In its smoky rays old woman's faces, woman's shaking chins, greasy breasts were baked. Sweat, pink as blood, pink as the foam of a mad dog, flowed around these heaps of overgrown, sweet-smelling human flesh. Three cooks, not counting the dishwashers, were preparing a wedding dinner, and over them reigned eighty-year-old Reisle, traditional as a Torah scroll, tiny and hunchbacked.
Before dinner, a young man, unknown to the guests, crept into the yard. He asked Benya Crick. He took Benya Crick aside.
“Listen, King,” said the young man, “I have a few words to tell you. Aunt Khan sent me with Kostetskaya ...
- Well, well, - answered Benya Krik, nicknamed the King, - what are these two words?
- A new bailiff arrived at the police station yesterday, Aunt Khan told you to tell ...
- I knew about it the day before yesterday, - Benya Krik answered. - Further.
- The bailiff gathered the site and gave the site a speech ...
- The new broom is sweeping clean, - Benya Krik answered. - He wants a round-up. Further...
- And when there will be a round-up, you know. King?
- She will be tomorrow.
- King, she will be today.
- Who told you that, boy?
“Aunt Hana said that. Do you know Aunt Hana?
- I know Aunt Hana. Further.
- ... The bailiff gathered the site and gave them a speech. "We must strangle Benya Krik," he said, "because where there is a sovereign the emperor, there is no king. Today, when Krik marries his sister and they will all be there, today we need to make a round-up ..."
- Further.
- ... Then the spies began to be afraid. They said: if we make a raid today, when he has a holiday, Benya will get angry and a lot of blood will go away. So the bailiff said - pride is dearer to me ...
“Well, go,” answered the King.
- What to say to Aunt Hana for the raid.
- Say: Benya knows for the raid.
And he left, this young man. Three of Benin's friends followed him. They said they would be back in half an hour. And they returned in half an hour. That's all.
They sat at the table not by seniority. Foolish old age is no less pathetic than cowardly youth. And not for wealth. The lining of the heavy wallet is made of tears.
At the table in the first place were the bride and groom. This is their day. In second place was Sender Eichbaum, the King's father-in-law. This is his right. Sender Eichbaum's story should be known because it is not a simple story.
How did Benya Krik, the raider and king of the raiders, become Eichbaum's son-in-law? How did he become the son-in-law of a man who had sixty milk cows without one? It's all about the plaque. Just a year ago Benya wrote a letter to Eichbaum.
“Monsieur Eichbaum,” he wrote, “put, I beg you, tomorrow morning under the gate at 17 Sofiyevskaya,“ twenty thousand rubles. speak. Respectfully Benya the King. "
Three letters, one clearer than the other, went unanswered. Then Benya took action. They came at night - nine people with long sticks in their hands. The sticks were wrapped in tarred tow. Nine blazing stars lit up in Eichbaum's barnyard. Benya took the locks off the barn and began to take the cows out one by one. A guy with a knife was waiting for them. He knocked over the cow with one blow and plunged the knife into the cow's heart. On the ground, covered with blood, torches blossomed like fiery roses, and shots rang out. With shots Benya drove away the workers who had fled to the cowshed. And after him, other raiders began to shoot in the air, because if you do not shoot in the air, you can kill a person. And so, when the sixth cow with a dying moo fell at the feet of the King, then Eichbaum ran out into the courtyard in only underpants and asked:
- What will happen from this, Benya?
“If I don’t have money, you don’t have cows, Monsieur Eichbaum. It's twice two.
- Come into the room, Benya.
And in the room they agreed. The slaughtered cows were divided in half by them. Eichbaum was guaranteed immunity and issued a stamped certificate. But the miracle came later.
During the raid, on that formidable night when the teased cows bellowed, and the heifers glided in the mother's blood, when the torches danced like black maidens, and the milkmaids scurried and squealed at the guns of the friendly Browning, - on that formidable night, she ran out into the courtyard. cut-out shirt, the daughter of the old man Eichbaum - Tsilya. And the King's victory was his defeat.
Two days later, Benya, without warning, returned all the money he had taken to Eichbaum, and after that he came in the evening for a visit. He was dressed in an orange suit, a diamond bracelet shining under his cuff; he entered the room, greeted and asked Eichbaum for the hand of his daughter Tsili. The old man got a light blow, but he got up. The old man was still twenty years old.
“Listen, Eichbaum,” the King said to him, “when you die, I will bury you in the first Jewish cemetery, at the very gate. I will erect for you, Eichbaum, a pink marble monument. I will make you the head of the Brodsk synagogue. I will give up my profession, Eichbaum, and join your business as a partner. We'll have two hundred cows, Eichbaum. I will kill all milkmen except you. The thief will not walk on the street on which you live. I will build you a dacha at the sixteenth station ... And remember, Eichbaum, you, too, were not a rabbi in your youth. Who forged the will, let's not talk about it loudly? .. And your son-in-law will have a King, not a jerk, but a King, Eichbaum ...
And he achieved his goal, Benya Krik, because he was passionate, and passion dominates the worlds. The newlyweds lived for three months in fat Bessarabia, among grapes, abundant food and love sweat. Then Benya returned to Odessa in order to marry his forty-year-old sister Dvoira, suffering from Graves' disease. And now, having told the story of Sender Eichbaum, we can return to the wedding of Dvoira Creek, the King's sister.
At this wedding, turkeys, fried chickens, geese, stuffed fish and fish soup, in which lemon lakes gleamed with mother-of-pearl, were served for dinner. Flowers swayed over the dead goose-heads like lush plumes. But does the frothy surf of the Odessa sea carry fried chickens to the shore?
All the noblest of our smuggling, all that the land is glorious from end to end, did on that starry, that blue night its destructive, seductive deed. The foreign wine warmed up the stomachs, sweetly broke the legs, intoxicated the brains and caused a belch as resonant as the call of a battle trumpet. The black cook from "Plutarch", who arrived the third day from Port Said, carried out of the customs line pot-bellied bottles of Jamaican rum, oily Madeira, cigars from the Pierpont Morgan plantations and oranges from the outskirts of Jerusalem. This is what the frothy surf of the Odessa sea brings to the shore, this is what the Odessa beggars sometimes get at Jewish weddings. They got the Jamaican rum at the wedding of Dvoira Creek, and therefore, having sucked like a hog, the Jewish beggars began to knock deafeningly with crutches. Eichbaum, loosening his vest, gazed at the raging meeting with a narrowed eye and hiccupped lovingly. The orchestra played carcasses. It was like a divisional review. Carcass - nothing but carcass. The raiders, sitting in close rows, were at first embarrassed by the presence of strangers, but then they dispersed. Leva Katsap smashed a bottle of vodka on the head of his beloved. Monya The gunner fired into the air. But the delight reached its limits when, according to the custom of antiquity, the guests began to give gifts to the newlyweds. The synagogue shames, jumping on the tables, sang to the sound of the seething carcass the amount of donated rubles and silver spoons. And then the King's friends showed what the blue blood and the still unquenchable Moldavian chivalry are worth. With a careless movement of their hand, they threw gold coins, rings, coral threads onto silver trays.
Moldavian aristocrats, they were pulled into crimson vests, their shoulders were covered with red jackets, and their fleshy legs were bursting with sky-blue skin. Straightening up to their full height and protruding their bellies, the bandits clapped to the beat of the music, shouted "bitterly" and threw flowers at the bride, and she, forty-year-old Dvoira, sister of Benny Crick, sister of the King, disfigured by the disease, with an overgrown goiter and eyes crawling out of her orbits, sat on a pile of pillows next to a frail boy bought with Eichbaum's money and numb with longing.
The donation ceremony was coming to an end, the shames were hoarse and the double bass did not get along with the violin. There was a sudden faint smell of burning over the courtyard.
- Benya, - said Daddy Krik, an old binder who was known among bindyuzhniki as a rude brute, - Benya, do you know that the mine surrenders? Mina surrenders that we have soot burning ...
`` Daddy, '' the King replied to his drunken father,
And daddy Creek followed the advice of his son. He ate and drank. But the cloud of smoke grew more and more poisonous. Somewhere the edges of the sky were already pink. And already a tongue of flame, narrow as a sword, shot up high. The guests, getting up, began to sniff the air, and the women screamed. The raiders then exchanged glances with each other. And only Benya, who did not notice anything, was inconsolable.
- Mina is breaking the holiday, - he shouted, “full of despair, - dear ones, please, have a snack and drink ...
But at this time in the yard appeared the same young man who had come at the beginning of the evening.
- King, - he said, - I have a few words to tell you ...
- Well, speak, - answered the King, - you always have a couple of words in stock ...
- King, - said the unknown young man and giggled, - this is just ridiculous, the site is burning like a candle ...
The shopkeepers were numb. The hijackers chuckled. Sixty-year-old Manka, the ancestor of the suburban bandits, put two fingers in her mouth and whistled so piercingly that her neighbors swayed.
- Manya, you are not at work, - Benya remarked to her, - more cold-blooded, Manya ...
The young man who brought this startling news was still laughing.
“They left the site about forty people,” he said, moving his jaws, “and went on a raid; so they walked away about fifteen paces, as it was already on fire ... Run to watch, if you want ...
But Benya forbade the guests to go to look at the fire. He set off with two companions. The site burned regularly on four sides. The policemen, shaking their backs, ran up the smoky stairs and threw the chests out of the windows. Under the guise of the arrested, the arrested fled. The firefighters were eager, but there was no water in the nearest tap. The bailiff - the same broom that sweeps clean - stood on the opposite sidewalk and nibbled on the mustache that was in his mouth. The new broom was motionless. Benya, passing by the bailiff, saluted him in a military manner.
“Good health, your honor,” he said sympathetically. - What do you say to this misfortune? It's a nightmare ...
He stared at the burning building, shook his head and smacked his lips.
- Ah ah ah...
And when Benya returned home, the lanterns were already extinguished in the courtyard and dawn was breaking in the sky. The guests departed, and the musicians dozed with their heads resting on the knobs of their double basses. Only Dvoira was not going to sleep. With both hands, she pushed her shy husband to the door of their marriage room and looked at him carnivore, like a cat that, holding a mouse in its mouth, lightly tastes it with its teeth.
HOW IT WAS DONE IN ODESSA
I started.
- Reb Arie-Leib, - I said to the old man, - let's talk about Ben Creek. Let's talk about its lightning-fast beginning and its terrible end. Three shadows clutter the paths of my imagination. Here is Froim Grach. The steel of his deeds - wouldn't it stand comparison to the strength of the King? Here is Kolka Pakovsky. This man's frenzy contained everything he needed to rule. And really Haim Drong could not distinguish the brilliance of the new star? But why did one Benya Krik climb to the top of the rope ladder, while all the rest hung below, on the wobbly steps?
Reb Arie-Leib was silent, sitting on the cemetery wall. The green tranquility of the graves spread before us. A person hungry for an answer must be patient. The man of knowledge bears importance. Therefore, Arie-Leib was silent, sitting on the cemetery wall. Finally he said:
- Why he? Why not them, you want to know? So - forget for a while that you have glasses on your nose, and autumn in your soul. Stop making trouble at your desk and stuttering in public. Imagine for a moment that you are brawling in squares and stuttering on paper. You are a tiger, you are a lion, you are a cat. You can spend the night with a Russian woman, and the Russian woman will be pleased with you. You are twenty-five years old. If rings were attached to the sky and to the earth, you would grab the rings and pull the sky to the earth. And your father is a binder, Mendel Creek. What does such a dad think about? He thinks about drinking a good shot of vodka, about punching someone in the face, about his horses - and nothing else. You want to live, and he makes you die twenty times a day. What would you do if you were Benny Creek? You wouldn't do anything. And he did. Therefore, he is the King, and you keep a fig in your pocket.
He - the Corolla - went to Froim Rook, who then already looked at the world with only one eye and was what he is. He said to Froim:
- Take me. I want to swim to your shore. The shore I hit will win.
The rook asked him:
- Who are you, where are you coming from and what are you breathing?
- Try me, Froim, - Benya answered, - and we will stop spreading white porridge on a clean table.
- Let's stop spreading the porridge, - replied the Rook, - I'll try you.
And the hijackers put together a council to think about Ben Creek. I have not been on this board. But they say they have a council. The eldest was then the late Levka Byk.
- What's going on under his hat, this Corolla? - asked the late Bull.
And the one-eyed Rook said his opinion:
- Benya speaks a little, but he speaks with relish. He says little, but he wants him to say something else.
“If so,” exclaimed the late Levka, “then we'll try it at Tartakovsky.
- Let's try it at Tartakovsky, - the council decided, and everyone in whom the conscience still lodged blushed when they heard this decision. Why did they turn red? You will know about this if you go where I lead you.
Tartakovsky was called "one and a half Jew" or "nine raids" in our country. They called him "One and a half Jew" because no Jew could contain in himself as much impudence and money as Tartakovsky had. He was taller than the tallest policeman in Odessa, and weighed more than the fattest Jewess. And they called Tartakovsky "nine raids" because Levka Byk's firm and the company carried out not eight or ten raids on his office, but nine. Beni, who was not yet King at that time, had the honor of making the tenth raid on the "Jew and a half". When Froim told him about it, he said yes and left, slamming the door. Why did he slam the door? You will know about this if you go where I lead you.
Tartakovsky has the soul of a murderer, but he is ours. He came out of us. He is our blood. He is our flesh, as if one mother gave birth to us. Half of Odessa serves in his shops. And he suffered through his own Moldovans. Twice they stole him for ransom, and once, during a pogrom, he was buried with the singers. Sloboda thugs then beat the Jews on Bolshaya Arnautskaya. Tartakovsky ran away from them and met the funeral procession with the singers on Sofiyskaya. He asked:
- Who is it buried with the singers?
Passers-by answered that Tartakovsky was being buried. The procession reached the Sloboda cemetery. Then our men took out a machine gun from the coffin and began to pour at the suburban thugs. But "one and a half Jew" did not foresee this. "One and a half Jew" was scared to death. And what master would not be frightened in his place?
The tenth raid on a man who had already been buried once was a rude act. Benya, who was not yet the King, understood this better than anyone else. But he said "yes" to Rook and on the same day wrote a letter to Tartakovsky, similar to all letters of this kind:
"Dear Ruvim Osipovich! Be so kind as to put it under a barrel of rainwater by Saturday ... - and so on. - In case of refusal, as you have recently begun to allow yourself, a great disappointment awaits you in your family life. With respect. familiar to you Benzion Creek ".
Tartakovsky was not too lazy and answered without delay.
"Benya! If you were an idiot, I would write to you like an idiot! But I don't know you for this, and God forbid you to know for such a thing. You seem to be a boy. Don't you know what this year is Argentina has such a harvest that at least heaps, and we sit with our wheat without a start? .. And I’ll tell you, with my hand on my heart, that I’m tired of eating such a bitter piece of bread in my old age and experiencing these troubles, after I worked out all life is like the last workman. And what do I have after these indefinite hard labor? Ulcers, sores, troubles and insomnia. Give up these nonsense, Benya. Your friend, much more than you think, is Reuben Tartakovsky. "
"One and a half Jew" did his own thing. He wrote a letter. But the mail did not deliver the letter to the address. Having received no answer, Benya got angry. The next day, he showed up with four friends at Tartakovskoto's office. Four masked youths with revolvers burst into the room.
- Hands up! they said, and began waving their pistols.
- Work more calmly, Solomon, - Benya remarked to one of those who shouted louder than others, - do not have this habit of being nervous at work - and, turning to the clerk, white as death, and yellow as clay, he asked him:
- "One and a half Jew" at the plant?
- They are not in the factory, - answered the clerk, whose last name was Muginstein, and by his name he was called Joseph and was the single son of Aunt Pesya, a chicken trader from Seredinskaya Square.
- Who will be here, finally, for the owner? - began to interrogate the unfortunate Muginstein.
“I'll be here for the master,” said the clerk, green as green grass.
- Then give us, with God's help, the cashier! - Benya ordered him, and the opera began in three acts.
Nervous Solomon packed money, papers, watches and monograms into a suitcase; the deceased Joseph stood before him with his hands up, and at this time Benya was telling stories from the life of the Jewish people.
“Since he’s playing Rothschild,” Benya said about Tartakovsky, “so let him burn with fire. Explain to me, Muginstein, as a friend: here he is receiving a business letter from me: why shouldn't he take a tram for five kopecks and drive up to my apartment and drink a glass of vodka with my family and eat what God has sent. What prevented him from pronouncing his soul in front of me? "Benya, - let him say, - so and so, here's my balance, wait a couple of days for me, let me breathe, let me shrug my hands." What would I answer him? A pig does not meet a pig, but a person meets a person. Muginstein, do you understand me?
- I understood you, - said Muginstein and lied, because he did not understand at all why "one and a half Jew", a respectable rich man and the first person, had to go by tram to have a snack with the family of the binder Mendel Crick.
Meanwhile, misfortune wandered under the windows, like a beggar at dawn. Misfortune burst into the office with a noise. And although this time it took on the image of the Jew Savka Butsis, it was drunk like a water carrier.
“Ho-ho-ho,” shouted the Jew Savka, “forgive me, Corolla, I was late, and he stamped his feet and began to wave his arms. Then he fired, and the bullet hit Muginstein in the stomach.
Are words needed here? There was a man and there is no man. An innocent bachelor lived for himself, like a bird on a branch, and now he died through stupidity. A Jew who looked like a sailor came and shot not at some bottle with a surprise, but at the stomach of a man. Are words needed here?
- Tick from the office, - Benya shouted and ran last. But, leaving, he managed to tell Butsis:
- I swear by the coffin of my mother, Savka, you will lie down next to him ...
Now tell me you, young gentleman, cutting coupons on other people's shares, what would you do if you were Benny Creek? You don't know how to proceed. And he knew. Therefore, he is the King, and you and I are sitting on the wall of the second Jewish cemetery and fencing ourselves from the sun with our palms.
The unfortunate son of Aunt Pesya did not die immediately. An hour after he was taken to the hospital, Benya appeared there. He ordered to call the senior doctor and a nurse and told them, without taking his hands out of his cream-colored pants:
- I have an interest, - he said, - that the sick Joseph Muginstein recovered. I introduce myself just in case. Benzion Creek. Camphor, air cushions, a separate room - give with an open mind. If not, then for any doctor, even a doctor of philosophy, there are no more than three arshins of land.
Yet Muginstein died that very night. And then only "one and a half Jew" raised a cry all over Odessa.
“Where does the police start,” he yelled, “and where does Benya end?
- The police ends where Benya begins, - reasonable people answered, but Tartakovsky did not calm down, and he waited for the red car with a music box to play its first march from the opera "Laugh, clown" on Seredinskaya Square. In broad daylight, the car flew up to the house in which Aunt Pesya lived.
The car rattled its wheels, spat smoke, shone with copper, smelled of gasoline, and played arias on its signal horn. Someone jumped out of the car and went into the kitchen, where little Aunt Pesya was beating on the earthen floor. "One and a half Jew" was sitting on a chair and waving his arms.
- Hooligan muzzle, - he shouted when he saw the guest, - bandit, so that the earth throws you out! I took a good fashion for myself - to kill living people ...
- Monsieur Tartakovsky, - Benya Krik answered him in a low voice, - now it is the second day, as I cry for a dear deceased, as for a brother. But I know that you wanted to spit on my young tears. Shame, Monsieur Tartakovsky, in what fireproof cupboard did you hide your shame? You had the heart to send the mother of our late Joseph one hundred pitiful Karbovans. My brain and hair stood on end when I heard the news.
Here Benya paused. He was wearing a chocolate blazer, cream pants, and crimson boots.
“Ten thousand at a time,” he roared, “ten thousand at a time and a pension until her death, let her live a hundred and twenty years. And if not, then let us leave this room, Monsieur Tartakovsky, and get into my car ...
Then they quarreled with each other. "One and a half Jew" scolded Benya. I was not in this quarrel. But those who were, they remember. They agreed on five thousand in cash and fifty rubles a month.
“Aunt Pesya,” Benya said to the disheveled old woman who was lying on the floor, “if you need my life, you can get it, but everyone is mistaken, even God. There was a huge mistake, Aunt Pesya. But wasn’t it a mistake on the part of God to settle Jews in Russia so that they would suffer as in hell? And what would be bad if the Jews lived in Switzerland, where they would be surrounded by first-class lakes, mountainous air and solid French? Everyone is wrong, even God. Listen to me with your ears, Aunt Pesya. You have five thousand on hand and fifty rubles a month until your death - live one hundred and twenty years. Joseph's funeral will be according to the first category: six horses, like six lions, two chariots with wreaths, a choir from the Brodsky synagogue, Minkovsky himself will come to service your deceased son ...
And the funeral took place the next morning. Ask the cemetery beggars about these funerals. Ask the shames in the synagogue, the kosher poultry merchants, or the old women in the second poorhouse about them. Odessa has never seen such a funeral, but the world will not see it. The policemen put on cotton gloves that day. Electricity was burning in the synagogues, entwined with greenery and wide open. Black plumes swayed on white horses harnessed to a chariot. Sixty choristers walked in front of the procession. The singers were boys, but they sang with female voices. The heads of the synagogue of the kosher poultry merchants led Aunt Pesya by the arms. The elders were followed by members of the Jewish clerks' society, and the Jewish clerks were followed by attorneys at law, doctors of medicine and midwives-paramedics. On one side of Aunt Pesya were the chicken traders of the old bazaar, and on the other side were the honorable milkmaids from Bugaevka, wrapped in orange shawls. They stamped their feet like gendarmes on a service day parade. The scent of sea and milk emanated from their wide hips. And the employees of Reuben Tartakovsky trailed behind everyone. There were a hundred of them, or two hundred, or two thousand. They wore black coats with silk lapels and new boots that creaked like pigs in a sack.
And now I will speak, as the Lord spoke on Mount Sinai from a burning bush. Put my words in your ears. Everything that I saw, I saw with my own eyes, sitting here, on the wall of the second cemetery, next to the lisping Moiseika and Shimshon from the burial office. I saw it, Arie-Leib, a proud Jew who lives with the dead.
The chariot drove up to the cemetery synagogue. The coffin was placed on the steps. Aunt Pesya was trembling like a bird. Kantor climbed out of the chaise and began the funeral service. Sixty choristers echoed him. And at that moment the red car took off from the corner. He played "Laugh, Clown" and stopped. People were silent as if killed. The trees, the singers, the beggars were silent. Four people climbed out from under the red roof and, with a quiet step, brought a wreath of unprecedented roses to the chariot. And when the funeral service was over, four people brought their steel shoulders under the coffin, with glowing eyes and protruding chests, walked along with members of the society of Jewish clerks.
Ahead was Benya Krik, whom no one had called the King at that time. He was the first to approach the grave, climb the mound and stretch out his hand.
- What do you want to do, young man? - Kofman from the funeral brotherhood ran up to him.
- I want to make a speech, - Benya Krik answered.
And he made a speech. It was heard by everyone who wanted to listen. I heard her, Arie-Leib, and the lisping Moiseika, who was sitting on the wall next to me.
“Gentlemen and ladies,” said Benya Krik, “gentlemen and ladies,” he said, and the sun rose over his head like a sentry with a gun. - You have come to pay your last debt to an honest worker who died for a copper penny. On my own behalf and on behalf of everyone who is not here, thank you. Ladies and gentlemen! What did our dear Joseph see in his life? He saw a couple of trifles. What was he doing? He was counting other people's money. Why did he die? He died for the entire working class. There are people who are already doomed to death, and there are people who have not yet begun to live. And now a bullet, flying into the doomed chest, pierces Joseph, who has not seen anything in his life but a couple of trifles. There are people who can drink vodka, and there are people who do not know how to drink vodka, but still drink it. And now the former enjoy grief and joy, while the latter suffer for all those who drink vodka, not knowing how to drink it. Therefore, gentlemen and ladies, after we pray for our poor Joseph, I ask you to escort you to the grave of the unknown to you, but already late Savely Butsis ...
And, having said this speech, Benya went down the hill. People, trees and cemetery beggars were silent. Two gravediggers carried the unpainted coffin to a nearby grave. Kantor stammered and finished the prayer. Benya threw down the first shovel and went over to Savka. All the attorneys at law and the ladies with brooches followed him like sheep. He made the cantor sing a full panikhida over Savka, and sixty singers echoed the cantor. Savka never dreamed of such a requiem, believe the word of Arie-Leib, an old old man.
They say that on that day "one and a half Jew" decided to close the case. I was not. But the fact that neither the cantor, nor the choir, nor the funeral brotherhood asked for money for the funeral, I saw through the eyes of Arie-Leib. Arie-Leib - that's my name. And I could not see anything else, because the people, quietly moving away from Savka's grave, rushed to run as if from a fire. They flew in phaetons, in carts and on foot. And only the four who arrived in the red car left on it. The music box played its march, the car shuddered and sped away.
- King, - looking after her, said the lisping Moiseika, the one who takes the best places on the wall from me.
Now you know everything. You know who first uttered the word "king". It was Moiseika. You know why he didn't name either the one-eyed Rook or the mad Kolka that way. You know everything. But what is the use if you still have glasses on your nose, and autumn in your soul? ..
FATHER
Froim Grach was once married. It was a long time ago, twenty years have passed since that time. The wife then gave birth to Froim's daughter and died of childbirth. The girl was named Basya. Her maternal grandmother lived in Tulchin. The old woman did not love her son-in-law. She spoke of him: Froim is a draft cabby by occupation, and he has black horses, but Froim's soul is blacker than the black color of his horses ...
The old woman did not like her son-in-law and took the newborn to her. She lived with the girl for twenty years and then died. Then Baska returned to her father. It all happened like this.
On Wednesday, the fifth, Froim Grach carried wheat from the warehouses of the Dreyfus Society to the port on the steamer "Caledonia". By evening he finished work and went home. At the turn from Prokhorovskaya Street, he met the blacksmith Ivan Pyatirubel.
- Respect, Rook, - said Ivan Pyatirubel, - some woman is pounding to your premises ...
The rook drove on and saw a gigantic woman in his yard. She had huge brick-colored sides and cheeks.
“Daddy,” the woman said in a deafening bass, “the devils are already grabbing me out of boredom. I have been waiting for you all day ... Know that your grandmother died in Tulchin.
The rook stood on the bindyug and looked at his daughter with all his eyes.
- Do not spin in front of the horses, - he cried in despair, - take the bridle from the root, you want to beat my horses ...
The rook stood on the cart and brandished his whip. Bas'ka took the horse by the bridle and led the horses to the stable. She unharnessed them and went to fuss about in the kitchen. The girl hung her father's footcloths on a rope, she wiped off the sooty kettle with sand and began to warm up the food in a cast-iron pot.
“You have unbearable dirt, papa,” she said and threw the sour sheepskins lying on the floor out the window, “but I will get this dirt out,” Baska shouted and gave my father supper.
The old man drank vodka from an enamel teapot and ate a zraza that smelled like a happy childhood. Then he took the whip and went out the gate. Baska also came there after him. She put on men's boots and an orange dress, she put on a hat hung with birds, and sat on a bench. The evening staggered past the shop, the shining eye of the sunset fell into the sea beyond the Peresyp River, and the sky was red like a red number on a calendar. All trade was covered up already on Dalnitskaya, and the raiders drove into a back street to the brothel of Ioska Samuelson. They rode in lacquer carriages, dressed like hummingbirds, in colored jackets. Their eyes were bulging, one foot was put to the footboard, and in their steel outstretched hand they held bouquets wrapped in tissue paper. Their lacquered carriages moved at a pace, in each carriage there was one person with a bouquet, and the coachmen, sticking out in the high seats, were decorated with bows, like a best man at a wedding. Old Jewish women in tattoos lazily followed the course of this usual procession - they were indifferent to everything, old Jews, and only the sons of shopkeepers and ship craftsmen envied the kings of Moldavian women.
Solomonchik Kaplun, the grocer's son, and Monya the Artilleryman, the smuggler's son, were among those who tried to avert their eyes from the glitter of someone else's luck. Both of them walked past her, swaying like girls who recognized love, they whispered among themselves and began to move their hands, showing how they would hug Baska, if she wanted it. And Baska immediately wanted this, because she was a simple girl from Tulchin, from a self-serving, blind town. It weighed five pounds and a few more pounds; all her life she lived with the spiteful growth of Podolsk brokers, itinerant booksellers, forest contractors and had never seen people like Solomonchik Kaplun. Therefore, when she saw him, she began to shuffle on the ground with her thick feet, shod in men's boots, and told her father.
`` Daddy, '' she said in a thunderous voice, `` look at this gentleman: he has legs like a doll's, I would strangle such legs ...
- Hey, Madame Rook, - then whispered an old Jew, who was sitting next to him, an old Jew, by the name of Golubchik, - I see your child is asking for grass ...
- Here's a hassle on my head, - answered Froim to Golubchik, played with his whip and went to his bed and fell asleep peacefully, because he did not believe the old man. He did not believe the old man and was completely wrong. Blu was right. My dear was engaged in matchmaking on our street, at night he read prayers over the well-to-do dead and knew everything there was to know about life. Froim Grach was wrong. Blu was right.
And indeed, from that day on, Vaska spent all her evenings outside the gates. She sat on a bench and sewed a dowry for herself. Pregnant women sat next to her; heaps of canvas crawled over her stretched, powerful knees; pregnant women were filled with all sorts of things, as a cow's udder is poured in the pasture with the pink milk of spring, and at that time their husbands, one after another, came from work. Husbands of scolding wives squeezed their disheveled beards under the water tap and then gave way to hunchbacked old women. Old women bathed fat babies in troughs, they spanked grandchildren on their shining buttocks and wrapped them in their shabby skirts. And so Baska from Tulchin saw the life of a Moldavian woman, our generous mother - a life filled with sucking babies, drying rags and wedding nights full of suburban chic and soldier's tirelessness. The girl wanted the same life for herself, but she found out here that the daughter of the one-eyed Rook could not count on a decent party. Then she stopped calling her father father.
- Red thief, - she shouted to him in the evenings, - red thief, go to supper ...
And this continued until Baska sewed herself six nightgowns and six pairs of pantaloons with lace frills. Having finished the filing of laces, she began to cry in a thin voice, unlike hers, and said through her tears to the unshakable Rook:
“Every girl,” she told him, “has her own interest in life, and only I live as a night watchman in someone else’s warehouse. Or do something to me, daddy, or I'm making the end of my life ...
The rook listened to his daughter to the end, he put on a sail cloak and the next day went to visit the grocer Kaplun on Privoznaya Square.
Above Kaplun's shop, a golden sign glittered. This was the first shop on Pryvoznaya Square. It smelled of many seas and wonderful lives unknown to us. The boy poured from a watering can the cool depth of the store and sang a song that is decent only for adults to sing. Solomonchik, the master's son, stood behind the counter; on this counter were olives from Greece, Marseille oil, coffee beans, Lisbon malaga, Philip and Cano sardines, and cayenne pepper. Kaplun himself was sitting in a vest in the sun, in a glass attachment, and ate a watermelon - a red watermelon with black bones, with slanting bones, like the eyes of crafty Chinese women. Kaplun's belly lay on the table under the sun, and the sun could do nothing about it. But then the grocer saw Rook in a sailing cloak and turned pale.
“Good afternoon, Monsieur Rook,” he said, and pulled away. - My dear boy warned me that you will, and I prepared a pound of tea for you that this is a rarity ...
And he started talking about a new type of tea brought to Odessa on Dutch steamers. The Rook listened to him patiently, but then interrupted him, because he was a simple man, no tricks.
- I am a simple man, no cunning, - said Froim, - I am with my horses and do my job. I give new underwear for Baska and a couple of old pennies, and I myself eat for Baska - whoever is not enough, let him burn with fire ...
- Why should we burn? - Kaplun answered quickly and stroked the hand of the dray driver. - You don't need such words, Monsieur Grach, after all, you are a person who can help another person, and, by the way, you can offend another person, and the fact that you are not a Krakow rabbi, so I also did not Moses' niece Montefiore, but ... but Madame Kaplun ... we have Madame Kaplun, a grandiose lady, from whom God himself does not know what she wants ...
- And I know, - Rook interrupted the shopkeeper, - I know that Solomonchik wants Baska, but Madame Kaplun does not want me ...
“Yes, I don’t want you,” Madame Kaplun, who was listening at the door, shouted then, and she went into the glass extension, all flaming, with an agitated chest, “I don’t want you, Rook, as a man doesn’t want death; I do not want you, as the bride does not want pimples on her head. Do not forget that our late grandfather was a grocer, and we must keep our brains ...
- Stick to your brane, - replied the Rook to the flaming Madame Kaplun and went to his home.
There Vaska was waiting for him, dressed in an orange dress, but the old man, without looking at her, spread the casing under the carts, went to bed and slept until Baska's mighty hand threw him out from under the cart.
- Red thief, - said the girl in a whisper, unlike her whisper, - why should I endure your bindyuzhnitsky manners, and why are you silent, like a stump, a red thief? ..
- Baska, - said the Rook, - Solomon wants you, but Madame Kaplun does not want me ... They are looking for a grocer there.
And, straightening the casing, the old man crawled under the carts again, and Baska disappeared from the yard ...
All this happened on Saturday, a non-working day. The purple eye of sunset, ransacking the ground, stumbled upon Rook in the evening, snoring under his bandage. A swift beam rested on the sleeping man with a fiery reproach and brought him out onto Dalnitskaya Street, dusty and glistening like green rye in the wind. Tatars went up the Dalnitskaya, Tatars and Turks with their mullahs. They returned from pilgrimage from Mecca to their home in the Orenburg steppes and in the Transcaucasus. The steamer brought them to Odessa, and they went from the port to the inn of Lyubka Schneweis, nicknamed Lyubka Kazak. Unbendable striped robes stood on the Tatars and flooded the pavement with the bronze sweat of the desert. White towels were wrapped around their fez, and this signified the person who bowed to the ashes of the prophet. The pilgrims reached the corner, they turned to Lyubkin's yard, but could not get through there, because a lot of people had gathered at the gate. Lyubka Schneweis, with a purse on her side, beat a drunken peasant and pushed him onto the pavement. She hit her face with a clenched fist, like a tambourine, and with the other hand supported the peasant so that he would fall off. Streams of blood crept between the peasant's teeth and near his ear, he was thoughtful and looked at Lyubka as at a stranger, then he fell on the stones and fell asleep. Then Lyubka pushed him with her foot and returned to her shop. Her watchman Evzel closed the gate behind her and waved his hand to Froim Grach, who was passing by ...
- Respect, Rook, - he said, - if you want to observe something from life, then come to our yard, there is something to laugh with ...
And the watchman led Rook to the wall, where the pilgrims who had arrived the day before were sitting. An old Turk in a green turban, an old Turk, green and light as a leaf, lay on the grass. He was covered in pearly sweat, he was breathing hard and rolling his eyes.
- Here, - said Evzel and straightened the medal on his worn jacket, here is a life drama from the opera "Turkish ailment". It ends, old man, but you can't call a doctor to him, because the one who ends up on the way from God Muhammad to his home is considered their first lucky and rich man ... treat you ...
The Turk looked at the watchman with childish fear and hatred and turned away. Then Evzel, pleased with himself, led Hrach to the opposite side of the courtyard to the wine cellar. In the cellar, lamps were already burning and music was playing.

Isaac Babel

Odessa stories

The wedding ended, the rabbi sank into a chair, then he left the room and saw tables set along the entire length of the courtyard. There were so many of them that they stuck their tails out of the gates on Hospital Street. Tables covered with velvet curled around the courtyard like snakes with patches of all colors on their belly, and they sang in thick voices - patches of orange and red velvet.

The apartments have been converted into kitchens. Thick flames, drunken and puffy flames beat through the smoky doors. In its smoky rays old woman's faces, woman's shaking chins, greasy breasts were baked. Sweat, pink as blood, pink as the foam of a mad dog, flowed around these heaps of overgrown, sweet-smelling human flesh. Three cooks, not counting the dishwashers, were preparing a wedding dinner, and over them reigned eighty-year-old Reisle, traditional as a Torah scroll, tiny and hunchbacked.

Before dinner, a young man, unknown to the guests, crept into the yard. He asked Benya Crick. He took Benya Crick aside.

Listen, King, - said the young man, - I have a few words to tell you. Aunt Khan sent me with Kostetskaya ...

Well, well, - answered Benya Krik, nicknamed the King, - what are these two words?

A new bailiff arrived at the police station yesterday, Aunt Khan told you to tell ...

I knew about it the day before yesterday, - Benya Krik answered. - Further.

The bailiff gathered the site and gave the site a speech ...

The new broom is sweeping clean, - Benya Krik answered. - He wants a round-up. Further…

And when the raid will take place, you know. King?

She'll be there tomorrow.

King, she will be today.

Who told you that, boy?

Aunt Hana said that. Do you know Aunt Hana?

- ... The bailiff gathered the site and gave them a speech. “We must strangle Benya Krik,” he said, “because where the emperor is, there is no king. Today, when Crick is marrying his sister and they will all be there, today we need to make a round-up ... "

- ... Then the spies began to be afraid. They said: if we make a raid today, when he has a holiday, Benya will get angry and a lot of blood will go away. So the bailiff said - pride is dearer to me ...

Well, go, said the King.

What to say to Aunt Hana for the raid.

Say: Benya knows about the raid.

And he left, this young man. Three of Benin's friends followed him. They said they would be back in half an hour. And they returned in half an hour. That's all.

They sat at the table not by seniority. Foolish old age is no less pathetic than cowardly youth. And not for wealth. The lining of the heavy wallet is made of tears.

At the table in the first place were the bride and groom. This is their day. In second place was Sender Eichbaum, the King's father-in-law. This is his right. Sender Eichbaum's story should be known because it is not a simple story.

How did Benya Krik, the raider and king of the raiders, become Eichbaum's son-in-law? How did he become the son-in-law of a man who had sixty milk cows without one? It's all about the plaque. Just a year ago Benya wrote a letter to Eichbaum.

“Monsieur Eichbaum,” he wrote, “put, I beg you, tomorrow morning under the gate at 17 Sofiyevskaya Street — twenty thousand rubles. If you do not do this, something awaits you that it has not been heard, and all of Odessa will talk about you. With respect Benya the King. "

Three letters, one clearer than the other, went unanswered. Then Benya took action. They came at night - nine people with long sticks in their hands. The sticks were wrapped in tarred tow. Nine blazing stars lit up in Eichbaum's barnyard. Benya took the locks off the barn and began to take the cows out one by one. A guy with a knife was waiting for them. He knocked over the cow with one blow and plunged the knife into the cow's heart. On the ground, covered with blood, torches blossomed like fiery roses, and shots rang out. With shots Benya drove away the workers who had fled to the cowshed. And after him, other raiders began to shoot in the air, because if you do not shoot in the air, you can kill a person. And so, when the sixth cow with a dying moo fell at the feet of the King, then Eichbaum ran out into the courtyard in only underpants and asked:

What will happen from this, Benya?

If I don't have money, you won't have cows, Monsieur Eichbaum. It's twice two.

Come into the room, Benya.

And in the room they agreed. The slaughtered cows were divided in half by them. Eichbaum was guaranteed immunity and issued a stamped certificate. But the miracle came later.

During the raid, on that formidable night when the teased cows bellowed, and the heifers glided in the mother's blood, when the torches danced like black maidens, and the milkmaids scurried and squealed at the guns of the friendly Browning, - on that formidable night, she ran out into the courtyard. cut-out shirt, the daughter of the old man Eichbaum - Tsilya. And the King's victory was his defeat.

Two days later, Benya, without warning, returned all the money he had taken to Eichbaum, and after that he came in the evening for a visit. He was dressed in an orange suit, a diamond bracelet shining under his cuff; he entered the room, greeted and asked Eichbaum for the hand of his daughter Tsili. The old man got a light blow, but he got up. The old man was still twenty years old.

Listen, Eichbaum, - the King told him, - when you die, I will bury you in the first Jewish cemetery, at the very gate. I will erect for you, Eichbaum, a pink marble monument. I will make you the head of the Brodsk synagogue. I will give up my profession, Eichbaum, and join your business as a partner. We'll have two hundred cows, Eichbaum. I will kill all milkmen except you. The thief will not walk on the street on which you live. I will build a dacha for you at the sixteenth station ... And remember, Eichbaum, you, too, were not a rabbi in your youth. Who forged the will, let's not talk about it loudly? .. And your son-in-law will have a King, not a jerk, but a King, Eichbaum ...

And he achieved his goal, Benya Krik, because he was passionate, and passion dominates the worlds. The newlyweds lived for three months in fat Bessarabia, among grapes, abundant food and love sweat. Then Benya returned to Odessa in order to marry his forty-year-old sister Dvoira, suffering from Graves' disease. And now, having told the story of Sender Eichbaum, we can return to the wedding of Dvoira Creek, the King's sister.

At this wedding, turkeys, fried chickens, geese, stuffed fish and fish soup, in which lemon lakes gleamed with mother-of-pearl, were served for dinner. Flowers swayed over the dead goose-heads like lush plumes. But does the frothy surf of the Odessa sea carry fried chickens to the shore?

All the noblest of our smuggling, all that the land is glorious from end to end, did on that starry, that blue night its destructive, seductive deed. The foreign wine warmed up the stomachs, sweetly broke the legs, intoxicated the brains and caused a belch as resonant as the call of a battle trumpet. The black cook from "Plutarch", which arrived the third day from Port Said, carried out of the customs line pot-bellied bottles of Jamaican rum, oily Madeira, cigars from the Pierpont Morgan plantations and oranges from the outskirts of Jerusalem. This is what the frothy surf of the Odessa sea brings to the shore, this is what the Odessa beggars sometimes get at Jewish weddings. They got the Jamaican rum at the wedding of Dvoira Creek, and therefore, having sucked like a hog, the Jewish beggars began to knock deafeningly with crutches. Eichbaum, loosening his vest, gazed at the raging meeting with a narrowed eye and hiccupped lovingly. The orchestra played carcasses. It was like a divisional review. Carcass - nothing but carcass. The raiders, sitting in close rows, were at first embarrassed by the presence of strangers, but then they dispersed. Leva Katsap smashed a bottle of vodka on the head of his beloved. Monya The gunner fired into the air. But the delight reached its limits when, according to the custom of antiquity, the guests began to give gifts to the newlyweds. The synagogue shames, jumping on the tables, sang to the sound of the seething carcass the amount of donated rubles and silver spoons. And then the King's friends showed what the blue blood and the still unquenchable Moldavian chivalry are worth. With a careless movement of their hand, they threw gold coins, rings, coral threads onto silver trays.

Moldavian aristocrats, they were pulled into crimson vests, their shoulders were covered with red jackets, and their fleshy legs were bursting with sky-blue skin. Straightening up to their full height and protruding their bellies, the bandits clapped to the beat of the music, shouted "bitterly" and threw flowers at the bride, while she, forty-year-old Dvoira, sister of Benny Crick, sister of the King, disfigured by illness, with an overgrown goiter and eyes crawling out of her orbits, sat on a pile of pillows next to a frail boy bought with Eichbaum's money and numb with longing.

The donation ceremony was coming to an end, the shames were hoarse and the double bass did not get along with the violin. There was a sudden faint smell of burning over the courtyard.

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The carnival of "Odessa Stories" is the carnival of "eerie fun." There is a Jewish expression, which is analogous to the Russian one: "It's so funny that I want to cry." This is precisely the aesthetic pathos of Odessa Stories.
Why, with all that. Benya Krik and his raiders evoke sympathy both for the narrator, Arye-Leib, and for his listener? And not only among them: even the Bolshevik Borovoy calls Froim Grach a "grandiose guy" and cannot hide his sadness when he was shot. And why did the Russian people have so many beautiful songs, tales and legends about Stenka Razin, Emelyan Pugachev, Kudeyar-ataman, Sagaidachnykh and Doroshenki? After all, they are robbers, thieves, rapists, murderers, pogromists. Behind each of them are rivers of blood of innocent people. And they are called “people's defenders”.
Reading "Odessa stories", it seems, you begin to understand what is the matter here. The humiliated and insulted make up for the flawedness of their real existence with virtual permissiveness. And in the transgression of boundaries there is some kind of perverse pleasure and ugly delight. Of course, all these are manifestations of ethical dislocation, moral corruption that affects those who drag out a slave existence.
As long as the Pale of Settlement exists not only on the geographical map, but also in the minds of people, everything sacred, kind, humane, everything worthy and proud will either be cruelly destroyed or farcically distorted. No other is given.

How it was done in Odessa
story
reads A. Ravikovich

There are legends about the robber Bene Creek in Odessa. Old man Arie-Leib, sitting on the cemetery wall, tells one of these stories. At the very beginning of his criminal career, Benchik approached the one-eyed bandit and raider Froim Hrach and asked to see him. When asked who he is and where he is from, Benya offers to try him. The raiders, on their own advice, decide to try Benya at Tartakovsky, which has contained so much insolence and money as no Jew. At the same time, those gathered blush, because nine raids have already been carried out on "one and a half Jews", as Tartakovsky is called in Moldavanka. He was twice stolen for ransom and once buried with the singers. The tenth raid was already considered a rude act, and therefore Benya left, slamming the door ...

Isaak Emmanuilovich Babel (July 1 (13), 1894 - January 27, 1940) - Soviet writer.
Born in Odessa in the family of a Jewish merchant. The beginning of the 20th century was a time of social unrest and a mass exodus of Jews from the Russian Empire. Babel himself survived the 1905 pogrom (he was hidden by a Christian family), and his grandfather Shoyle was one of 300 murdered Jews.