Joseph Roth - Tarabas

A monstrous noise arose. The floor resounded with the stamping, the window-panes clattered, the spurs clanked, and the empty glasses too, which stood side by side upon the tin-covered counter and seemed to wait for drinkers yet to come. The Jew Kristianpoller did not dare to move from the spot where he was standing. Strangely enough the din calmed him in the same way that it frightened him. But he was in dread lest they should suddenly take it into their heads to make him dance like the servant Fedya. Hatred was in his heart, and apprehension. He found himself wishing that these men might go on drinking, although he very well knew that they had no money to pay for what they took. Motionless he stood beside his counter, a stranger in his own house. And what to do he knew not. And he wanted to leave his place and go away — and knew that this also was out of the question. All at a loss, miserable and busy despite his outward immobility, he stood there, the Jew Kristianpoller.

Meanwhile the golden autumn day was drawing to its close. And upon the rack opposite the window, on which the tanned and greasy leather belts and glittering swords were hung, the red sunset was mirrored. Upon this sun as it went down the Jew Kristianpoller fixed his eyes. It seemed to him a sign and token that the ancient God existed still. He knew, the Jew, that the sun went down in the west, and that on every cloudless day it shone upon that rack, yet in that moment he drew solace from the most everyday, the most everyday, the most familiar things. What if this Tarabas were come, this terrible one? God’s sun still went down to its setting as on every other day. It was the hour of the evening prayer, said with the face turned towards the east; towards the rack, then, which he was already looking at. How could he pray? The noise grew louder and louder. All the terrors of the war and of the previous changing occupations of the town since then, seemed at that moment to Kristianpoller harmless in comparison with the quite undangerous roaring and stamping of the men round Tarabas.

As for Tarabas himself, he alone had not left his table. He sat leaning far back, rather lying than sitting, his legs in the skin-tight trousers spread wide, his feet in the immaculate boots stretched out far in front of him. From time to time he felt it incumbent upon him to clap his hands, as the others were doing ceaselessly. A good dozen empty glasses stood now upon his table, and were joined continuously by another and another full one, brought like a ritual offering by the attentive hands of the officers in the circle. Except for Tarabas no one had drunk anything for half an hour. From his counter the Jew Kristianpoller could see when it was time for him to fill another glass. Indeed his eyes were riveted upon the table of Colonel Tarabas, and neither the din, which almost deafened him, nor the manifold anxieties which filled him could distract his mind from the supreme care of the moment — whether the frightful one was ready for something more to drink. Tarabas now ignored the bottle which Kristianpoller had set down on his table. Obviously he preferred to let the officers wait upon him. And now, or so it seemed to Kristianpoller, tiredness began to overcome him. At the host’s rough guess he must have accounted for some sixteen glasses. He yawned, the great man; Kristianpoller distinctly saw him do it. And this unequivocal expression of a universal human weakness reassured the Jew.

Meanwhile the bright reflection of the evening sun was quickly disappearing from the hotel parlour. It grew dark, almost in a moment. Suddenly there was the sound of a heavy fall. Fedya lay outstretched on his back with his arms flung out, and the accordion broke off as though someone had cut it in two. Someone shouted: “Water!” Kristianpoller rushed up with a pail which always stood in readiness behind the bar, and dashed a cold and heavy swath into Fedya’s face. The surrounding audience observed with great exactitude and with more interest than alarm how Fedya emerged from his faint, guffawed, and on the instant of his return to life, still lying where he had fallen, went off again into another roar of laughter … just as a new-born child greets the light of day with a woeful crying.

By this time it had grown completely dark. “Light up!” cried Tarabas, and rose. Kristianpoller first lit the lantern which always stood upon the counter; he held a paper spill to its flame and lit the oil lamp with this, as he did on every evening of his life. The murky, yellow shine fell upon Fedya, who, still laughing, was scrambling to his feet. He puffed and blew; the water poured off his head and shoulders. The others were all silent. No one moved.

“How much?” cried Tarabas suddenly. How long it was since the Jew Kristianpoller had heard that call! Who had ever shouted “How much?”

“Your Excellency, General,” said Kristianpoller, “I beg your pardon, but I haven’t been keeping count. …”

“From tomorrow on you’ll keep count!” said Tarabas. “How about a walk, gentlemen?”

And all made haste to gird themselves and go. With racket and clatter they left the inn and passed into the darkness of the little town of Koropta, with Tarabas heading the pack. Their destination was the barracks, to see how the new regiment was conducting itself in the darkness.

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.