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Pioneers | 131 40 It had begun to grow dark when Tsiporin suddenly appeared. His boots were covered with mud right up to the top, his face was tired, his hair dripping with sweat, but his eyes shone with euphoric excitement. The jubilant crowd was especially glad to see him and greeted him with cries and questions as to why he had come so late. “I was sitting in the synagogue reading the Psalms!” he replied, smiling slyly. Faevich exchanged a significant glance with him, winked at Mirkin, and all three of them, one after another, slipped into the next room. “Did you really go to the station?” asked Faevich. “And why not? Of course I did!” Tsiporin replied proudly. After suddenly collecting himself, he assumed a serious look and added, “I had to find out if she left. . . . If someone else had come. . . .” “Well, what happened? Tell us! Did she leave?” Mirkin interrupted him hastily. “Of course she did!” “Tell us in detail!” demanded Faevich. “So help me God, you’re a fine fellow!” he added, slapping his shoulder in approval. “Well, then,” began Tsiporin, flattered by his comrade’s praise and trying not to show it. “I got to the station. I waited and waited. I waited about three hours. Finally, they arrived. . . . In a carriage.” “Who?” “Well, Sonya, and then that Russian girl who was here yesterday. And another young Russian lady. . . . They walked up and down the platform. Then the train pulled in. They kissed each other, Sonya got onto the train and left. . . . That’s all there is to tell.” “You didn’t even go up to them to say goodbye?” Mirkin asked in surprise. “Well, of course not!” Tsiporin cried contemptuously. “What on earth for? What am I—her beau? The only thing I needed to know was whether or not she left . . . nothing more!” After a moment’s silence, he added, “I decided to splurge! In honor of her successful departure, I bought some sweets! A dozen pastries!” He handed the pastries over to his comrades. “All right! We’ll share them with everyone. If we want to splurge, then let’s really splurge!” Faevich said. Thegroupacceptedthetreatswithpleasure;noonesuspectedthatasmalldrama was concealed behind the pastries. They had been intended for Beryasheva. . . . 132 | Pioneers After a long internal struggle, after persuasive arguments that “the pastries, in essence , were just like provisions that someone would need for a journey,” Tsiporin had allowed himself to spend his last thirty kopecks on a dozen pastries that he carried fourteen versts to present them to the traveler. But when Beryasheva arrived at the station, accompanied by two unfamiliar young Russian women, Tsiporin not only decided not to approach them, but also feared that she might recognize him, so he hid in a corner, observing her departure from a distance. Thus the pastries had never been handed over to Beryasheva. Walking back to town, Tsiporin tried to convince himself that he was pleased at the way things had turned out. “It’s a very good thing I didn’t give them to her!” he said to himself. “Why ‘pastries’ all of a sudden? What is she—a ‘prim young lady’ or something? She might think God knows what about me. . . . It’s a very good thing that I didn’t hand them over to her and didn’t even approach them!” 41 The guests dispersed. Only Eizerman remained, sitting at the table with a book. Mirkin paced the room and in a low voice, pensively and dreamily, sang his favorite song, “Hakitsah ‘ami”:1 “How long will you sleep, oh, my people? Awake! The sun’s rays have already replaced night’s darkness. Awake and look around boldly, Choose your time and place!” Thus Mirkin sang, still sunk in his pensive state. He thought about Beryasheva. Her triumphant escape and the news delivered by Tsiporin about her successful departure greatly improved Mirkin’s mood. She’s gone! Now no one can overtake her or stop her! The train is rushing along, bearing this ideal young woman further and further away from the darkness and oppression of the old life, away 1. (Hebrew) One of the most popular songs by Judah Leib Gordon considered a kind of hymn of the Jewish Enlightenment; cf. the song in Chernyshevsky’s What Is to Be Done? ...

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