THE KAMARINSKAYA
COMES TO THE SHOP
Arthur Pense
T HE
SMALL CROWDED
SHOP
was noisy in the dusk and heat. The odor
of escaping .gas grappled with the chicken market smell which sifted in
from the next building. Sewing machines sang like gigantic c.rickets.
A presser bombarded the streoched coat-shoulder. The Hoff-man machine
hissed.
With a
tongue-shap~d
corduroy apron protecting his pressed pants,
the sulking boss worked at a table, rapidly marking coats for buttonholes.
The shop was suddenly jarred by a bellowing baritone greeting which
rose above the clamour.
"A good morning to you, my good friends I"
When the operators turned their' heads, they discovered a spectacled
giant in a high caracul cap and
a
caracul shawl collar on his overcoat. He
held a violin case under his arm.
"A violin has come to the shop I" a whisper passed at the machines.
The tall musician removed his cap and shook: out a layer of snow
from the groove at the top. He revealed a thick mat of white hair which
ended in a half ring of heavy curls, resting on the black caracul collar.
He wiped his face and pointed beard, adjusted his eyeglasses, and was
soon bending over his violin.
At once the machines began to roar louder, moving faster as if they
were pricked by spurs.
The boss looked up. There was perfect order. The operators,
III
unisol! with the violin, hummed the Ulcrainian song: "Viut Vitre."
The winds are blowing,
The storms are raging,
The trees are be-ending lo-o-o-ow-ow.
Oh, how painful,
My
heart, how painful,
But n·o tears will flo-o-ow-ow
•. .
43
