The citizens listened, nodded, and answered, “Oh, yes;” but in the evening when on the blushing sky the white and gray lines appeared, stretching from the mountains to the ocean, every man forgot his promise, seized his carabine, and shooting began in good earnest.
Mr. Davis might, it is true, have summoned each trespasser before the judge, and the judge could punish him with a fine; but it must not be forgotten that the offenders were in case of sickness patients of the doctor, and in case of broken shoes customers of the sheriff; since then hand washes hand, hand did not offend hand. Hence, it was as peaceful in Struck Oil City as in heaven; still, those halcyon days had a sudden end.
A man who kept a grocery was inflamed with mortal hatred toward a woman who kept a grocery, and the woman with hatred toward him.
Here it may be needful to explain what that is which in America is called “a grocery.” A grocery is a place in which they sell goods of all kinds. In a grocery you can find flour, caps, cigars, brooms, buttons, rice, sardines, stockings, ham, garden seeds, coats, pantaloons, lamp chimneys, axes, crackers, crockery, paper-collars, dried fish; in a word, everything which a man can use.
At first there was only one grocery in Struck Oil City. It was kept by a German named Hans Kasche. He was a phlegmatic German from Prussia, thirty-five years of age, and had staring eyes; he was not fat, but portly; he went about always in his shirt-sleeves, and never let the pipe out of his mouth. He knew as much English as was needed in business; beyond that not a toothful. But he managed his business well, so that in a year people said in Struck Oil City that he was worth several thousand dollars.
On a sudden, however, a second grocery was opened.
And marvellous thing! a German man kept the first grocery, a German woman established the second. Kunegunde und Eduard, Eduard und Kunegunde! Straightway a war was begun between the two sides; it began from this, — that Miss Neumann, or, as she called herself, “Miss Newman,” gave at her opening “lunch” pancakes baked from flour mixed with soda and alum. She would have injured herself in the highest degree by this in the opinion of the citizens, were it not that she stated, and then proved by witnesses, that, as her flour had not been opened, she had bought this from Hans Kasche. It came out then that Hans Kasche was an envious man and a villain, who wished from the very first to ruin his rival in public estimation. Of course, it was to be foreseen that the two groceries would be rivals; but no one could foresee that the rivalry would pass into such terrible personal hatred. Soon that hatred increased to such a degree that Hans burned sweepings only when the wind blew the smoke from his shop to that of his rival; and the rival had no other name for Hans than “Dutchman,” which he considered as the greatest insult.
At the beginning, the citizens laughed at both, all the more since neither of them knew English; gradually, however, through daily relations with the groceries, two parties were formed in the city, — the Hansites and the Newmanites, who began to look at each other askance, which might have injured the happiness and peace of Struck Oil City, and brought dreadful complications for the future. Mr. Davis, the profound politician, was anxious to cure the evil at its source; hence he strove to reconcile the German woman with the German man. More than once he stood in the middle of the street, and said to them in their native tongue, —
“Well, why do you fight? Is it because you do not patronize the same shoemaker? I have such shoes now that in all San Francisco there are no better.”
“It is useless to recommend shoes to him who will be barefoot before long,” replied Miss Newman, sourly.
“I do not win credit with my feet,” answered Hans, phlegmatically.
And it is necessary to know that Miss Newman, though a German, had really pretty feet; therefore such a taunt filled her heart with mortal anger.
In the city the two parties began to raise the question of Hans and Miss Newman; but since no man in America can obtain justice against a woman, the majority inclined to the side of Miss Newman.
Soon Hans saw that his grocery was barely paying expenses.
But Miss Newman too did not win such brilliant victories, for soon all the married women in the city took the side of Hans, for they noticed that their husbands made purchases too often from the fair German, and sat too long at each purchase.
When no one was in either shop, Hans and Miss Newman stood in their doors, one opposite the other, casting mutual glances filled with venom. Miss Newman sang at such times to herself to the air of “Mein lieber Augustin,” —
“Dutchman, Dutchman, Du-u-u-u-tchman, Du-u-u-u-tchman!”
Hans looked at her feet, at her figure, at her face with an expression such as he would have had in looking at a coyote killed outside the city; then, bursting into demonic laughter, he exclaimed, —
“Mein Gott!”
Hatred in that phlegmatic man rose to such a pitch that when he appeared at the door in the morning, and Miss Newman was not there, he was as fidgety as if he missed something.
There would have been active collisions between them long before, were it not that Hans was sure of defeat in every official decision, and that all the more since Miss Newman had on her side the editor of the “Saturday Weekly Review.” Hans convinced himself of this when he spread the report that Miss Newman wore a false bust. That was even likely, for in America it is a common custom. But on the following week there appeared in the “Saturday Weekly Review” a thundering article, in which the editor, speaking generally of the slanders of “Dutchmen,” ended with the solemn assurance “of one well informed” that the bust of a certain slandered lady is genuine.
From that day forward Hans drank black coffee every morning instead of white, for he would take milk no longer from that editor; but to make up for the loss, Miss Newman took milk for two. Moreover, she ordered at the dressmaker’s a robe, which, by the cut of its bosom, proved convincingly to all that Hans was a slanderer.
Hans felt defenceless before woman’s cunning; meanwhile his opponent, standing before her shop every morning, sang louder and louder, —
“Dutchman, Dutchman, Du-u-u-u-tchman, Du-u-u-u-tchman!”
“What am I to do?” thought Hans. “I have wheat poisoned for rats; let me poison her hens with it? No, the justice would sentence me to pay for them. But I know what to do.”
And in the evening Miss Newman, to her great astonishment, saw Hans carrying bunches of wild sunflowers, and laying them out as if in a row under the barred window of his cellar. “I am curious to know what is coming,” thought she to herself, “surely something against me.” Meanwhile night came. Hans had put the sunflowers in two rows, so that only between them was there an open path to the window of the cellar; then he brought some object covered with cloth, and turned his back to Miss Newman. He took the cloth from the mysterious object, covered it with sunflower leaves, then approached the wall, and began to make certain letters on it.
Miss Newman was dying with curiosity. “Of course he is writing something about me,” thought she; “but only let all go to sleep, I’ll walk over there and see, even if it kills me.”
When Hans had finished his work, he went upstairs, and soon after put his light out. Then Miss Newman threw on her wrapper quickly, put slippers on her hare feet, and went across the street. When she came to the sunflowers, she went straight to the window, wishing to read the writing on the wall. Suddenly the eyes went up into her head; she threw hack the upper half of her body, and from her mouth came with pain, “Ei! ei!” then the despairing cry, “Help! help!”
The window above was raised. “Was ist das?” was heard in the quiet voice of Hans. “Was ist das?”
“Cursed Dutchman,” screamed the lady, “you have murdered me, destroyed me! You’ll hang to-morrow. Help! help!”
“I’ll come down right away,” said Hans.
In fact he appeared after a while with a light in his hand. He looked at Miss Newman, who was as if spiked to the earth; then he caught his sides, and began to laugh.
“Wh
at is this? Miss Newman? Ha! ha! ha! Good evening, Miss Newman! Ha! ha! ha! I put out a skunk-trap, and caught Miss Newman. Why did you come to look at my cellar? I wrote a notice on the wall to keep away. Scream now; let people crowd up here; let all see that you come at night to look into the Dutchman’s cellar. O mein Gott! Cry away; but stay there till morning. Good-by, Miss Newman, good-by!” The position of Miss Newman was dreadful. If she screamed, people would collect, — she would be compromised; if she didn’t cry, she’d stay all night caught in a trap, and next day make a show of herself. And there her foot was paining her more and more. Her head whirled, around; the stars were confused with one another, and the moon with the ominous face of Hans Kasche. She fainted.
“Herr Je!” cried Hans to himself, “if she dies, they will lynch me in the morning without trial;” and the hair rose on his head from terror.
There was no help for it. Hans looked for his key as quickly as possible to open the trap; but it wasn’t easy to open it, for Miss Newman’s wrapper was in the way. He had to put it aside somewhat; and, in spite of all his hatred and fear, Hans couldn’t help casting an eye at the feet beautiful as if of marble, — those feet of his enemy lighted by the red gleam of the moon.
A man might say that in his hatred then there was compassion. He opened the trap quickly; and, since Miss Newman made no movement, he took her in his arms, and carried her to her dwelling. On the way he felt compassion again. Then he went home, and couldn’t close an eye all that night.
Next morning Miss Newman did not appear before her grocery to sing, —
“Dutchman, Dutchman. Du-u-u-u-tchman, Du-u-u-u-tchman!”
Maybe that she was ashamed, and maybe that in silence she was forging revenge.
It turned out that she was forging revenge. On the evening of that same day the editor of the “Saturday Weekly Review” challenged Hans to fight with fists, and at the very beginning of the battle he gave him a black eye. But Hans, brought to despair, gave so many terrible blows to the editor that, after a short and vain opposition, the editor fell his whole length, crying, “Enough! Enough!”
It is unknown by what means, — for it wasn’t through Hans, — the whole city heard about the night adventure of Miss Newman. After the fight with the editor, compassion for his enemy vanished again from Hans’s heart, and there remained only hatred.
Hans Kasche had a foreboding that some unexpected blow would strike him from the hated hand. In fact he did not have to wait long. Grocery-keepers paste up on their shops advertisements of various articles entitled usually “Notice.” Besides, it is necessary to know that usually they sell ice to saloon-keepers, — without ice no American drinks either whiskey or beer. All at once Hans noticed that people stopped taking ice of him. The immense blocks, which he had brought by railroad and put in the cellar, thawed; there was a loss of several dollars. Why was that? How was it? Hans saw that even his partisans bought ice every day from Miss Newman; he didn’t know what this meant, especially since he had not quarrelled with a single saloon-keeper. He determined to clear up the matter.
“Why don’t you take ice of me?” asked he, in broken English, of a saloon-keeper, Peters, who was just passing his grocery.
“Because you don’t keep any.”
“Why don’t I keep any?”
“How do I know?”
“Aber I keep it.”
“But what is that?” asked the saloon-keeper, pointing to the notice stuck up on the grocery.
Hans looked, and grew green from rage; from his “Notice” some one has scratched out the letter t from the middle of the word, in consequence of which “Notice” became “No ice.”
“Donnerwetter!” screamed Hans, and all blue and trembling, he rushed to Miss Newman’s grocery.
“That’s scoundrelism!” cried he, foaming at the mouth. “Why did you scratch out a letter in the middle from me?”
“What did I scratch out from you in the middle? asked Miss Newman, with a look of innocence.
“The letter t, I say. You scratched out t from me! Aber Gottam! this cannot last longer. You must pay me for that ice, Miss Newman! Gottam! Gottam!”’
And losing his ordinary cool blood, he began to roar like a madman, whereupon Miss Newman fell to screaming; people flew together in a crowd.
“Help!” cried Miss Newman. “The Dutchman is raving! He says that I scratched something out of his middle, and I haven’t scratched anything from him. What was I to scratch? I haven’t scratched anything. In God’s name! I’d scratch his eyes out if I could, but nothing else. I am a poor lone woman! he’ll kill me, he’ll murder me!”
Screaming in this way, she covered herself with hot tears. The Americans didn’t know, in fact, what the question was; but Americans will not endure woman’s tears; therefore they took the German by the neck, and through the door with him. He wanted to resist; little use in that! he flew as out of a sling, flew through the street, flew through his own door, and dropped at full length.
A week later there hung an immense painted sign on his shop. The sign represented an ape in a striped dress, with a white apron and shoulder straps, — in one word, exactly like Miss Newman. Underneath stood an inscription in great golden letters, —
“GROCERY UNDER THE APE.”
The people collected to look at it. Their laughter brought Miss Newman to the door. She came out, looked, grew pale, but without losing presence of mind called out at once, —
“Grocery under the ape? No wonder, for Hans Kasche lives over the grocery. Ha!”
The blow however pierced her to the heart. In the afternoon she heard how crowds of children passing the grocery on their way from school, and stopping before the sign, cried, —
“Oh, that’s Miss Newman! Good evening, Miss Newman!”
This was too much. In the evening when the editor came to her, she said to him, —
“That ape means me, I know that; but I will not give up my own. He must take down that ape and lick it off before me with his own tongue.”
“‘What do you wish to do, Miss Newman?”
“I’ll go this minute to the judge.”
“How this minute?”
“To-morrow.”
In the morning she went out, and walking up to Hans, said, —
“Listen to me, Mr. Dutchman, I know that that ape means me. Come with me to the judge. We’ll see what he’ll say to this.”
“He will say that I am free to paint on my shop what I like.”
“We’ll see about that very soon.” Miss Newman was hardly able to breathe.
“But how do you know that that ape means you?”
“Conscience tells me. Come, come to the judge; if not, the sheriff will take you in chains.”
“Very well, I’ll go,” said Hans, certain of victory. They shut up their groceries and went, meditating for themselves along the road. Only when they were at Judge Dasonville’s door did they remember that neither of them knew English enough to explain the affair.
What were they to do? The sheriff, being a Polish Jew, knew German and English. They went to the sheriff; but the sheriff was just getting into his wagon to drive off.
“Go to the devil!” said he, in a hurry. “The whole city is disturbed by you! You wear the same shoes whole years! I am going for lumber. Good-by!” And he drove away.
Hans put his hands on his hips. “You must wait till to-morrow,” said he, phlegmatically.
“I wait? I’d die first, unless you take down the ape.”
“I won’t take it down.”
“You’ll hang, Dutchman. We’ll do without the sheriff. The judge knows already what the matter is.”
“We’ll go without the sheriff,” said the German.
Miss Newman was mistaken, however. The judge was the only man in the whole city who didn’t know one word of their quarrels. The old man was busy in preparing his leroa, and thought he was saving the world. He received them as he received every one usually, with kindness and politely.
; “Show your tongues, my children!” said he; “I will prescribe for you this minute.”
Both waved their hands in sign that they didn’t want medicine. Miss Newman repeated, “Not that, not that!”
“What then?”
They interrupted each other. When Hans said a word the lady said ten. At last she fell upon the idea of pointing to her heart as a sign that Hans had offended her mortally.
“I understand! I understand now!” cried the doctor.
Then he opened his book and began to write. He asked Hans how old he was, — thirty-six. He asked the lady; she didn’t remember exactly, — something about twenty-five. All right! What were their names? Hans, — Lora. All right! What was their occupation? They kept grocery. All right! Then other questions. Neither of them understood, but they answered yes. The doctor nodded. All was over.
He stopped writing, rose on a sudden, to the great astonishment of Lora put his arm around her waist and kissed her. She took this as a good omen, and went home full of rosy hopes.
On the road she said to Hans, “I’ll show you!”
“You’ll show some one else,” said the German, calmly.
Next morning the sheriff passed in front of the groceries. The German ‘man and woman were before their own doors. Hans was smoking his pipe, and Miss Newman was singing, —
“Dutchman, Dutchman, Du-u-u-u-tcbman, Du-u-u-u-tchman!”
“Do you want to go to the justice?” asked the sheriff.
“We have been there.”
“Well, and what?” —
“My dear sheriff! My dear Mr. Davis!” cried Miss Newman, “go and find out. I just need some shoes; and speak a word for me to the justice. You see I am a poor, lone woman.”
The sheriff went, and came back in a quarter of an hour. But it is unknown why he was surrounded by a crowd of people.
“Well, what? how was it?” both began to inquire.
Complete Works of Henryk Sienkiewicz Page 659
