The Outrage Page #3

"The Outrage" by Aleksandr Kuprin is a poignant short story that explores the themes of passion, societal norms, and the complexity of human emotions. Set in early 20th-century Russia, the narrative follows a love affair between a young soldier and a beautiful woman, exposing the tension between their desires and the rigid moral expectations of society. Through vivid characterizations and rich prose, Kuprin delves into the struggles of individuality against the backdrop of social constructs, ultimately highlighting the tragic consequences of love and societal outrage.

• Novel

								

of all detective departments, for the time being we are not under the
necessity of hiding ourselves from anybody. If any one of you should
recognise any of us in the future under different circumstances, we ask
you earnestly always to act in accordance with your professional duties
and your obligations as citizens. In grateful return for your kind
attention we have decided to declare your property inviolable, and to
invest it with a thieves’ taboo. However, I proceed to business.’

The orator turned round and gave an order: ‘Sesoi the Great, will you
come this way!’

An enormous fellow with a stoop, whose hands reached to his knees,
without a forehead or a neck, like a big, fair Hercules, came forward.
He grinned stupidly and rubbed his left eyebrow in his confusion.

‘Can’t do nothin’ here,’ he said hoarsely.

The gentleman in the sandy suit spoke for him, turning to the committee.

‘Gentlemen, before you stands a respected member of our association.
His speciality is breaking open safes, iron strong boxes, and other
receptacles for monetary tokens. In his night work he sometimes avails
himself of the electric current of the lighting installation for fusing
metals. Unfortunately he has nothing on which he can demonstrate the
best items of his repertoire. He will open the most elaborate lock
irreproachably.... By the way, this door here, it’s locked, is it not?’

Every one turned to look at the door, on which a printed notice hung:
‘Stage Door. Strictly Private.’

‘Yes, the door’s locked, evidently,’ the chairman agreed.

‘Admirable. Sesoi the Great, will you be so kind?’

‘’Tain’t nothin’ at all,’ said the giant leisurely.

He went close to the door, shook it cautiously with his hand, took out
of his pocket a small bright instrument, bent down to the keyhole,
made some almost imperceptible movements with the tool, suddenly
straightened and flung the door wide in silence. The chairman had his
watch in his hands. The whole affair took only ten seconds.

‘Thank you, Sesoi the Great,’ said the gentleman in the sandy suit
politely. ‘You may go back to your seat.’

But the chairman interrupted in some alarm: ‘Excuse me. This is all
very interesting and instructive, but ... is it included in your
esteemed colleague’s profession to be able to lock the door again?’

‘Ah, mille pardons.’ The gentleman bowed hurriedly. ‘It slipped my
mind. Sesoi the Great, would you oblige?’

The door was locked with the same adroitness and the same silence. The
esteemed colleague waddled back to his friends, grinning.

‘Now I will have the honour to show you the skill of one of our
comrades who is in the line of picking pockets in theatres and
railway-stations,’ continued the orator. ‘He is still very young, but
you may to some extent judge from the delicacy of his present work of
the heights he will attain by diligence. Yasha!’ A swarthy youth in a
blue silk blouse and long glacé boots, like a gipsy, came forward with
a swagger, fingering the tassels of his belt, and merrily screwing up
his big, impudent black eyes with yellow whites.

‘Gentlemen,’ said the gentleman in the sandy suit persuasively, ‘I must
ask if one of you would be kind enough to submit himself to a little
experiment. I assure you this will be an exhibition only, just a game.’

He looked round over the seated company.

The short plump Karaim, black as a beetle, came forward from his table.

‘At your service,’ he said amusingly.

‘Yasha!’ The orator signed with his head.

Yasha came close to the solicitor. On his left arm, which was bent,
hung a bright-coloured, figured scarf.

‘Suppose yer in church, or at a bar in one of the ’alls,--or watchin’
a circus,’ he began in a sugary, fluent voice. ‘I see straight
off--there’s a toff.... Excuse me, sir. Suppose you’re the toff.
There’s no offence--just means a rich gent, decent enough, but don’t
know his way about. First--what’s he likely to ’ave about ’im? All
sorts. Mostly, a ticker and a chain. Whereabouts does ’e keep ’em.
Somewhere in ’is top weskit pocket--’ere. Others ’ave ’em in the bottom
pocket. Just ’ere. Purse--most always in the trousers, except when a
greeny keeps it in ’is jacket. Cigar-case. ’Ave a look first what it
is--gold, silver--with a monogram. Leather--wot decent man ’d soil ’is
’ands? Cigar-case. Seven pockets: ’ere, ’ere ’ere, up there, there,
’ere and ’ere again. That’s right, ain’t it? That’s ’ow you go to work.’

As he spoke the young man smiled. His eyes shone straight into the
barrister’s. With a quick, dexterous movement of his right hand he
pointed to various portions of his clothes.

‘Then agen you might see a pin ’ere in the tie. ’Owever we do not
appropriate. Such gents nowadays--they ’ardly ever wear a reel
stone. Then I comes up to ’im. I begin straight off to talk to ’im
like a gent: “Sir, would you be so kind as to give me a light from
your cigarette”--or something of the sort. At any rate, I enter into
conversation. Wot’s next? I look ’im straight in the peepers, just like
this. Only two of me fingers are at it--just this and this.’ Yasha
lifted two fingers of his right hand on a level with the solicitor’s
face, the forefinger and the middle finger and moved them about.

‘D’ you see? With these two fingers I run over the ’ole pianner.
Nothin’ wonderful in it: one, two, three--ready. Any man who wasn’t
stupid could learn easily. That’s all it is. Most ordinary business. I
thank you.’

The pickpocket swung on his heel as if to return to his seat.

‘Yasha!’ The gentleman in the sandy suit said with meaning weight.
‘Yasha!’ he repeated sternly.

Yasha stopped. His back was turned to the barrister, but he evidently
gave his representative an imploring look, because the latter frowned
and shook his head.

‘Yasha!’ he said for the third time, in a threatening tone.

‘Huh!’ The young thief grunted in vexation and turned to face the
solicitor. ‘Where’s your little watch, sir?’ he said in a piping voice.

‘Ach,’ the Karaim brought himself up sharp.

‘You see--now you say “Ach,”’ Yasha continued reproachfully. ‘All the
while you were admiring me right ‘and, I was operatin’ yer watch with
my left. Just with these two little fingers, under the scarf. That’s
why we carry a scarf. Since your chain’s not worth anything--a present
from some mamselle and the watch is a gold one, I’ve left you the
chain as a keep-sake. Take it,’ he added with a sigh, holding out the
watch.

‘But.... That is clever,’ the barrister said in confusion. ‘I didn’t
notice it at all.’

‘That’s our business,’ Yasha said with pride.

He swaggered back to his comrades. Meantime the orator took a drink
from his glass and continued.

‘Now, gentlemen, our next collaborator will give you an exhibition of
some ordinary card tricks, which are worked at fairs, on steamboats
and railways. With three cards, for instance, an ace, a queen, and
a six, he can quite easily.... But perhaps you are tired of these
demonstrations, gentlemen.’ ...

‘Not at all. It’s extremely interesting,’ the chairman answered
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