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248 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1958
In a piercing north wind, on a February day in I920, the Whites fled from Odessa, firing a few parting shots at the town; the shells burst in the sky with a faint crump.
They left behind them a devastated city. The wind blew armfuls of half-burnt papers and greasy Denikin notes along the streets, piling them up against the drainpipes. The notes were worthless – they wouldn’t have bought an olive. People simply threw them away. The shops shut down. Through the windows you could see swarms of ginger wharf-rats feverishly searching the dusty counters. The busy market squares had turned into deserts of cobblestone. Only the cats, unsteady with hunger, wandered about looking for scraps. But scraps in Odessa were a thing of the past.
A dense crowd would collect in some secluded corner of the market. Eyes glittering with curiosity, passers-by would join, and push silently forward, closer to the centre, where you could hear the sound of dull blows and muffled groans. A thief was being savagely beaten, or a woman, suspected of pilfering, searched and stripped naked to the delighted guffaws of dishevelled market women from out of town.
Occasionally, the thief tore himself free and, grimacing, battered and bruised black and blue all over, broke into the parody of some obscene dance; or the naked woman and the one she had robbed clutched each other’s hair and, together, rolled over and over in the dust.
Never before had I seen such a concentration of malice and depravity in any one place.
Never had I seen anyone look less like an author. Stooping, almost neckless because of his hereditary asthma, with a duck’s bill of a nose, a creased forehead and an oily glint in his little eyes, he was anything but fascinating. At first sight you would have taken him for a commercial traveller or a stockbroker. But this, of course, was only until he opened his mouth.
At his very first words everything changed. His voice had an undertone of insistent irony.
Many people couldn’t bear to meet his eyes; they drilled through you. Babel was a born unveiler of truth. He enjoyed cornering people, and was known in Odessa as an awkward, dangerous man.