She looked at me steadily, with that very white face of hers, that had about it something almost bloated. Above her nearly colourless eyes, stood her dark high-arching brows.
“But I can still draw money out of the business, a few thousand marks. I’d do it anyway, just to annoy Magda. Magda wants to save the business. Does she think she’s better than I am? I could sell the business. I know already to whom, it’s quite a new firm. He would give me ten, perhaps twelve thousand marks for it, we could go travelling.… Have you ever been to Paris?”
She looked at me. Neither affirmation nor dissent were to be read in her face. I went on talking, quicker, more breathlessly. “I’ve not been there either,” I continued, “but I’ve read about it. It’s a town of tree-lined boulevards, wide squares, leafy parks.… When I was a boy I learned a bit of French, but I left school too soon, my parents hadn’t enough money. Do you know what this means: Donnez-moi un baiser, mademoiselle?”
Not a sign from her, neither yes or no.
“It means, ‘give me a kiss, mademoiselle.’ But one would have to say to you, Donnez-moi un baiser, ma reine! Reine means queen. You’re the queen of my heart. You’re the queen of the poison they cork up in bottles. Give me your hand, Elsabe—I’m going to call you Elsabe, my queen—I mean to kiss your hand.…”
She filled my glass.
“There, drink this up, then you’re going home. It’s enough—you’ve had enough to drink, and I’ve had enough of you. You can take that bottle of brandy with you. You’ll have to pay for the whole bottle, saloon price. It’s no swindle. Don’t you come in here tomorrow saying I swindled you. You poured I don’t know how many out for yourself.”
“Don’t say that, Elsabe,” I said, half-blustering, half-whining. “I’d never do such a thing! What do I care about money—!”
“Don’t teach me about men! When they’re drunk and randy it’s all ‘What do I care about money!’ and next morning they turn up with the police, shouting about being swindled. The brandy, and the champagne, and my cigarettes … that comes to.…”
She named a sum.
“Is that all?” I said boastfully and pulled out my wallet. “Here you are!”
I put down the money.
“And here …,” I took out a hundred-mark note and laid it beside the other. “This is for you because I hate you and because you’re ruining me. Take it, take it. I don’t want anything from you, anything at all! Go away! I’ve got you in my blood already, I couldn’t possess you more than I do. You’re very likely dull and boring. You’re not from hereabouts, you’re from some city, of course, where you left everything behind—this is just the remains!”
We stood facing each other, the money lay on the table, the light was gloomy. I swayed gently on my feet. I was holding the half-empty brandy bottle by the neck. She looked at me.
“Put your money away,” she whispered. “Take your money off the table. I don’t want your money … you’d better go!”
“You can’t force me to take the money back. I’m leaving it here … I present you with it, my queen of bright brandy called Elsabe. I’m going.…”
Laboriously I made my way to the door. The key was on the inside and I struggled to turn it in the lock.
“Hey, you,” she said behind me. “You.…”
I turned round. Her voice had become low but full and soft. All the impudence had gone out of it.
“You …” she repeated, and now in her eyes there was colour and light. “You—do you want to?”
Now it was I who looked at her silently.
“Take your shoes off, be quiet on the stairs, the landlady mustn’t hear you. Come on, be quick.…”
Silently, I did as she told me. I don’t know why I did. I didn’t desire her now. I didn’t desire her in that way, at all.
“Give me your hand.”
She switched off the light and led me by the hand. In the other hand I still held the brandy bottle. It was completely dark in the bar-room. I crept after her. Moonlight through a little dusty window fell on the narrow angular staircase. I swayed, I was very tired. I thought of my own bed, of Magda, of my long way home.
It was all too much for me. The only consolation was the bottle of brandy in my hand, that would give me strength. I would have preferred to stop already and take a pull out of the bottle, I was so tired. The stairs creaked, the bedroom door groaned softly as it was opened. There was moonlight in the room, too. A rumpled bed, an iron wash-stand, a chair, a row of hangers on the wall.…
“Get undressed,” I said softly, “I’ll be with you in a moment.” And more to myself, “Are there any stars here?”
I went to the window, which looked out over an orchard. I opened it a little; the spring air with its soft breeze and its perfumes entered, mild as a tender caress. Under the window lay the sloping tar-papered roof of a shed.
“That’s good,” I said, softly again. “That sloping roof is very good.”
I couldn’t see the moon, it was behind the house-roof above my head. But its glow filled the sky with a whitish light; only the brightest stars were to be seen, and even they looked dim. I was uneasy and irritable.
“Come on,” she cried angrily from the bed. “Hurry up! Do you think I don’t need any sleep?”
I turned, and bent over the bed. She lay on her back, covered to the chin. I stripped the cover back and laid my face for a moment against her naked breast. Cool and firm. Breathing gently. It smelt good—of hair and flesh.
“Hurry up!” she whispered impatiently. “Get undressed—stop that nonsense. You’re not a schoolboy any more!”
I straightened up with a deep sigh. I went to the window, took the bottle and swung myself out on to the shed roof. I heard a furious cry behind me, but I was already letting myself drop into the garden.
“Drunken old fool!” she called from above, and then the window banged.
I stood among bushes. I smelt the scent of lilac. The spring night was perfect in its purity. I put the bottle to my mouth and drank deeply.
7
I walk and walk. I walk along, singing to myself one of those Wanderlieder that I used to sing when hiking with Magda. Then for long stretches I limp on aching feet. I have stubbed my toe against a stone, it is bad going for my shoeless feet. My socks have long since been torn to ribbons. I come to a stream, clamber down the bank, sit on a stone and put my feet in the water, which shocks me for a moment with its icy coldness. Then it feels good, and sitting on the stone I fall asleep. I wake up shivering, icy. I have fallen from my seat, I walk on. The faster I walk, the longer the road seems to become. The fruit trees along the roadside positively fly past me, yet I seem to be no further on. I don’t know where I am, only that I’m a long way from home. I don’t know what time it is, only that it’s still night. The moon is some two handsbreadths above the horizon. And I walk on. I walk through a sleeping village. Not a light anywhere, everyone asleep, I am the only one abroad. Erwin Sommer, proprietor of a wholesale market produce business. Not now, not now, that was before. The one who is walking through this moonlit night, who is he? Once he was someone—long ago he was. Down and out now, finished, almost forgotten.… At my shuffling step, a dog wakes up in his kennel and starts to bark. Other dogs awaken and now the whole village is barking and I shuffle through it on sore feet, a tramp, and yesterday I was still … oh, shut up! And I stop in the shadow of the wooden church spire and raise the bottle to my mouth again and drink. That stills the questions, soothes the pain, that is a whip for the next half hour on the road. But there is not much left in the bottle. I’ll have to go easy with the precious stuff. I’ll swallow the last mouthful—and it must be a big one—on my own doorstep, before I face Magda. But Magda is asleep. I shall lie down very quietly on the sofa, there won’t be any argument tonight. And tomorrow? Tomorrow is a long way off. By tomorrow I shall have had a deep, deep sleep, I shall have forgotten everything that happened today, I shall be the head of the firm again, who had committed a small blunder, it’s true, but who is perfectly capable of making amends.…