And in the long letter he wrote that Sunday morning he did indeed tell his friend that the engagement had taken place, in the following words: “I’ve saved the best news for last. I’m engaged to a Miss Frieda Brandenfeld, a girl from a comfortably-off family that only moved here after you left, so the name probably won’t mean anything to you. I’m sure there’ll be plenty of opportunity to tell you more about her, but for now just know that I’m very happy and that this changes nothing about our friendship, except that instead of having a completely normal friend you now have a very happy one. Also, in my fiancée, who sends you her love and will write to you herself soon, you now have a sincere female confidante, which is no small thing for a bachelor. I know there are all kinds of reasons that keep you from visiting us, but wouldn’t my wedding be the right moment to throw all the obstacles out of the window for once? But be that as it may, don’t worry about me and just do what you think is best.”
With this letter in his hand Georg sat at his desk a long time, facing the window. An acquaintance walking down the alley said hello and Georg barely responded, just giving him an absent smile.
Finally he put the letter in his pocket and, leaving his room, went straight across the little hallway into his father’s, which he hadn’t been in for months. There was no need to, since he was constantly in his father’s company at work, they had their lunch together at a local eatery every day and, although they did separate things in the evening, if Georg wasn’t out with friends or visiting his fiancée, as he usually was these days, they’d sit together for a little while, each with his own newspaper, in their shared living room.
Georg was amazed by how dark his father’s room was even on such a sunny morning. He realized for the first time how big a shadow was cast by the high wall on the other side of their narrow courtyard. His father was sitting by the window in a corner that had been decorated with various mementoes of Georg’s late mother and reading a newspaper, which he was holding at an angle to try and compensate for some weakness in his eyes. On the table were the leftovers from his breakfast, which he seemed to have hardly touched.
“Ah, Georg!” said his father and went over to him at once. His heavy dressing gown swung open as he walked, its ends billowing around him. ‘My father is still a giant of a man,’ thought Georg.
“It’s so dark in here,” he said.
“Yes, it’s dark, right enough,” responded his father.
“And you’ve got the window shut as well?”
“I prefer it that way.”
“When it’s so nice and warm outside,” Georg said as if carrying on with his previous comment, and sat down.
His father tidied away the breakfast dishes and put them on top of a sideboard.
“I actually just wanted to tell you,” Georg went on, distractedly following the old man’s movements, “that I’ve sent the news of my engagement to St Petersburg.” He pulled the letter slightly out of his pocket and let it fall back in.
“Why to St Petersburg?” asked his father.
“My friend there, you remember,” said Georg and tried to catch his father’s eye. ‘He’s so different at work,’ he thought, ‘look how solid he is at home, sitting there with his arms crossed.’
“Yes. Your friend,” said his father with emphasis.
“You know, Father, that at first I didn’t want to tell him about my engagement. Just to be considerate, not for any other reason. You know yourself he’s a difficult person. I said to myself, he might well find out from somebody else that I’m engaged, although it’s hardly likely given how solitary he is—there’s nothing I can do about that—but he won’t hear it directly from me.”
“And now you’ve thought it over again?” his father asked, putting the big newspaper on the window sill, his glasses on the newspaper and his hand on top.
“Yes, now I’ve thought it over again. If he’s a good friend to me, I said to myself, then the happy news that I’ve got engaged should make him happy too. And that’s why I stopped hesitating and told him about it. But before I post the letter, I wanted to mention it to you.”
“Georg,” said his father with a toothless grimace, “listen to me. You’ve come to me with this thing to ask my advice about it. That speaks in your favour, no doubt about it. But it means nothing, less than nothing, if you don’t tell me the whole truth about it. I don’t want to stir things up that shouldn’t come into it. Some less than pleasant things have happened since the death of dear Mother. Perhaps the time will come for them, too, and perhaps it will come sooner than we expect. I’m missing things in the business, perhaps it’s not that things are being done behind my back—I’m not at all saying that they’re being done behind my back—I don’t have the strength any more, my memory’s going, I can’t keep my eye on all the moving parts like I used to. That’s partly nature taking its course, first of all, and secondly the death of darling Mother perhaps hit me harder than it did you. But since we’re talking about this now, about this letter, I ask you, Georg, don’t lie to me. This is such a trivial question, hardly worth speaking about, so don’t lie to me. Do you really have this friend in St Petersburg?”
Georg stood up in embarrassment. “Let’s leave my friends for now. A thousand friends wouldn’t be enough to replace my father. You know what I think? You’re not taking care of yourself enough. And age takes a toll. You’re indispensable to me at work, but if the business ever put your health at risk, I’d close it down tomorrow. That goes without saying. We’ve got to start you on a different way of life. From the ground up. You’re sitting here in the dark, and in the living room it’s nice and bright. You’re picking at your breakfast instead of keeping up your strength. You’re sitting here with the window shut when the fresh air would do you so much good. No, Father! I’m going to fetch the doctor and we’re going to do what he prescribes. We’re going to swap rooms: you can move into the front room, I’ll move in here. You won’t have to change anything, we’ll move all your things across with you. But there’s plenty of time for all that, just have a lie down for the time being, I’m sure you need some rest. Here, I’ll help you get undressed, you’ll see that I can do it. Or if you want to move into the front room right away, you can just get into my bed. That would be very sensible.”
Georg was standing close in front of his father, who had let his head with its messy white hair sink to his chest.
“Georg,” his father said quietly, without moving.
Georg immediately knelt in front of his father. In his tired face he saw overlarge pupils in half-shut eyes, looking at him.
“You don’t have a friend in St Petersburg. You’ve always been a practical joker and you haven’t held back even with me. How could you have a friend there, of all places? You can’t expect me to believe that.”
“Just think back, Father,” said Georg, helping his father out of his chair and taking his dressing gown off him while he stood there, really quite weak on his feet. “It was nearly three years ago, my friend was here visiting us. I remember that you didn’t like him very much. I ended up disowning him to you, it happened at least twice, even though he was sitting right there in my room. I thought that disliking him was completely understandable; after all, my friend can be quite odd. But then after that you finally had a very good chat with him. I remember being proud that you were listening to him, nodding your head and asking him questions. If you think back, you’ll be sure to remember. He was telling us these unbelievable stories about the Russian Revolution. About how once when he was on a business trip to Kiev he got caught up in some pandemonium and saw a priest on a balcony cut a bloody cross into the palm of his hand, hold it up and shout to the mob. I’ve even heard you tell that story yourself from time to time.”