20

A FEW days passed. Margot still had a cough and, as she was apt to get very nervous about herself, she stayed at home, and for lack of something to do—reading not being her forte—she amused herself in the way Rex had recommended: lying comfortably in a bright chaos of cushions, she consulted the telephone book and rang up unknown individuals, shops and business firms. She ordered prams, and lilies, and radio sets to be sent to addresses selected at random; she made fools of worthy citizens and advised their wives to be less credulous; she rang up the same number ten times in succession, thereby reducing Messrs. Traum, Baum & Käsebier to desperation. She received wonderful declarations of love and still more wonderful curses. Albinus came in and stood watching her with a fond smile while she ordered a coffin for a certain Frau Kirchhof. Her kimono was undone, the little feet were kicking in malicious delight, the long eyes moved to and fro, as she listened. Albinus was filled with a passionate tenderness, and he quietly stood a little way off, afraid to approach, afraid of spoiling her pleasure.

Now she was telling Professor Grimm the story of her life, and imploring him to meet her at midnight, while, at the other end of the wire, the Professor was painfully and ponderously debating with himself whether this invitation was a hoax or the result of his fame as an ichthyologist.

In view of Margot’s telephonic frolics it was not surprising that Paul had been vainly trying to get through to Albinus for the last half hour. He kept ringing up and every time was met by the same remorseless buzz.

At last he rose, felt a rush of giddiness and heavily sat down again. He had not slept for two nights; he was sick and in a storm of grief; but all the same he had to do it, and it was going to be done. The persistent buzz seemed to mean that fate was determined to thwart his intention, but Paul was stubborn: if he could not do it this way he would try another.

He tiptoed into the nursery which was dark and—despite the presence of several persons—very quiet. He saw the back of his sister’s head, the comb behind and the woolen shawl round her shoulders; and suddenly he turned round resolutely, stepped out into the hall, dragged on his overcoat (groaning and choking down his sobs) and set off to fetch Albinus.

“Wait,” he said to the taxi driver as he alighted on the pavement before the familiar house.

He was already pushing the entrance door when Rex hurried up from behind. Both men entered at the same moment. They looked at one another and—there was a great outburst of cheering as the puck was shot into the Swedish goal.

“Are you on your way to see Herr Albinus?” asked Paul grimly.

Rex smiled and nodded his head.

“Then let me tell you that he won’t be receiving any visitors just now. I’m his wife’s brother and have some very bad news for him.”

“Would you like to entrust me with your message?” inquired Rex blandly.

Paul suffered from shortness of breath. He halted on the first landing. With lowered head, like a bull, he gazed at Rex, who looked back curiously and expectantly at his puffed-up, tear-stained face.

“I advise you to postpone your visit,” said Paul, breathing heavily. “My brother-in-law’s little girl is dying.” He continued his way up the stairs and Rex followed him quietly.

Hearing the impertinent steps behind him, Paul felt the blood rush to his head, but was afraid of being delayed by his asthma, and so controlled himself. When they reached the door of the flat he again turned to Rex and said:

“I don’t know who and what you are, but I’m at a loss to understand your persistence.”

“Oh, my name is Axel Rex and I’m quite at home here,” replied Rex affably, as he stretched out a long, white finger and pressed the electric bell.

“Shall I hit him?” thought Paul, and then: “What does it matter now? … The main thing is to get it over quickly.”

A short, gray-haired footman (the English lord had been sacked) let them in.

“Tell your master,” said Rex with a sigh, “that this gentleman here would like—”

“Shut up, you!” said Paul, and, standing in the middle of the hall, he shouted as loudly as he could: “Albert!” and again: “Albert!”

When Albinus saw the distorted face of his brother-in-law, he made an awkward little rush toward him, skidded and then came to a dead stop.

“Irma is dangerously ill,” said Paul, thumping with his stick on the floor. “You’d better come at once.”

A brief silence ensued. Rex surveyed them both greedily. Suddenly Margot’s shrill voice rang out from the drawing room: “Albert, I’ve got to speak to you.”

“Just coming,” stammered Albinus, and he hurried into the drawing room. Margot was standing with her arms crossed on her breast.

“My little girl is dangerously ill,” said Albinus. “I’m going to see her at once.”

“They are lying to you,” Margot cried angrily. “It’s a trap to entice you back.”

“Margot … for God’s sake!”

She seized his hand: “And what if I come with you?”

“Margot, enough! You must understand … Where’s my lighter? Where’s my lighter? Where’s my lighter? He’s waiting for me.”

“They’re fooling you. I won’t let you go.”

“They’re waiting for me,” Albinus stammered out with wide-open eyes.

“If you dare—”

Paul was standing in the hall, in the same posture, prodding the floor with his stick. Rex produced a tiny enamel box. From the drawing room came the blare of excited voices. Rex offered Paul some cough-drops. Paul pushed back with his elbow without looking and spilled the sweets. Rex laughed. Again—that outburst of voices.

“Ghastly,” murmured Paul and walked out. With his cheeks quivering, he hurried downstairs.

“Well?” asked Fräulein in a whisper when he got back.

“No, he’s not coming,” answered Paul. He covered his eyes with his hand for a moment, cleared his throat, and, as before, tiptoed into the nursery.

Nothing had changed there. Softly, rhythmically, Irma was tossing her head to and fro on the pillow. Her half-opened eyes were dim; every now and then a hiccough shook her. Elisabeth smoothed the bedclothes: a mechanical gesture devoid of sense. A spoon fell off the table, and its delicate jingle lingered for a long time in the ears of those in the room. The hospital nurse counted the pulse-beats, blinked, and cautiously, as though afraid of hurting it, put back the little hand on the coverlet.

“She’s thirsty, perhaps?” whispered Elisabeth.

The nurse shook her head. Someone in the room coughed very softly. Irma tossed about; then she raised one slight knee under the bedclothes and presently stretched it out again very slowly.

A door creaked, Fräulein came in and said something in Paul’s ear. Paul nodded and she went out. Presently the door creaked again; but Elisabeth did not turn her head …

The man who had entered halted a couple of feet from the bed. He could only dimly discern his wife’s fair hair and shawl, but with agonizing distinctness he saw Irma’s face—her small, black nostrils and the yellowish gloss of her rounded forehead. He stood like this for a long time, then he opened his mouth very wide and somebody (a distant cousin of his) seized him under the armpits from behind.

He found himself sitting in Paul’s study. On the divan in the corner two ladies, whose names he could not remember, were seated, talking in low tones; he had a queer feeling that if he remembered, everything would be right again. Huddled in an armchair, Irma’s Fräulein was sobbing. A dignified old gentleman with a great, bald brow was standing at the window smoking, and every now and then lifting himself from heel to toe. On the table, a glass bowl with oranges gleamed.

“Why didn’t they send for me before?” muttered Albinus, raising his eyebrows, without addressing anybody in particular. He frowned, shook his head and cracked his finger-joints. Silence. The clock on the mantelpiece ticked. Lampert came in from the nursery.

“Well?” asked Albinus hoarsely.

Lampert turned to the dignified old gentleman, who shrugged his shoulders slightly and followed him into the sickroom.

A long time elapsed. The windows were quite dark; nobody had troubled to draw the curtains. Albinus took an orange and began peeling it slowly. Outside, snow was falling, and only muffled noises rose from the street. From time to time a tinkling sound came from the central heating apparatus. Down in the street someone whistled four notes (Siegfried); and then all was silent again. Albinus slowly ate the orange. It was very sour. Suddenly Paul came into the room, and without looking at anyone uttered a single short word.

In the nursery, Albinus saw his wife’s back, as she bent, motionless and intent, over the bed, still holding, it seemed, a ghostly glass in her hand. The hospital nurse put her arm round her shoulders and led her into dimness. Albinus walked up to the bed. For a moment he had a vague glimpse of a little dead face and of a short pale lip with bared front teeth—and one little milk-tooth was missing. Then all became misty before his eyes. He turned round and very carefully, trying not to jostle against anybody or anything, went out. The front-door below was locked. But as he stood there, a painted lady in a Spanish shawl came down, opened it and let in a snow-covered man. Albinus looked at his watch. It was past midnight. Had he really been there five hours?

He walked along the white, soft, crunching pavement, and still could not quite believe what had happened. In his mind’s eye he pictured Irma with surprising vividness, scrambling onto Paul’s knees or patting a light ball against the wall with her hands; but the taxis hooted as if nothing had happened, the snow glittered Christmas-like under the lamps, the sky was black, and only in the distance, beyond the dark mass of roofs, in the direction of the Gedächtniskirche, where the great picture-palaces were, did the blackness melt to a warm brownish blush. All at once he remembered the names of the two ladies on the divan: Blanche and Rosa von Nacht.

At length he reached home. Margot was lying supine, smoking lustily. Albinus was vaguely aware of having quarreled with her hideously, but that did not matter now. She followed his movements in silence, as he quietly walked up and down the room and wiped his face, which was wet from the snow. All she felt now was delicious content. Rex had left a short time before, well-contented too.