Homo Sapiens by Stanislaw Przybyszewski and translated by Joe E Bandel
IV.
When Falk stepped onto the street, he became very restless.
He began to walk quickly. Perhaps it would pass with physical exhaustion.
But it was as if something whipped him forward ever faster, until he almost started running.
It only got worse.
He clearly felt a wave of unease coiling deeper and deeper into his body; he felt something spinning faster and faster within him, pressing into every pore, every nerve with growing fury.
What was it?
He stopped abruptly.
Was it coming back? Danger?! He stood still.
It must be some primal animal instinct in him, the ancient warning voice of a foreign soul.
He felt a violent jolt.
Flee, yes—flee, it screamed within him. And suddenly, he saw himself as a fourteen-year-old boy, high up on the fourth floor. Two windows facing the courtyard. Below, the endless hammering of the coopers’ apprentices.
He had to memorize a large assignment, or a harsh punishment awaited him.
And he sat and studied, studied until hot tears rolled down his cheeks like peas.
But his mind was dull. No sooner had he memorized one verse than he forgot another.
And outside, yes, outside beyond the fortress walls, his friends were playing, and Jahns was there, of course, Jahns, whom he loved so much.
And the day drew to a close. He threw himself to his knees, gripped by a nameless fear, pleading to the Holy Spirit for the grace of enlightenment.
But nothing, nothing could he retain.
He grew dizzy with fear. He had to. He had to. And he beat his fists against his head; he repeated each word a hundred times; but it was no use.
He knew no way out. Then, suddenly, all at once: now he knew. He had to flee, far, far away to his mother…
He ran out into the night, ran, panted, fell. Every sound crept paralyzing through his limbs, every flash ignited a sea of light in his eyes, then he picked himself up and ran again, relentlessly, until he collapsed breathless in the forest.
And now he heard it again, that strong, commanding voice: Flee! Flee!
He reflected and smiled.
The beast had awakened. As if a conscious person had no other defense than cowardly flight? Why should he suddenly flee?
Then a longing rose in him, spreading like a cloud of steam over his mind, stifling all his brooding. He felt her hand on his lips. He felt her physical warmth seeping into his blood, the tone of her voice trickling along his nerves…
He shot upright. “No!” he shouted aloud.
That wonderful Mikita! How he must love her… He saw Mikita, trembling, watchful, constantly observing them both.
Was he not certain of her love? Then, suddenly:
Her?! Could she even love Mikita? No, ridiculous! I mean, just whether such a refined being… no, no… just whether this woman could find Mikita’s movements pleasing… Hmm, Mikita was a bit comical today with his hurried speech and fidgety…
No! No! Falk felt ashamed.
Of course, one must love Mikita. Yes, beyond question… she loved him, she had to love him.
Perhaps only his art?
Really? Or did it just seem that way? But didn’t he clearly see a hint of displeasure glide across her face when Mikita spoke of his love’s happiness? And didn’t she try to make up for it when she stroked his hand so unprompted?
With a jolt, he grew angry. Hadn’t he just caught himself feeling that Mikita’s love was unpleasant to him? Didn’t he clearly wish his doubts were true? No, that was despicable, that was ugly…
Ugly? From whom was it ugly? Ha, ha, ha; as if he could do anything about the foolish animal instincts awakening in him.
He stepped into a tree-lined avenue. He was astonished. He had never seen such magnificent trees. He studied them closely. He saw the mighty branches like gnarled spokes encircling the trunk, strangely branched, woven into nets… And he saw the network of branches outlined against the sky, a vast web of veins spanning the heavens, the sacred womb of light and seed-blessing.
How beautiful it was! And the March breeze so mild… He had to forget her. Yes, he had to.
And again, drowning out all his thinking and brooding, came that ancient cry: Flee! Flee! …
No, he didn’t need to flee. From what?
But the unease rose higher and higher within him. He braced himself against the growing torment that made his heart falter.
Who was this woman? What was she to him?
He had never felt anything like this before? No! Never! He examined himself, searched, but no! Never…
Was it love? He felt fear.
How was it that in one hour a woman had entered into a relationship with him, invaded his mind like a foreign body, around which his thoughts, his entire feeling now gathered, into which his blood poured…
No! He shouldn’t, he mustn’t think of her anymore.
Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor’s wife! No! He certainly didn’t want that. She was Mikita’s entire happiness. God, how that man glowed when he spoke of his love…
It was wonderful that Mikita should find this great happiness! How it would enhance his artistic potency, to create for and through this woman.
But again, he felt her slender, hot hand on his lips. She didn’t resist him. He saw her veiled smile and the swelling glow and radiance around her eyes… And with infinite delight, he felt a trembling warmth within him; his eyes burned. It became so hot, so oppressive.
He longed for someone to be near, someone to whom he could be very, very tender.
Janina!
Like a bolt, the thought shot through his mind.
She was so good to him. She loved him so much. It was, God knows, wonderful to be loved like that.
He cared for her too, more than he was willing to admit to himself.
He saw her clearly. Yes, years ago, when *Brand* still haunted his mind. He had kissed her, and she became so happy. He walked away but watched her secretly. He saw her searching fervently, eagerly. Then he saw her take a neighbor’s little girl into her arms and press her tightly.
Her love suddenly seemed so beautiful, so mysteriously beautiful to him. She gave him everything, thought of nothing, had no reservations, she was wholly, wholly his…
Strange that he was so near her now. What had brought him here?
Yes, just one more street…
The night watchman opened the gate for him. He flew up the stairs and knocked softly on her door.
“Erik, you?!”
She trembled violently and stammered with joy.
“Quietly… yes, it’s me… I was longing for you…” He groped his way into her room.
She clung passionately to his neck. How dear her passion was to him now.
“Yes, I was longing for you.”
And he kissed her and caressed her and spoke to her until she was dizzy with happiness.
“This happiness, this happiness…” she stammered incessantly.
He pressed her closer and closer to him, listening inward, and cried out to his conscience: Mikita! Mikita!
Yes, now forget—forget everything for Mikita’s sake… “Yes, Janina, I’m with you; I’ll stay with you…”
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