by Stanislaw Przybyszewski and translated by Joe E Bandel
XII.
When Falk was alone on the street again, he stopped. He stood for a long time, until he suddenly noticed.
Yes, for the first time, he felt this terrible, choking sadness. He was paralyzed.
Never again! It didn’t fully register in his consciousness.
He repeated it: Never again. But he couldn’t imagine it at all.
At the corner, he stopped again. Home?
What was he supposed to do at home?
He saw electric light in café windows across the street. Mechanically, he went inside.
As he looked for a seat, he recoiled sharply. He spotted Mikita in a corner. He looked terrible. Was it blood? – Yes, blood… Falk approached him.
“Good God, what have you done?”
Dried blood was on his cheek, and his hair was matted with blood.
Mikita looked at him with glassy eyes. A large carafe of absinthe stood before him.
“Ah, it’s you? Welcome, welcome, I’m delighted.” “What have you done to yourself?”
It was disgusting.
“Well, dear Falk, how’s love going?… How’s it going with love?… That’s the main thing… easy, right? Isa’s a dancer, a godless dancer… Ha, ha, ha…”
Mikita laughed with repulsive cynicism. Falk felt disgust but controlled himself.
“What have you done!” he repeated, staring at Mikita.
“What I’ve done? Heh, heh, heh… Smashed my head a bit. A bit of blood… Good God! It draws people’s attention, and I can do my studies.”
He pointed to the marble tabletop, completely covered with pencil sketches.
“No, no, it’s nothing… But tell me, Falk, how far have you gotten?”
Falk looked at him contemptuously. But suddenly, he noticed something glassy, strange, that he’d never seen before, and fear gripped him.
“You’re a foolish ass,” he shouted at him.
Mikita sank back after the artificial excitement, his face taking on a vacant expression, nodding mechanically.
“I know… I know…”
Falk’s fear grew. He sat beside him.
“You, Mikita, you’re an idiot—what do you want from Isa, what do you want from me? Just say it openly.”
Mikita suddenly looked at him angrily.
“Are you trying to lie to me? Weren’t you with her all evening?”
Falk flared up.
“I was with her because of you… You drive people out the door and then expect them to go home quietly. You tormented her all evening with stupid, worthless jabs, and then you expect her to calmly go to her room and sleep…”
The moral indignation wasn’t bad, Falk felt ashamed. This wretched cowardice and deceit!
“Where were you with her, where?”
“Where I was?… I had to calm her down because her sweet fiancé gets sentimental idiocies, and you don’t have those kinds of conversations on the street.”
Mikita looked at him suspiciously.
“Go on, foolish man, ask the landlord next door, then you’ll find out where I was with her—by the way, thanks a hundred times, I’m done playing mediator in your quarrels. I’m done explaining and excusing the splendid emotional and intellectual qualities of her future husband to your bride…”
Mikita stared at him wide-eyed. “You did that?”
“I wouldn’t say it otherwise.”
That’s vile! That’s vile! Falk repeated to himself inwardly… Why, though? Because I’m calming him? That’s supposed to be vile?… Heh, heh, let them be happy, I won’t see her anymore.
Falk’s eyes flickered. He grabbed Falk’s hand and squeezed it so hard that Falk could have screamed in pain.
“You… You, Falk…” Mikita stammered… “I… I thank—” his voice broke.
Never had Falk felt such an awkward sensation; he could have slapped himself, but… he was making him happy. At the same time, he felt a dull hatred. He saw Mikita as something inferior… Good God! How can you walk around with that bloody cheek!
“Wipe the blood off!”
Mikita grew embarrassed. He felt ashamed and looked at Falk helplessly. Then he went to the washroom and cleaned himself.
Falk shuddered. Disgusting; now he involuntarily felt like a benefactor to the poor, deceived Mikita… Yes, a sort of patron, giving happiness back to the betrayed dwarf—disgusting!
But—yes! Why should he give up his happiness for Mikita’s sake? Why? Because some piece of posthumous past, some piece of foolish conscience, some atavistic remnants of notions about having, possessing, before and after, stuck in him… He could just as well have been before Mikita, and Mikita could just as well do what he wanted to do, what he no longer wants to do… well, yes, now it’s all over… now, now…
Mikita returned.
“Now you look human again.” Falk felt the need to be kind to Mikita—yes, like before, like a brother…
He tried.
But Mikita felt a shame that flooded his mind, he could hardly look at Falk—it grew hot and cold, and disgust with himself seized him.
“You, Falk, let’s go.”
They walked silently side by side. Something simmered in Mikita, then it overflowed.
“You don’t understand, Erik; you can’t comprehend… Do you know anything about her? Tell me, tell me—do you know? Nothing, nothing… three, four months I’ve been with her, and I know nothing. I threw myself into it—no, not I; I was sucked into a vortex, and now I fall and fall, not knowing where…”
“You—You, Erik.” He clutched his arm convulsively… “You don’t know how it eats at me… This uncertainty—this… Do you understand… Sometimes it grabs me on the street, mid-step—a stab in the heart, a cramp… I lose my senses; I—I…”
If only he knew how I’m suffering, Falk thought… To say that to me!… Ha, ha, ha.
Suddenly, the situation seemed ridiculous to him. Wasn’t it infinitely comical that they both, like dizzy sheep, circled around one woman… He suppressed the hatred that kept rising against the man with whom he shared the same passion and pain.
“You don’t know your bride…”
Your bride! How unspeakably that hurt. But he wasn’t supposed to see her anymore. It suddenly became clear; now he finally understood. Never again… A chill ran through him.
“Yes, yes… I don’t know her, I know nothing about her…” Mikita’s voice trembled—“but just, just…”
Falk heard a suppressed sob. But he felt no pity. He grew hard.
“You, Mikita, I feel you’re jealous of me—you have no reason to be. Yes, yes, I know you fight it with your reason, but that—that which comes from below, can’t be convinced… So you understand, your bride shouldn’t see me anymore… No, no, wait, it’s not a sacrifice. I care for your bride, but you’re mistaken if you think it’s a deeper feeling—it’s exactly the same with your bride…”
Falk practically reveled in the word *bride*. That at least hurt.
“No, no, I know you; I know your friendship for me—but it’ll be best if we don’t see each other for a while… Well, goodbye…”
Mikita was speechless. “Yes, yes, goodbye—”
Mikita wanted to say something, but Falk jumped into a cab. “Where to, sir?”
Falk mechanically named, without realizing, the street where Janina lived.
He suddenly caught himself.
What? How? Where did he say? How did it come to him so suddenly?
He hadn’t consciously thought of Janina—not all day. No, not even once had he thought of her.
What did he want from her?
But he didn’t linger on it. It didn’t matter where he went now. And it didn’t matter whether he knew it or not…
The Other, a thousand times more important, he didn’t know either.
Why had he fallen in love with this woman? Why? Why was he suffering so unbearably? Because of a woman!
Ha, ha, ha… there go the proud, tough men, despising women.
Falk shook with laughter.
They despise women, oh, the clever, tough men! They don’t suffer under women either. They’re so proud and so tough! Yes, even old, comical Iltis despises women…
Falk laughed nervously, without knowing why…
I’ve never suffered under a woman! Falk pictured Iltis.
Because your organism is crude, dear Iltis; your sexuality is still independent of your brain, you’re like the hydromedusa that can suddenly cast off a tentacle with reproductive organs and let it seek a female without further concern. God! You’re happy, dear Iltis! But I don’t envy your happiness. I’ve never envied the beast that it can eat grass, no matter how long I starve.
I suffer from myself, dear Iltis, I suffer from my brain’s attempt to reveal its depths, to lay bare the umbilical cord that ties me to the All, to all of nature… I suffer because I can’t become nature, because I can’t absorb the woman, who is half of what I am, into myself, because I… because… In the end, it doesn’t matter what I can or can’t do, it’s all just lies of my overeducated brain—only the fact, the fact… I suffer like I’ve never suffered before…
He stretched out fully in the cab. Now he was never to see her again… Why?
Because Mikita was the first, yes, perhaps also the older, and age takes precedence—and then, yes, because Mikita would suffer…
Falk laughed scornfully.
Yes, he had to sacrifice himself so another wouldn’t suffer. And so that another wouldn’t suffer, he had to. Didn’t Rabbi Jeshua let himself be nailed to the cross so the heavens would open for others? And he, yes he, Mr. Erik Falk, takes on another’s suffering, he is the benefactor, the great redeemer.
Now Mikita is showered with my good deeds, he could barely stand under the heavy load…
Disgusting! Falk spat, something he never did otherwise.
Yes, he’d leave to keep Mikita from being unhappy. That’s the only reason!
Of course, I’m leaving because she asked me to, but why shouldn’t I be seen as a redeemer to another? Why not?
I could tell Mikita I’m leaving because I’m in danger, but that wouldn’t look as noble—maybe it would? Well, whatever…
Or I could’ve said: Mikita, you’re an ass and at times not a very aesthetic gentleman. Of course, aesthetics is ridiculously laughable, but you need enough civilization in you not to smash your head in pain…
Oh, Almighty, how I thank you that you didn’t make me like that tax collector there…
Yes, in unguarded moments, you can think fabulously brutally.
But what I meant to say… you see, Mikita, you have to mask it a bit… Good God, I don’t mind if you suffer; why not? I do too, but you’d have to go about it differently… So you see: you notice your bride is betraying you with your friend. Immediately, you become extremely friendly, with a certain dismissive, casual coldness. You act completely indifferent. Only on your face does one occasionally see a twitching pain. Not often, mind you, only where it’s truly fitting. That’s a matter of instinctive tact.
In short: indifferent, cold, dismissive. Do you know what I’d do then?
I’d be ashamed to the core, I’d feel like a poor sinner, I’d find myself ridiculous. Maybe then all these negative feelings would cool me down, sober me up…
But like this—Yes, like this, I’m your benefactor, before whom you’re ashamed, yes, ashamed, because you so ridiculously display your jealousy, because your cheek is smeared with blood…
Yes, I’m your benefactor, before whom you stammer words of thanks… Yes, I’m your benefactor.
Why?
Because you’re beneath me, because you have a slave’s brain, and because I, yes I—am a vile, cunning scoundrel.
Why am I a scoundrel? Because I love her and she loves me. That’s why I’m a scoundrel!
Heh, heh, little Mikita, your logic is damn foolish, outstandingly foolish.
Doesn’t he see that Isa no longer loves him? What the devil? Is he blind?
What does he want from a woman whose entire soul belongs to another?
The cab turned from an asphalt road onto a cobblestone path. That was highly unpleasant to Falk.
Well, it couldn’t take much longer.
But why, why does she want to marry Mikita? Why?
And then a thought shot through his head, making him spring up like a rubber ball.
Was she his—his mistress?!
Something stirred in his chest with fine, painful stabs, he hunched over in pain…
“Faster, driver, faster, damn it!”
“What’s it to me?!” he shouted. “What’s it to me, me—me?!”
He collapsed completely.
I won’t see her anymore. It’s better, much better. This bit of suffering will pass, then I’ll forget it…
Where was he? Aha!
The cab slowed, pulling close along the houses, then stopped.
Falk got out. Now he had to wait for the night watchman. What did he want with Janina, anyway?
Now it became clear what would happen if he went up… Of course, she’d cry because he’s so sad and tired… and then—no! He couldn’t do that, no…
He saw Isa with her slender, delicate body and felt her kisses and her slender hand.
No! It won’t do…
Well, then home! Yes, home… He’d light the lamp…
He nervously felt his pocket…
Thank God he had matches on him… Then he’d go to bed… no! no!… Maybe fall asleep on the sofa—yes, a little morphine—yes, but tomorrow the headaches… he wouldn’t see her anymore.
When he got home, he found a letter from his mother.
It was a very long letter. She told him in detail that she had to sell the estate because she couldn’t manage it well after his father’s death, that the overseer had shamelessly cheated her, and that she had moved to the city.
Then there was a long story in the letter about a Mr. Kauer, who had been so helpful and to whom she felt greatly indebted, followed by an equally long praise of Mr. Kauer’s young daughter, who was an angel of kindness and charm…
The name Marit sounded so strange to Falk; he had only heard it in Norway…
And finally, the main point—Falk breathed a sigh of relief. His mother explained at length why it was the main point: he absolutely had to come to her to help settle the financial affairs. He had to be there because the estate’s trustees required it…
Well, that works out perfectly. Then I’ll go.
He wrote a letter to his mother saying he’d leave immediately and took it straight to the mailbox.
Anarchistbanjo's World 
Leave a comment