Homo Sapiens: Overboard by Stanislaw Przybyszewski and translated by Joe E Bandel
XIV.
The restaurant “Green Nightingale” was loud and lively.
Iltis sat broad and dignified, as befits a great man, explaining to Mikita why women are far beneath men. He ostentatiously turned his back on a young literati sitting next to him. The day before, there had been an unpleasant scene between them because the young man remarked that Iltis’s hatred of women likely stemmed from more than just theoretical reasons. Whenever a lady appeared in their company, Iltis would start in.
“You see,” said Iltis, “you’re young, and so is Falk. You can’t understand; but just wait until you’ve slogged through ten years of marriage with a woman—” he hissed the last word softly, out of consideration for Isa—“then you’ll see. Here comes dear old Falk with his Yuma women, Chickasaw Indians, and such scientific nonsense; but the fact remains that women are inferior creatures.”
The Infant tried to interject, but Iltis cut him off sharply.
“No, no!… A fact is a fact!” He puffed himself up… “Besides, one shouldn’t be petty with evidence.”
Mikita wasn’t listening. A grief gnawed at him, a shame that whipped his blood into his brain with choking rage.
What’s the point of going on?… It’s all over… He thought of her harshness—her… her… Yes, wasn’t that outright hatred?
How he’d pleaded with her, crawled before her, begged for forgiveness! But she, hm… yes, that icy smile… Didn’t it say: why are you begging, why are you embarrassing me, what do I still have to do with you…
He sighed heavily.
“Well, you don’t seem to be taking it lightly…” Iltis winked. “But allow me, the matter can’t possibly hold up,” the Infant mused, pondering how best to present his counterarguments. Iltis grew highly indignant.
“You mustn’t be petty. Just don’t be petty, or we’ll end up with foolish science. Shall I tell you about my experiences with scientists?”
Why is Falk staying away, Mikita brooded; that wasn’t necessary… Ha, ha, ha, to give me a chance to win Isa back… Cheers, dear Erik; not necessary, not necessary.
But why am I tormenting her? What do I still want from her?… Love? Can you force that? Ridiculous! Ridiculous! How could anyone love him at all, yes, love a man who’s only ridiculous?
He looked over at Isa, who, as usual, sat a bit apart.
But Isa didn’t look at him. She seemed very agitated. Red patches burned on her cheeks, and her eyes darted restlessly around…
The door opened, and the blonde Neocatholic entered.
Isa looked quickly at the door, clearly unable to control herself in that moment; she flinched.
She smiled at the young man, but she couldn’t hide the expression of great disappointment.
Yes, disappointment! Damn it, he wasn’t blind… that’s how people look when they’re disappointed. And that nervous, trembling hint of expectation—expectation! Who’s she expecting? Who? Foolish Mikita, don’t you know who she’s expecting?! Don’t you know why she doesn’t want to be alone with you for half an hour; don’t you know why she’s been dragging you here for three days straight!
He laughed bitterly.
Falk, she’s expecting Falk, heh, heh—Falk! He repeated the name, it surely gave him great pleasure; Falk was his friend, more than that! a brother; he’d surely made a great sacrifice for him, yes, surely… The fiancé who suffers from sentimental idiocies should get his bride, bring his little sheep to safety…
“Hi! Hallo! Hoo!” he roared at Iltis—“To your health!”
Everyone looked around in surprise; that was quite unusual for Mikita.
Mikita pulled himself together.
“To hell with your philosophizing… Woman—man… it’s all nonsense; everything’s nonsense… Let’s be merry! Merry!”
Isa looked at Mikita wearily.
Why was he shouting like that? What was wrong with him now? Who was he jealous of this time?
How foreign that man was to her. How could she ever have loved him? No, she couldn’t take it anymore; she had to end it. Tonight! When he escorts her home—yes, tonight!
How would she tell him? Her heart trembled.
How would she tell him? Calmly and matter-of-factly. Was he blind, couldn’t he help her in this awkward situation? He knew now that she loved Falk. Didn’t he get it yet? She’d shown him so clearly that he meant nothing to her.
Intrusive man! She was afraid to think it, she didn’t dare; but now, suddenly, she had thought it… She was surprised that she felt nothing about it…
Intrusive man! Yes, she felt joy that she could think it without it being painful.
The door creaked again.
Now it’s him for sure, she knew it; she trembled. But it was a stranger.
This was too awful, waiting and waiting like this among all these unpleasant people.
She felt Mikita’s eyes fixed on her, but she avoided looking at him.
God, how indifferent he was to her!
What had Falk been doing these dreadful five days?
Should she go to him? But she didn’t know where he lived. Ask Mikita? No, that wouldn’t do.
She sank into herself.
How could she see him? Why, for heaven’s sake, had she asked him never to see her again?… Oh God, she hadn’t known how much she loved him, how indifferent Mikita was to her, how the whole, whole world only brought her pain.
She was senselessly desperate.
Why was he shouting again? She glanced involuntarily at the empty bottles in front of Mikita.
“Do you even know what love is?”—Mikita was beside himself. “Do you know what sexual pain is? Huh? Do you? Have you ever loved a woman at all?”
Iltis made a dismissive gesture.
“That… that…” Mikita stammered—“the woman birthed the man, that’s enough for her! The woman gives birth, and the man loves. The woman never loves, never; she’s content with giving birth…”
“What? Women love too? What?”
“But women commit suicide for love,” the Infant interjected, “you can read about it in the *Lokal-Anzeiger* every day.”
“What? Suicide? Ask him, just ask him; he knows better—” Mikita pointed at Iltis, who smiled encouragingly—“women commit suicide when they’re pregnant and abandoned by their lovers!”
Mikita slammed his fist on the table. Isa looked at him with boundless contempt.
He was drunk again. How could she ever have loved this man?
An awkward silence fell. Isa’s presence weighed on everyone. It was a bit inconsiderate of Mikita in her presence.
Mikita suddenly fell silent.
He saw it: yes, for the first time, he saw it—that look! He saw it clearly before him.
He let his head sink.
So clear! The look burrowed deeper and deeper into him. He saw the eye within him now, it looked at him… How did it look at him?
If he painted it?… Three steps back… No! Into the corner of the studio—the other one… And now through the mirror… Yes, he couldn’t help it… It was contempt! Great, cold contempt!
For Isa, it became unbearable. She felt a feverish unrest; her heart beat fast and heavy against her corset.
She had to see Falk at all costs, he had to come eventually. He’s here every day; why doesn’t he come these days?
The conversation picked up again.
“Oh, leave me alone with literature; this endless chatter about poets and publishers and publisher prizes really makes one nervous—” Iltis yawned affectedly—“What do you want with Falk? He’s a good guy.”
Isa perked up.
She saw Mikita suddenly straighten. “What? What? Falk?”
“Well, yes,” the Infant lectured, “Falk has talent, I’ll grant that; but it’s still developing, it needs to ripen, to ferment; you don’t know yet how he’ll turn out. He’s searching, he’s still groping…”
“What? Falk groping?…” Mikita laughed with feigned warmth. “You’re priceless… You know, Falk’s the only one who can do something. Falk’s found the new. Yes, Falk can do what you all wish you could—Falk—Falk…”
At that moment, Mr. Buchenzweig approached Isa.
He assumed all this talk must bore a lady, so he wanted to entertain her.
She looked at his smooth, plump, handsome barber’s face. What did this man want?
Yes, Mr. Buchenzweig had the great honor of seeing the gracious Fräulein at the soirée in the presence of Mr. Falk. Mr. Falk is a remarkably interesting man, really the one who interested him most… He only came here to meet him…
“You, Isa,” Mikita called across the table—“did you know Falk left Berlin?”
He fixed his eyes on her intently.
Isa flinched. She felt a sharp pain in her face, a constricting sensation in her chest… she saw Mikita’s wild, malicious, flushed face with wide eyes, then turned mechanically to Buchenzweig.
She wanted to drink a glass of wine; it was empty. Buchenzweig eagerly ran for the waiter.
Everything blurred before her eyes. She saw nothing. She suddenly heard someone speaking; it was Buchenzweig. But she didn’t quite understand what he wanted. She only looked at him, smiled mechanically—the wine was brought. She drank.
“I know Mr. Halbe very well. A remarkably charming man, a great force in our time, which so lacks great talents.”
Isa looked at him. The man suddenly repulsed her. She didn’t know why.
“Excuse me, Mr. Buchenzweig, your company is very pleasant, but I must go home now.”
She approached Mikita.
“I have to go home now.”
“Oh, really?—bored here?” She didn’t listen to him and got dressed.
Again, she saw the repulsive barber’s face of Mr. Buchenzweig. Who did he remind her of? Yes, right, the barber who shampooed her hair.
As they got into the cab, with Iltis gallantly assisting Isa, Mikita shouted to him:
“Wait till I get back! We’ll have a merry night.”
Isa shrugged. Neither spoke a word.
She was paralyzed, unable to think. She was so tired.
Now and then, a desolate despair hit her, then tipped back into this limp exhaustion.
“You, Isa, my exhibition opens in Munich tomorrow.” “Oh, right…”
The cab stopped.
“Good night!” Mikita’s limbs twitched. “Good night.”
“Now drive me back fast!” he roared at the driver. The driver whipped the horse, and the cab flew over the asphalt road.
Meanwhile, Mikita writhed in a violent fit of sobbing.
When he returned to the “Green Nightingale,” he was calm and composed. He was greeted with hearty cheers.
Yes, Isa has weighed us all down, he thought.
“You,” he sat next to Iltis—“if I get very drunk tonight, put me on the train to Munich tomorrow morning. Seven-thirty, remember…”
“I know, I know; I’ve traveled that route a hundred times.”
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