Homo Sapiens: Under Way by Stanislaw Przybyszewski and translated by Joe E Bandel
IV.
Falk sprang up. He had fallen asleep on the sofa, fully dressed. The daylight, filtered through the garden’s tree shadows, gnawed at his sleep-deprived face, giving it the expression of great, quiet sadness.
His mother stood before him, trying to slide a pillow under his head.
“God, what a terrible dream I had!”
“But, dear child, you’re completely ruining yourself if you stay up all night.”
“No, on the contrary, Mama, I slept very well. I was just so tired that I fell asleep right where I sat. Certain natures can do that excellently. I heard of a mailman who slept while walking and lived to 90. By the way, Mama; I’ll be traveling in a few days; it’s of great importance that I get to Paris as quickly as possible.”
His mother couldn’t understand. Why had he come at all? This long journey just to stay a few days?! His wife could surely live a few weeks without him. Couldn’t he grant his old mother the joy and stay at least two more weeks?
Yes, he’d love to; Mama knew exactly how much he loved her, but he couldn’t possibly stay longer, he…
At that moment, there was a knock at the door. Marit entered, confused.
She greeted his mother by kissing her arm. Falk extended his hand with a ceremonial bow.
Marit grew even more confused.
“Mrs. Falk mustn’t mind her disturbing so early, but she had come to early Mass with Papa, and Papa had something to do in town.”
Mrs. Falk apologized ten times that nothing was cleared away yet, but Erik, the lazybones, had slept until now.
“Imagine,” Mrs. Falk continued, “he fell asleep right here in the dining room instead of properly going to bed. By the way, it’s very good you’ve come, Marit; you must help me keep Erik here. He absolutely wants to leave.”
Marit looked up, horrified.
“What? You’re leaving already?”
“Yes, he absolutely had to. He had to start working a bit; he couldn’t do anything here.”
Marit sat as if frozen, looking at Falk with wide, frightened eyes. “Besides, there was no point in him sitting around idle; life here was so narrow, so unbearably narrow… Yes, Mama, dear Mama, you mustn’t take it badly, but I’m used to the vastness, greatness, freedom of the big city. I can’t stand people here staring at me and gawking. And then this narrowness, this narrowness.”
Marit sat thoughtfully; it seemed as if she heard nothing.
“Yes, yes, she had to go now; Herr Falk would surely come for a farewell visit.”
But she couldn’t go: Mrs. Falk set the table and brought coffee.
Falk and Marit sat across from each other. Mrs. Falk let her wise gray eyes shift from her son to the girl.
Falk brooded. Suddenly, he fixed his eyes on Marit and examined her closely.
“It’s strange, you have such a remarkable resemblance to a girl I met in Kristiania.”
Falk spoke completely dryly, in a reporting tone.
“She was terribly sweet, and around her forehead was a flood of red-blonde hair; it looked like the Nordic spring sun.”
“By the way, you look quite worn out, Fräulein Marit. It’s strange that you can’t be happy at all; it’s probably your religion that considers joy a sin?”
Falk emphasized “your” mockingly.
“No, no: Mama needn’t be so outraged, he only said it in passing.”
Silence fell again.
Mrs. Falk spoke of her late husband, tears coming to her eyes.
Marit stood up.
“She had to go now. She couldn’t wait for Papa; with him, five minutes always lasted an eternity, and now that Mama was at the spa, she had a lot to do.”
Falk stood up too.
“Would he be allowed to accompany her? A walk would do him good, and it was indifferent whether he went toward Johannisthal or with Marit to Elbsfeld.”
“Yes, if it pleased him…”
They walked silently side by side for a long time.
Falk had pulled his hat low over his eyes, kept his hands carelessly in his pockets, and seemed deep in thought about something.
And again, Marit looked up at him again and again, but he seemed determined not to see it.
“Is it really true that you want to leave?”
Falk looked at her as if he hadn’t understood, with a cold, tired gaze.
“Oh! Leave? Of course, yes, absolutely. What am I supposed to do here? Don’t think it’s a pleasure to torment myself near you; I’ve had enough of that. Yes, I want to leave; maybe today. Besides, everything’s indifferent; and I’ll probably do whatever comes to mind.”
Two large tears ran down Marit’s cheeks.
“He mustn’t do that. Everything he said to her about love was a lie. A person who loves couldn’t do that.”
“But for heaven’s sake, tell me, what do you want from me? Yes, just tell me: you know very well that you could give me the greatest happiness if I could just kiss you; you won’t allow that. I want to talk to you about something stirring in me; I can’t do that either. So what—what?”
Marit cried.
“You said I mustn’t love you, that you can’t give me anything! Didn’t you say you couldn’t possibly take love from me?”
“God, I explained to you why I said that. Besides, even if there were obstacles, don’t you understand the infinite happiness of the moment?”
Marit looked at him, astonished.
“What do you want—what do you want from me? Speak completely openly.” “What do I want? What do I want? Well! Do I know?”
“Yes, you want to ruin me! You want to plunge me into unhappiness, then leave—isn’t that right?”
“Ruin? Unhappiness? The English want happiness… Ridiculous, disgusting, this satiated happiness of Müller and Schulze! Can’t you understand that the highest happiness lies in a second? That it’s disgusting to wallow in eternal happiness? What do I want from you? Two, three hours of happiness, then away, far away! Happiness is shy; you dishonor it, make it indecent if you enjoy it too long.”
“God, don’t torment me so terribly. I can’t bear it. Do you want me to be destroyed?”
“No, I don’t want that. Let’s not talk about it anymore. It’s madness that I have to circle around this one thought; I don’t want that anymore. I don’t want to say anything more. I want to be good to you, completely good. You just mustn’t cry. No, you mustn’t.”
Falk was completely desperate; deep pity choked him.
“Yes, yes, don’t cry; I’ll be good and reasonable and very cheerful. Shall I tell you something very beautiful?”
“Yes, he should; she loved to hear him.” A while passed.
“Well; I had a strange dream today. You know, when my father was still alive, we had a small estate right on the Russian border; right behind our barn stood the Russian border guard. So it happened that a farmhand had stolen grain. My father was a wild, strict man. He beat me mercilessly. I didn’t really get better from it; on the contrary, I hated him as only a child’s soul can hate.
But my father had discovered the theft and the thief. All the farmhands were called from the village and the guilty one stood before my father.
‘Did you steal?’
‘Yes,’ answered the farmhand defiantly.
‘Do you want to go to prison or receive thirty lashes?’
Without a sound, the farmhand lay on the ground, and the execution began.
‘Hit hard, or you’ll be whipped yourself,’ my father shouted to the coachman.
And the coachman struck with the strong, oxhide whip as hard as he could.
‘Now you strike!’ he called to an idiotic farmhand, whose broad face contorted into a contented grin.
A blow so powerful, so terribly powerful… but my God, don’t be so terribly outraged, my Fräulein; so far, everything’s in order…
So a terrible blow whistled onto the body of the unfortunate man. He jumped up, bared his teeth, and lay down again.
The surrounding farmhands burst into loud laughter, in bright joy: The farmhand did well! Yes, he has the strength of a Goliath!
Another blow, then two, three, four, five…
I screamed, I raged in my hiding place. I scratched the ground with my fingers. I stuffed my ears full of dirt so I wouldn’t hear. Yes, yes, as a child, you’re so foolishly compassionate.
The execution was over. The farmhand rose and fell again; he couldn’t walk. Around him, the human cattle broke into bright laughter.
But the farmhand had incredible willpower; he rose anyway and dragged himself out of the yard.
My father was satisfied and sat down to breakfast. I remember, he ate a lot and well. I wanted to jump on him like a wildcat, tear him apart. But understandably, I didn’t.
That night, our farm burned at all four corners. I jumped out of bed and rejoiced over it as I never rejoiced in my life. Now my father was punished!
The stable doors were torn open, the cattle were brought out…
At that moment, my mother entered the room, and the dream ended.”
Marit was completely shaken.
“Did that really happen like that, or was it all just a dream?”
“Well, that’s irrelevant. The interesting thing is only the work of the sleeping individual consciousness. In the moment when my mother opened the door, the non-sleeping consciousness unrolled the whole memory with incredible speed. There’s nothing remarkable about that, by the way. Hippolyte Taine tells of a man who, during a faint that lasted only two seconds, lived through a life of fifty years.”
Marit couldn’t understand that.
“It’s not necessary for you to understand it either. *Rassurez-vous*: I don’t understand it either… Now other impressions joined the original memory, and all that wove itself into a dream.”
Marit wasn’t satisfied; Falk should explain it more closely.
“No, Fräulein Marit, you won’t get any wiser from it. You just have to admit that the soul is something entirely different from what it reflected in the crude, uneducated brains of the Church Fathers. Just listen further.
Yes, for example, the fact that the farmhand’s body writhed and jerked in my dream probably came from another impression. You know I studied natural sciences? Yes, back then I worked in the physiological laboratory and vivisected a ton of frogs and rabbits. I had to do it, and I always anesthetized the animals. But once I took a live frog, nailed it to a board, and opened the chest and abdominal cavity. The frog jerked so violently that it slid up the nails to the nail heads. Then I cut out its heart—”
“You don’t want to hear that? Well, let’s talk about something else. Am I cruel? No, absolutely not. But it would be foolish to project human pain consciousness onto an animal psyche, or to measure my feelings with the pain scale of crude farmhands who watched the inhuman execution of one of their brothers with heartfelt joy.”
Now both were silent.
They came to a small grove that sloped down to the lake.
It was hot, and across in the forest, noon shimmered and quivered. Everything blurred in the sucking heat. The lake lay limp and still; a oppressive calm lay over the whole area.
“Wouldn’t she like to sit down a bit? He absolutely wouldn’t bother her. He’d sit at a respectable distance.”
He lay long in the moss; she sat three steps away on a stone, nervously playing with her parasol.
Suddenly, he sat up.
“Why do you actually go to church? Don’t you have enough pride not to go where all the rabble goes, where it smells bad and the lust for happiness reveals itself so openly and shamelessly in prayers to the Almighty Lord?”
Marit thought of how once she had fainted from the bad smell and sweat of all those people, how they carried her to the sacristy and a disgusting man ripped open her corset there so she could come to—oh, how abominable that was! But she stayed silent.
“Don’t you understand that there’s something deeply coarsening in that?”
“No, she didn’t understand that, and didn’t want to. Religion was her only happiness, her only refuge.”
“Oh so…” Falk drawled… “Very good, very good.”
Falk seemed terribly tired. He lay back down long in the moss and closed his eyes.
Shadows of the bushes played on his face; there was a line of strange suffering.
Marit thought.
He was a terrible man. The image of the sweat-smelling church grew stronger and stronger in her. A disgust overcame her that grew and grew. She didn’t understand. Was he right? Yes, and then the eternal mumbling of prayers! She didn’t dare think further. God, God, what would he make of her!
The line of suffering on Falk’s face grew clearer and clearer. Now she wanted to throw herself on his heart and smooth the horrible fold of suffering with her hand.
How she wanted to see him happy, so happy, so happy… Tears trembled in Marit’s eyes.
“My God, Falk!…” but she got no further. Falk sat up, astonished.
She looked ashamed at the ground and struggled with her tears; one rolled down after another.
Falk moved closer to her.
She seemed about to stand up suddenly.
“No, for God’s sake, she needn’t be afraid of him; absolutely not. If he wanted something, it had to be given to him voluntarily and with joy. No, he took nothing himself. No, no, he had not the slightest intention of touching her. She could be completely calm.”
He stared at the lake and the shimmering noon heat across in the forest. Marit tried to resume the conversation.
“Why had he actually been so mean to her yesterday?” “Mean? No, what was she saying…”
Falk yawned.
“Mean? Absolutely not; only sad was he. He loved her. He wanted her to live in his spirit, become a part of him. But on the contrary: everything he despised, what he considered low and stupid, that she revered. Everything he wanted to tell her, she couldn’t hear. He, the free one, the master, could of course not calmly watch the woman he loved so unspeakably live in such wretched, lowly slavery. He, who was God and supreme law to himself, would get completely sick if he saw every one of her actions predetermined by some formula…
Yes, that spoils, destroys you for me,” he said excitedly. “You detach yourself completely from my mind. Give alms, and I know without further ado, you do it because it stands in your law book: ‘Be merciful, so that you may enter the kingdom of heaven.’ Visit a sick person, I know again that some formula promises you something beautiful for it. You’re compensated for everything, paid for everything. Don’t you feel the lowness, the meanness of this way of acting? Everything only for the sake of reward; everything for the sake of the ridiculous, imagined joys you expect in the kingdom of heaven. Disgusting!”
Marit grew completely pale. Falk flew into a rage.
“Do something because you must, not because you should! Throw away what doesn’t please you! Be yourself, only you, you, the splendid, wonderful Marit… Yes, yes, yes! Forever yes! You say you love me, and a stupid formula is enough to break your most splendid, mightiest instincts. And afterward, you pray ten rosaries to the Virgin Mary that she saved your soul from the claws of evil. That should be love? That? That love that can be broken by a stupid formula?”
Falk laughed with wild scorn.
Marit sat mute, trembling in all her limbs.
“Yes, answer me then! That should be love? Answer then, what you understand by love!”
Marit was silent.
“Marit, answer me! I don’t want to torment you, no. I love you to madness. I’m sick for you! Yes, I know you love me, yes. I know it; nothing do I know more surely…”
Falk moved quite close to her; he embraced her.
“No, for God’s sake! Falk, Erik, no. Don’t torment me so terribly!”
“Ah pardon! A thousand pardons. Yes, yes, I forgot myself again. God yes, it’s indifferent anyway. It shall never happen again… Shall we go?”
Falk yawned affectedly.
Marit walked at his side, torn by pain. She struggled in vain to master it.
“Yes, yes; everything is completely indifferent,” she repeated in her thoughts.
“Now goodbye!” Falk extended his hand. They had reached the garden gate.
Marit flinched.
He mustn’t leave, it screamed in her; for heaven’s sake, not leave! She grabbed his hand.
“You’re not leaving, Falk? No? You mustn’t leave! Do what you want, but don’t leave.”
Her lips trembled; she could no longer control herself. “Don’t leave! You’ll make me unhappy otherwise!” Her voice broke.
Falk looked at her coldly and harshly.
“Yes, I don’t know that. That depends on circumstances. In any case, you’ll hear from me before I leave.”
He said a short goodbye and went.
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