Anarchistbanjo's World

Madame Bluebeard by Karl Hans Strobl and translated by Joe E Bandel

Eighth Chapter
On Saturday, Frau Helmina had business in
Vienna. A ball gown needed discussion with the
seamstress—a poem of silk, tulle, and lace, a riot of
color and light. In Krems, women’s eyes would pop
with envy. In Vienna, Helmina would hold her own
among the most beautiful and elegant.
Ruprecht couldn’t join her. He’d scheduled an
afternoon meeting with his stewards, who no longer
dared resist. He noted with satisfaction that he’d
trained them to obey, acknowledging his insight and
expertise. He’d reined them in, swiftly dismissing
two or three defiant outliers on distant tenant farms
who’d acted like petty vassal lords.
He was the master, not merely his wife’s husband.
They’d realized he was a selfless steward,
unswayed by personal gain, his work a necessity, an
essential expression of robust vitality.
That evening, after the children were abed, he sat
with a half-bottle of wine from Helmina’s vineyard
and a book on Indian philosophy. Jana crouched in a
corner by a bronze Buddha, as still as the statue,
gazing unblinkingly at his master. Ruprecht had
allowed the Malay to linger in the Indian room
sometimes, understanding the homesickness that
drove his request. Jana could sit motionless for hours,
undisturbed by Ruprecht.
Near eleven, Ruprecht rose to sleep. The Vedanta
philosophy yielded to fatigue.
Jana stood too. “Master,” he said, “will you not
sail again to the lands of the rising sun?”
“I don’t know, Jana,” Ruprecht replied, yawning
heartily. “You long for home.”
“It is not good here!”
“Homesick, Jana?”
“It is not good for you here, either.”
Too tired to dwell on Jana’s words, Ruprecht
glanced at him briefly. The Malay stood bronze-like,
unmoving in the lamp’s glow.
With heavy steps, Ruprecht entered the bedroom,
Jana trailing to the threshold, where Lorenz took
over. The room was warm, cozy. The old-fashioned
stove in the corner glowed. Seeing the heavy snow
blanketing the courtyard and roofs, one could be
content with the warmth.
Lorenz lit the electric lamp on the nightstand—a
relic of Dankwardt’s time, powered by the paper
factory’s current. From all accounts, Dankwardt must
have been a man of deep knowledge and goodwill.
Why hadn’t Helmina gotten along with him? She was
difficult, prone to rebellion, true, but a bridge could
always be found.
Ruprecht began undressing, dismissing Lorenz.
Too weary to read in bed, as was his habit, he
glanced at the silent bed to his left. Helmina won’t
return until morning. She wasn’t finished and must
stay in Vienna. Predictable. The first night she
wouldn’t sleep beside him.
He switched off the light and lay on his right side,
seeing a few large stars against the deep black sky.
A wildness and cruelty lurk deep within her, he
thought. She’s a beautiful, dangerous beast, and I
love her. I miss her… I feel it. What do I truly know
of her? I barely know her at all. I doubt she’s shown
me all she is and can be. Well, I have time to learn
her thoroughly…
Sleep came.
There’s a sleep that grows ever deeper, heavier,
feeling like a blanket, a stone, a tomb. You sense its
danger, struggle to break free, but it holds fast.
Rock walls loomed, down which he slid. At first,
it was like snowshoeing, then a fall—plunging into
dark, bottomless depths. Something waited below.
Horror crouched in the gloom—a polyp with a
hundred slimy tentacles, thick blue snakes, red
suckers swelling. Two glowing eyes stared. He fell
through endless chasms… a buzzing, humming in his
head, a roaring, howling… a tempest tore through his
brain, raging fiercer. His skull swelled, ready to
burst… faces flew upward on the rock walls—
Hanuman, the monkey king, a throng of bayadères in
fluttering robes, a tiger’s head with Helmina’s eyes…
a long blue snake slithered, tonguing upward… one
of the polyp’s tentacles, lurking below… his head
thundered, stormed…
Ruprecht kept falling… the wall’s grimaces
blurred, a gray veil sweeping over them.
A jolt, a painful wrench, halted the fall…
something cold draped his head… his arms—yes, he
had arms, forgotten—were pulled forward, thrust
back. Something cool pierced his chest… a thing
pounded, rapid and fierce, like a shaken clock…
Ruprecht opened his eyes.
The light burned on the marble nightstand. Jana
was there. A wet cloth lay on his head; Jana tugged
his arms, pulling and pushing. All windows were
open, cold snowy air flooding the room—but a foul
smell lingered… like…
His head buzzed as if hammered, like that Andean
fall years ago.
He tried to speak. His tongue was leaden. Jana
offered a glass of water. Now he could stammer,
“What… is… it?”
“Master, you were over there,” Jana said gravely.
“I didn’t think you’d return.”
“Over there?” In India, Jana’s home? No… he’d
gone to bed here. This bed! Helmina was in Vienna.
That strange smell… like… coal… carbon…
monoxide…
Ruprecht spelled the word mentally, his right
forefinger tracing the “y”’s flourish on the blanket.
He looked at Jana. “Jana… I was over there?”
“Yes, Master,” the Malay nodded.
“So… so…” His head throbbed, a lorry rumbling
over a bridge. “Yes… well, good! Fetch the aspirin
tube from the cabinet… bottom right. And… how did
you know? That I was… on my way over there?”
Ruprecht took the glass and aspirin from Jana’s
trembling hand—his head a machine shop of
whirring flywheels—and swallowed.
Jana leaned close, whispering in Ruprecht’s ear. “I
saw the other one enter your bedroom, Master! He
moved softly, unseen. What’s Lorenz doing in your
bedroom at night?”
“He might’ve forgotten something, Jana.”
“I thought so too, Master, and went to bed. But it
nagged me. We split into parts, Master. My body lay
in bed; my spirit stayed here, searching. It urged me
to check. I found the room full of smoke and evil
smell. The stove breathed poison. I flung the
windows open…”
“The stove’s damper was closed?”
“Yes, Master, the stove full of embers, exhaling
death.”
“You long to leave here, Jana?”
“Yes, Master!” Jana’s gaze was a dog’s, awaiting
his master’s verdict. “You see, it’s no good place.”
Ruprecht thought, propping his head on his arm.
“You mustn’t tell a soul you saw Lorenz.”
“It is done, Master.”
“Pour me a cognac, then you can go, Jana.”
A faint glass clink sounded above Ruprecht’s
head. Soft steps approached. Cognac’s rich amber
gleamed from brown fingers. “I’ll watch over you
tonight, Master.”
“What’s gotten into you, Jana!” Ruprecht tried to
laugh, but it hurt his head. His stomach churned, too.
This cognac might settle it. “Go back to sleep…
leave the windows open. I won’t freeze after escaping
suffocation.”
“Master, lock your door.”
“Nonsense… no such coincidence twice in one
night… go on…”
Jana left but crouched outside the door on the cold
corridor tiles, head on his drawn-up knees, keeping
vigil until morning.
Ruprecht slept late. Awakening near noon, he
stood, swaying. He paced the room unsteadily; his
head and stomach still ached. The poison’s effects
lingered.
Lorenz appeared, face etched with sorrow and
humility. “I don’t know how it happened, gracious
sir.”
“You must be more careful, Lorenz, or I’ll have to
dismiss you,” Ruprecht said calmly.
The matter was settled. Lorenz turned. In the
mirror, where Ruprecht watched, his contrite
expression didn’t shift. He truly looked like a servant
wracked with self-reproach.
My most intriguing adventure, Ruprecht thought.
Let’s see where it leads.
When Helmina arrived around midday, Lorenz,
taking her fur coat in the hall, whispered the night’s
events in her ear. Then, loudly, for all to hear, he
added, “Last night, a great misfortune nearly struck.
The gracious master almost suffocated in coal
fumes.”
Helmina rushed upstairs. Ruprecht sat with the
children in the bay room, playing Wilhelm Tell. The
valiant archer was shooting the apple from his son’s
head. The paper Gessler looked so fearsome that
Nelly couldn’t bear to watch. Her affection went to
beautiful Bertha in her green riding dress and kindly
young Ulrich. Papa had promised to keep them safe.
“How could this happen?” Helmina cried. “How
did it occur? Is it true? I might’ve found you dead?”
Ruprecht looked up. Helmina seemed distraught.
No surprise—a wife learning her husband nearly
suffocated would be. Yet was there a touch too
much—a slight excess beyond her usual cold control?
“Oh, it’s nothing,” he said, smiling. “That’s the
main thing. I’m glad I didn’t have to leave you so
soon after our marriage.”
“How could such a thing happen?” Helmina
repeated, agitated. “How do you feel now?”
“You see—well enough to play Wilhelm Tell with
Nelly and Lissy. I’ve hung up work for today…”
“As long as you’re unharmed,” Helmina said,
breathing calmer. Ruprecht recounted how Jana,
passing the bedroom by chance, smelled the carbon
monoxide and saved him. Helmina listened intently,
studying him. His face was gaunt, pale, his eyes wide
with dilated pupils, as if dosed with atropine. It
must’ve cut close to his life’s core. A bit deeper,
closer—
She stopped herself, feeling his gaze probe her
thoughts. The children sat timidly, grasping little but
enough to know they’d nearly lost Papa. Nelly
climbed onto Ruprecht’s knee, wrapping her arms
around his neck.
Ruprecht swiftly shifted to Helmina’s Vienna trip
and gown matters. His gesture dismissed the accident
as trivial, signaling a change of topic.
He truly knows no fear, Helmina thought. He’s the
first to match me. I should have time to wrestle with
him.