Homo Sapiens: In the Maelstrom by Stanislaw Przybyszewski and translated by Joe E Bandel
“Well, tell then.”
“No, no, that is terribly boring.”
Falk began to sink back into a dull brooding. Geißler looked at him astonished.
“Is something wrong with you?”
“Actually nothing, I only overcame a heavy fever attack.”
“Yes, thunder! Geißler suddenly cracked his fingers—what do you say to Grodzki?”
“Grodzki?” A violent fright shot through Falk’s limbs. “Well yes, he shot himself after all.”
“Shot?” asked Falk mechanically.
“That is a phenomenal city talk. He abducted a painter’s wife, suddenly came back, and shot himself.”
“The wife of a painter?”
“Yes. The poor fellow went mad. But this Grodzki! they say he shot himself out of fear.”
“Out of fear?” Falk came into an indescribable confusion. Out of fear?
“They say he stood shortly before a monster trial. A kind of sensational case like that of Wilde.”
Falk laughed.
“So that is why people shoot themselves. Ha, ha, ha, and I believed that their will was so strong to command over life,
ha, ha, ha…”
“They only say it so, perhaps it is only a gossip story… I don’t believe it. Was after all a phenomenal talented person. Well, you know him best. By the way, your name is often mentioned now.”
“Mine?”
“Yes, they want to bring you in connection with Grodzki.” Falk became distracted.
“Do they want that? Strange…” Geißler looked at Falk attentively.
“The illness has weakened you very much, what? You must take care of yourself… But how is Isa?”
Falk started.
“You loved her very much, didn’t you?” “To mental idiocy.”
“And so it passed?”
“Well, well; it is not quite passed.” “Not?”
Falk felt a wild joy.
“You seem to rejoice over it.”
“I arrange the affairs,” said Falk with a sudden, overbearing mood.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, if something should happen to me…”
“Don’t speak nonsense. You are sick. Should stay in bed.”
“Yes, yes, you are right.” He stood up. “You will come to us soon,” he said distractedly.
“Yes, naturally.”
When Falk stepped into the hallway, he suddenly remembered that he should speak with Geißler about the trip. But he now suddenly knew quite surely that he would not travel.
When he came to the street, he began to think about farewell visits… When one is to travel, one must make farewell visits, he thought profoundly.
The thought of the trip took possession of his brain again. But he did not want to think further about it. He suddenly felt that he would have to draw a host of conclusions from this fact, thus e.g. go up to Geißler again and such things once more, which would infallibly destroy his whole strength. He now wanted to be free from all thoughts.
And now: to Olga.
The last thought excited him again.
Where did the decision suddenly come from? So without any preparation, without any thinking? A miracle, a great miracle! Consequently will is a phenomenon? No, my you is a phenomenon.
Then he wondered that the idea of a Chinese theater had suddenly mixed into his thoughts: An actor stands on the stage, makes a foot movement and says to the audience: Now I ride… He, he, he…
His brain came into motion again. Grodzki appeared to him again.
“That is very risky after all, to commit suicide! This disgusting sniffing after the reasons…”
Meanwhile he came before Olga’s house. The eternally open restaurant had something irritating. He remembered that already as a boy the eternal lamp in the church irritated him. Ridiculous that it was never allowed to go out. Is Olga perhaps the holy Vestal who has to guard the eternal fire in the pub? Well, well, Falk… You become a little tasteless and banal…
He stepped onto the stairs, put on his gloves and adjusted his tie.
He knocked.
In Olga’s room Kunicki sat in shirt sleeves on the sofa, the coat lay over a chair back.
He shot the Russian in a duel, it shot through Falk’s brain like lightning, at the same time he remembered what was said about Grodzki’s death, and in the next thousandth of a second a decision shot up in him.
“You are hot again, dear Kunicki, as usual, as usual.”
Falk laughed with malicious friendliness. Kunicki looked at him darkly.
“Well, dear Kunicki, you look as if you wanted to introduce social harmony in the next two days.”
Falk laughed even more friendly and pressed both Olga’s hands. He looked at her beaming.
“See, see, how beautiful you look!”
“Don’t babble! I have very unpleasant things here with Kunicki. He is furious that we sent Czerski on agitation.”
“Perhaps Herr Kunicki wanted to travel?” Falk looked at him with most obliging smile. “That is a noble competition.”
Kunicki threw Falk a furious, hostile look and said excitedly:
“Your ridiculous pinpricks don’t concern me at all. But here it is about the thing. You know as well as I that Czerski is an anarchist.”
“No one knows it better than I. I spoke very long and broad with him about it.”
“So much the worse for you. You cannot take it ill if I open the committee’s eyes about you.”
“I care the devil about your committee,” Falk flared up. He fell completely out of his role. “I do what I want.”
“But we, we do not allow you that,” Kunicki cried furiously. “You destroy through Czerski our whole three-year work. You only aim to destroy our work.”
“Your work, your work?!” Falk laughed scornfully. “Have you quite forgotten what you accomplished with your work. He, he, a year and a half ago you developed a beautiful plan to me, from which it was evident that you would eliminate within two months all difficulties that stood in the way of a general strike of the mine workers. I gave the money for it, although I naturally did not believe in your dreams… But you interested me then. I needed a person who could convince me that mighty mass suggestions are still possible… You were to show me the microscopic art piece of a new crusade, only with a changed motto: l’estomac le veult… Ha, ha, ha… Interesting enough it was to see whether people still let themselves be carried away… I believed that you might be capable of it. But after a week you came back with nothing done, I even believe with considerable bodily injuries…”
“You lie,” Kunicki cried furiously, but controlled himself immediately. “You want to make me appear ridiculous. You can do that if it gives you pleasure. I gladly forgive you your childishness and in you it is doubly comical… he, he… aristocratic-aesthetic Nietzschean longing for power and greatness…”
Kunicki choked on the deliberate, insulting mocking laughter.
“Yes, yes, please, please, if it only gives you pleasure…” Falk looked at him maliciously. “No, dear Kunicki, I did not want to insult you, and I want it all the less as I see how strongly the unhappy, not to say comical role you played chokes you.”
“You are mistaken,” said Kunicki. Falk reveled in the effort Kunicki had to control himself… “I do not understand your intentions, but if you believe that a person like you can insult me…”
Falk laughed long and very heartily. “Ha, ha, ha, I understand very well that I cannot insult a person like you. That was only a little phrased in relation to the effort you have not to feel insulted… But let us come back to Czerski. Yes, see, I do not believe in social democratic salvation. I also do not believe that a party that has money in abundance, a party that founds sickness and provision funds, can accomplish anything… I also do not believe that a party that thinks of a comfortable rational solution of the social question can come into serious consideration at all.
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