Homo Sapiens: In the Maelstrom by Stanislaw Przybyszewski and translated by Joe E Bandel
XV.
Falk pressed himself even tighter against the wall. He sat on the sofa. The room was completely dark. Fear seized him: he heard voices in the corridor. He listened.
“The gracious lady left with the boy today. The gentleman has been sitting in his room all day. He is probably sick. He wants nothing to eat, and does not answer.”
He heard knocking again.
He did not move. But then he saw the door being opened, a broad strip of light fell into the room, then it became dark again. The door closed.
“Falk!” he heard Olga call. “Pst—quiet, quiet!”
“Where are you?” “Here.”
She groped her way to him.
“What are you doing?” she asked frightened. “Someone died.”
“Who?”
“She, she… Just sit here… here…” “What do you have in your hand?” she asked.
“A letter from her. She is gone. Never coming back. So she is dead.”
They sat very long and held each other’s hands.
The mysterious silence, the darkness confused her head. “Are you mad?” she asked anxiously and softly.
“Now it is over, but I was.” They were silent again very long.
“It is good that you came. I would have gone mad today.” He breathed relieved.
“And now what?”
He did not answer. She did not dare to ask further.
After a long time she wanted to ask him again, then she noticed that he was sleeping.
She did not dare to move, for fear of waking him. Even in sleep he held her hand tight.
So an endless time passed. Suddenly he sat up.
“I will perhaps go to Czerski. Will you come with?” “Yes.”
“Vive l’humanité,” he giggled softly and cheerfully.
The End
Kongsvinger (Norway).
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