Alraune by Hanns Heinz Ewers and translated by Joe E Bandel
Frank Braun said, “Uncle, I’m going down. Do it–For the first time in you life do it–what I ask of you–I know how it seems–and I will never go against you again. What do you want me to do?–Should I grovel even more before you?–Come, let this be enough–Give me the money.” Then the Privy Councilor spoke, “I will make you a proposition, nephew. Do you promise to listen quietly? To not bluster and roar again like you always do?” He said firmly, “Yes, Uncle Jakob.” “Then listen–You shall have the money that you need to get you out of trouble. If you need more, we will have to talk a little about the amount later. But I need you–need you here at home. I will have it arranged for you to be placed there under house arrest for the duration of your sentence–” “Why not?” Frank Braun answered. “It doesn’t matter to me if I am here or there. How long will you need me?” “Around a year, not quite that long,” answered the professor. “I agree,” said the attorney. “What do I need to do?” “Oh not much,” replied the old man. “Just a little employment that you are already accustomed to and very good at! You see, my boy,” the Privy Councilor continued. “I need a little help with this girl that you have arranged for me. You are entirely correct. She will run away from us, will become unspeakably bored during her pregnancy and certainly try to abort the child. I want you to watch over her and protect our interests, prevent her from doing any of these things. Naturally it is a lot easier to do in a prison or workhouse where guards can continually watch. But unfortunately we are not equipped for that. I can’t lock her up in the terrarium with the frogs or in a cage like the monkeys or guinea pigs can I?” “Certainly not, uncle.” the attorney said. “You must find some other way.” The old man nodded, “I have found another way. We need someone that will keep her contented right where she is. Now it appears to me that Dr. Petersen is completely unsuitable to hold her interest for a long time. He could scarcely satisfy her for one night. But it needs to be a man. I was thinking about you–” Frank Braun pressed the chair arms as if he would break them. He breathed deeply. “Of me–” he repeated. “Yes, of you,” the Privy Councilor continued. “It is one of the little things that I need you for. You can keep her from running away, tell her some new nonsense. Put your fantasies to some useful purpose and in the absence of her prince, she can fall in love with you. You will be able to satisfy her sensual and sexual requirements. If you are not enough for her, I’m sure you certainly have friends and acquaintances enough that would be glad to spend a few hours with such a beautiful creature.” The attorney gasped, his voice rang hot. “Uncle,” he spoke. “Do you know what you are asking? You want me to be the lover of this prostitute while she is carrying the murderer’s child? I should entertain her and find new lovers for her every day? Be her pimp–” “Certainly,” the professor interrupted him quietly. “I know very well what I’m doing. It appears to be the only thing in the world that you are very good at, my boy.” He didn’t answer, felt this stroke, felt his cheeks become bright red, his temples glow hot. He felt the blows like long stripes from a riding whip cutting across his face and he understood quite well that his uncle was having his revenge. The Privy Councilor knew it too, a satisfied grin spread across his drooping features. “You can be grateful boy,” he said slowly. “We don’t need to deceive each other, you and I. We can say things the way they really are. I will hire you as a pimp for this prostitute.” Frank Braun felt as if he was lying on the floor helpless, completely unarmed, miserably naked and could not move while the old man stepped on him with his dirty feet and spit into his gaping wounds with his poisonous spittle–He could not find a word to speak. Somehow he staggered dizzily down the stairs and out into the street where he stood staring into the bright morning sun. He scarcely knew that he left, felt like he had been mugged, dropped by a frightful blow to the head and left lying in the gutter. He scarcely knew who he was any more, wandering through the streets for what seemed like centuries until he stood in front of an advertisement pillar. He read the words on the poster but only saw the words without understanding them. Then he found himself at the train station, went to the counter and asked for a ticket. “To where?” the attendant asked. “To where?–Yes–to where?” He was amazed to hear his own voice say, “Coblenz.” He searched in all his pockets for money. “Third Class,” he cried. He had enough for that. He climbed up the steps to the platform. That was when he first realized that he was without a hat–He sat down on a bench and waited. Then he saw her carried in on a stretcher, saw Dr. Petersen come in behind her. He didn’t move from his place, it felt as if it had absolutely nothing at all to do with him. He saw the train arrive, watched how the doctor opened a cabin in First Class and how the bearers carefully placed their burden inside. Then in back, at the end of the train, he climbed inside. He clenched his jawbone as hysterical laugher convulsed him. It is so appropriate–he thought. Third class– This is good enough for the menial–for the pimp. Then he forgot again as he sat on the hard bench pressed tightly into his corner and stared down at the floorboards. The gloomy fog would not leave his head. He heard the names of the stations called one after another and it seemed to him as if they were like sparks flowing through a telegraph wire. At other times it seemed like an eternity between one station and another. In Cologne he had to get out and change trains. He needed to wait for the one going to the Rhine. But it was no interruption; he scarcely noticed the difference, whether he was sitting on a hard bench there or in the train. Then he was in Coblenz, climbed out and again wandered through the streets. Night was falling when it finally occurred to him that he needed to get back to the fortress. He went over the bridge, climbed up the rocks in the dark and followed the narrow footpath of the prisoners through the underbrush. Suddenly he was up above, in the officer’s courtyard, then in his room sitting on his bed. Someone came down the hall and stepped into the room, candle in hand. It was the strong marine medic, Dr. Klaverjahn. “Well hello,” he cried in the doorway. “The Sergeant-major was right. Back so soon brother? Then come on down the hall. The cavalry captain has a game going.” Frank Braun didn’t move, scarcely heard what the other was saying. The doctor grabbed his shoulder and shook it heartily. “Don’t just sit there like a log. Come on!” Frank Braun sprang up swinging something else high as well. It was the chair that he had grabbed. He moved a step closer, “Get out.” he hissed, “Get out, you scoundrel!” Dr. Klaverjahn looked at him standing there in front of him. He looked into the pale, distorted face, the intent threatening eyes. It awoke the medical professional that was still in him and he recognized the condition instantly. “So that’s how it is,” he said quietly–“Please excuse me.”– Then he left. Frank Braun stood for awhile with the chair in his hand. A cold laugh hung on his lips but he was thinking of nothing, nothing at all. He heard a knock at the door, heard it like it was far off in the distance. When he looked up–the little ensign was standing in front of him. “You are back again, what happened?” he asked and startled a bit when the other didn’t answer. Then he ran out and came back with a glass and a bottle of Bordeaux. “Drink, it will be good for you.” Frank Braun drank. He felt how the wine made his pulse race, felt how his legs trembled, threatening to buckle underneath him. He let himself fall heavily onto the bed. The ensign supported him. “Drink,” he urged. But Frank Braun waved him away. “No, no,” he whispered. “It will make me drunk.” He laughed weakly, “I don’t think I’ve had anything to eat today–” A noise rang out from down the hall, loud laughing and yelling. “What’s going on?” he asked indifferently. The ensign answered, “They are playing. Two new ones came in yesterday.” Then he reached into his pocket, “By the way, this came for you this evening. It’s a money dispatch for a hundred Marks. Here.” Frank Braun took the paper, but had to read it twice before he finally understood what it said. His uncle had sent him a hundred Marks and wrote along with it: “Please consider this as an advance.” He sprang up with a bound. The fog rose as a red mist in front of his eyes–Advance! Advance? Oh, for that job the old man wanted him for–for that! The ensign held the money out to him, “Here’s the money.” He took it and it burned the tips of his fingers and this pain that he felt as a physical pain almost did him in completely. He shut his eyes, letting the scorching fire in his fingers climb into his hands and up into his arms. He felt this final insult burn deeply down into his bones. “Bring me–” he cried. “Bring me some wine!” Then he drank and drank. It seemed to him that the dark wine extinguished the sizzling fire. “What are they playing?” he asked, “Baccarat?” “No,” said the ensign. “They are playing dice, Lucky Seven.” Frank Braun took his arm, “Come on. Let’s go.” They stepped into the casino. “Here I am!” he cried. “One hundred Marks on the eight” and he threw his money on the table. The cavalry captain shook the cup. It was a six–
Homo Sapiens: In the Maelstrom by Stanislaw Przybyszewski and translated by Joe E Bandel
IV.
Falk entered his study, sat down at the desk, propped his head in both hands and groaned loudly.
All the calm he had so laboriously maintained with Isa was gone and again he felt the throbbing and drilling of his torment. The unrest coiled like a pointed sharp funnel into his spinal cord, a feeling as if he must now fall apart, grew foaming up in him; he jumped up, sat down again, he knew no way out.
It seemed to him as if everything around him must now collapse, break down, sink in; he felt an orgy of destruction and downfall ecstasy around him.
And the sultry heat of the summer night crushed him, spread stiflingly in his lungs, he became so sensitive that he could hardly breathe.
He tore open the window and almost recoiled in horror.
The sky! The sky! He had never seen it like that. It was as if he had suddenly perceived the astronomical distance. He saw the stars as if they had been moved a million times further away, larger, fierier, like huge, gangrenous burn spots. And the sky seemed so terribly alive to him… Sweat broke out on his forehead, and he felt his eyes painfully bulge.
Then he pulled himself together again.
And in a moment his whole life crashed down on him with visionary clarity. One period unrolled after another with raging speed. All the terrible, horrific of his life: one downfall after another, one destruction after another… He had seen his life like this only once, yes, back then when he destroyed the poor child, this dove-soul of Marit… ugh, Marit, that was the most hideous. This pointless destruction, this murder…
He suddenly came to consciousness and laughed maliciously.
To the devil! Am I going senile? What does a murder concern me that nature commits? Ha, ha, ha… That she had the kindness to use my humble self as a murder instrument by chance, for that I should now suffer!? No! no! that won’t do.
He got heated.
Esteemed and by me especially highly valued audience—by the way, I wouldn’t mind spitting on all your heads, but I may only do that in parentheses—God how tasteful! So incredibly highly honored audience: I teach you a new trick, an extremely useful trick… It is an unmasking, a disavowal, a new testament, a new salvation… In the beginning was the cunning, malicious, devilish nature… You have been told she is mighty, unconcerned, cold and proud, she is neither good nor bad, she is neither dirt nor gold… Lie, esteemed audience, infamous, ridiculous lie! Nature is malicious, refinedly malicious, lying, insidious… that is nature! He, he, he… Naturally the esteemed audience opens its chewing tools as if a four-horse hay wagon should drive in… A slick smart aleck is nature, a malicious, villainous devil… What am I? Do you know? Does he know? Naturally! The individualists, the clever people who throw out their chests and shout: I am I! Oh, they know… the individualists!
Falk laughed scornfully.
I am nothing, I know nothing either! Oh! it is terrible! Terrible it is! Isn’t it, Isa? You are the only one who can appreciate the terrible… I see my movements combine into actions, I hear myself speak, I feel certain processes in the sexual organs, and an act is accomplished! What happened? A misfortune happened! Hi, hi, hi, do you hear the devil grin? Who did it? I?! I?! Who am I? What am I?
He fell into a despair fever.
I didn’t do it! My God, how can I prevent something that was… that was prepared in me long ago and only waited for an opportunity to break out and bury everything under its lava! Did I know anything about it? Can I prevent a glance sinking into my soul and calling forth forces there, forces of whose existence I had no idea? And for that, that something unknown in me instigated a misfortune, I should atone, for that I should be tortured by my conscience?
Dear nature, try your malicious, insidious tricks on other people; I know your tricks and wiles too well—no! to torment me, you will never succeed—never!
He poured himself a large glass of cognac and emptied it in one gulp.
How wonderfully He had figured out the thing! He will go to my Isa and simply say: Gracious lady, your husband is a scoundrel, he has with a foreign woman given the impetus to a new genealogical line, to an illegitimate Falk line. You, gracious lady, will naturally divorce him so that your husband can marry the girl, whereby both lines attain a genealogical unity. Ha, ha, ha…
But, dear Czerski, I have no intention of having two legitimate lines.
Well, then I will tell your wife anyway, for I want to free you from the lie, I am a Tolstoy, a Björnstjerne-Björnson, I fight for truth…
But, dear Czerski, don’t you understand that the two gentlemen are senile philosophers, don’t you understand that truth becomes an idiotic lie as soon as it destroys people? Don’t you understand that it would be infinite happiness for me to go to Isa and tell her everything, don’t you understand that this lie causes me infinite torment, but truth would cause me a thousand times greater, and besides destroy Isa? Don’t you understand that truth in this case would be an idiocy, a nonsense, a disgusting cruelty?
These narrow brains naturally don’t understand that. And the disaster will come. Isa? Yes, Isa will go. That is certain. She will simply disappear… no, she will still shake my hand in farewell, no—perhaps not, because I have soiled her with the other. Yes, that’s exactly how she will say it… But what then, what then?
He racked his brain as if he had to necessarily find the philosopher’s stone.
His knees had grown weak, he fell exhausted onto the sofa.
It was undoubted. The Other in him had ruined him. He felt endlessly slackened, weak and powerless:
The power of circumstances has destroyed the knowing Herr Falk, precisely because he was knowing. But when Herr Falk goes under, it is quite different from when, for example, little Marit throws herself into the water because she didn’t want to become mother of a Falk side line. It is thought crudely, very crudely, but this crudeness hurts, and that is a pleasure… But yes, when Falk goes under, he can control it, follow the collapse from stage to stage, note, register…
He, he, he… he had now thoroughly unmasked nature. He had also completely overcome conscience…
Do you want to know why, you truth-fanatics? Just open your ears well so you can at least somewhat survey the unspeakable extent of your stupidity… Just listen to my reasons, the reasons of the knowing one who has unmasked nature.
Nature destroys. Good, very good! To destroy, she uses various means, namely first the so-called forces of nature. In this category fall her moods in the form of lightning, storms, water and wind spouts etc., etc.
Second, she has chosen the bacilli as an outstandingly effective murder tool, a splendid and unbelievably villainous invention…
Third, no! no third! I am no classifier, I am philosopher, consequently I skip a cute number of the cutest murder and torture tools against whose most convulsive inventiveness the Inquisition must appear tame and pleasing to God, and go immediately to the human…
The human! Just allow me to take a deep breath, refresh my dry throat with cognac and feed my stomach a little nicotine.
So the human! Homo sapiens in Linnaean systematics: a self-acting apparatus equipped with a registration and control clock in the form of the brain!
Wonderful!
Now, please, just listen well. I continue my gospel, my great work of salvation.
Nature was ashamed of her eternal, pointless murders. Nature is lying and cowardly, she wanted to shift the guilt for her pointless murders from herself and gave the human a brain.
Do you know what a brain is? A very bad, discarded, unusable apparatus. Imagine a poorly functioning blood wave recorder. It will of course record the rise and fall of the pulse, but wrong, quite wrong. One will only see from it that a sinking and falling is present, but nothing more. See, in this way the brain also learns that something is happening in the soul, but what? it learns nothing about that.
By Stanislaw Przybyszewski and translated by Joe E Bandel
III.
When Falk came home, Isa sat half-undressed on her bed and read. “Finally you have come!” She came toward him. “Oh, how I have longed for you.”
Falk kissed her and sat in the rocking chair. “Oh, how tired I am!”
“Where were you?”
“I was with Iltis.” “Did you hear anything new?” “No, nothing of importance.” “You are so pale, Erik?”
“I have a little headache.”
Isa sat beside him on a chair, took his head in both hands and kissed him on the forehead.
“You stay away so long now, Erik. It is so unpleasant to sit alone all evening.”
Falk looked at her and smiled.
“I must gradually emancipate myself from you.” “Why?”
“Well, if you should suddenly run away from me…” “Oh, you!” She kissed him even more violently.
Falk stood up, walked thoughtfully up and down the room, then stopped before her and looked at her smiling.
“What are you thinking about so much?” “You are very beautiful, Isa.”
“Didn’t you see it before?”
“Yes, of course. But it is strange that after a four-year marriage I still find you as beautiful as on the first day.”
Isa looked at him happily.
“You, Isa, we have lived very happily together.”
“Oh, I was so happy, and I am so happy, I have such a strong, such a joyful consciousness of happiness… Sometimes I get fear that this great happiness should not last long… But that is naturally ridiculous, such a female superstition… I know that you will always love me, and then I need nothing more, then I can never feel unhappy. Even if you are so nervous now, and stay away whole days, it doesn’t matter… It is actually so beautiful to sit like this and think of our love.”
She was silent for a moment. Falk walked around and looked at her from time to time restlessly.
“And your love is so beautiful, so beautiful… I think so often that I am the first you loved, I also know that no other woman exists for you, and that makes me so proud, you perhaps don’t understand this feeling…”
“Yes, yes, I can imagine it.” She looked at him smiling.
“Isn’t it true, Erik, you have never, since you met me, looked at a woman so…”
“How?”
They both laughed at each other.
“Well so, as I believe it says in the New Testament of the look that can desire more eloquently than words… Ha, ha, the gentlemen of the New Testament were experienced… But why do I ask you, I know it.”
“Are you so sure?”
Falk put on a mysterious expression. “Yes, nothing is so sure for me.”
“Hm, hm… You must have an incredible trust in me.” “Yes, I have, otherwise I couldn’t be so happy.”
Falk looked at her attentively.
“But what would you say if I had betrayed you after all?” She laughed.
“You can’t.”
“But if I had done it?” “No, you haven’t.”
“But let us assume I had done it under quite special circumstances, under circumstances for which no person is responsible.”
She became a little restless and looked at him.
“Strange how you can assume such a thing.” Falk laughed.
“Of course I didn’t do it. But we can take such a case purely psychologically. I thought a lot about it today. It interests me.”
“Well yes.”
“So you see, Isa, I can hate you at times. I have often told you that. I can hate you so intensely that I am completely out of my senses. I hate you because I must love you so, because all my thoughts refer to you, because I cannot go anywhere without having you constantly before my eyes.”
“But that is precisely so beautiful!” She kissed his eyes.
“No, just leave it, Isa. Listen further. I hate you at times and love you simultaneously with such unrest that I can become quite sick from it. I try to get rid of you. It is no happiness to love like that…”
Falk stood up and talked himself more and more violently into it.
“Now you see, one gets such a purely physical longing to forget this unrest, this torment. One longs for a resting pillow… He, he—resting pillow, that’s the right word…” He smiled with a peculiarly crooked grimace. “Now one knows a woman from earlier. A woman who has gone up so in her love that she lives only for this love. One goes to her without thinking anything about it, one goes quite mechanically because one suddenly remembers that the woman must still exist. Yes: she is there and is mad with happiness… Ha, ha, ha… You get such a strange line around your mouth when you listen so tensely, just like little girls in school when they are very attentive. But just listen. Yes, right… Iltis, you know, he understands it. He once said that there is a moment when every woman becomes beautiful. And he is right. Now imagine: the woman becomes quite transfigured, she becomes so new, so strangely beautiful, she has ceased to be herself, something of the eternity of nature’s purpose shines in her…”
Falk suddenly broke off and looked at her searchingly. “Well and?”
“And? Hm, you know what can happen in a person without one being quite conscious of it…”
He stood up again and spoke very seriously:
“The human has gone so little beyond the animal. The little bit of consciousness is only there to constate something that has happened… It can be such a small sensation, such a tiny dot in the soul. One knew nothing of it before, nothing at all. But so this sensation, this tiny, detached sensation wakes. With a jerk it can grow into a huge, maniacal idea… It is perhaps the sensation of a drop of blood, isn’t it? Under some circumstance one can get the longing to see blood, no, not more blood, a sea of blood, a puddle of torn, ripped-apart limbs, God knows what all…”
He suddenly looked at Isa and laughed. “You are probably afraid, Isa?”
“No, no, but you have become so serious, and when you speak, your eyes widen as if you yourself had fear.”
“Fear?… Yes, I have fear of this foreign person in me… But just listen: one sees the woman suddenly in this transfigured beauty. In this moment something like curiosity arises, a burning curiosity, a greed to grasp the woman in her primal ground.”
“And?”
“Yes, one forgets everything, one no longer belongs to oneself. Something works quite spontaneously in the soul, it does everything on its own. One takes the woman. Isn’t it terrible?” he asked suddenly.
“Yes, terrible.”
“What would you now say if something like that had happened to me?”
“No, Erik, don’t speak like that. I don’t want to hear anything about it. I once thought about it…”
Falk looked at her in astonishment.
“When did you think about it?”
“No, no, I didn’t really think. It just suddenly flew through my head once.”
“When, when?”
“When you were with your mother and got sick. You know, just then the girl drowned. But you are so pale and your eyes are getting so big. Strange how big your eyes are.”
Falk looked at her fixedly. “What did you think then?”
“I suddenly got such a painful jerk of fear.” Falk pulled himself together and tried to smile.
“We are telling each other such beautiful horror stories… But what did you think then?”
“I sat beside your bed, I was so tired and fell asleep. When I woke, your eyes were wide open and stared at me quite uncannily.”
“I know nothing of that.”
“No, of course not. I am also not sure if it wasn’t all a dream. But then it shot through my head like a lightning: God, if the girl had gone into the water because of you!”
“What do you mean? She drowned in the bath. How did you get the idea…?”
“I don’t know how I got it, I was so nervous and so overtired, and then your mother told that you were very much together with her.”
Falk became restless.
“Strange what ideas you get.”
“I couldn’t get rid of these thoughts. I suffered so terribly because I knew that I would then have to leave you immediately, at once. Not a second would I then stay with you.”
Falk stared at her:
“It became infinitely clear to me in a moment that you would then go. Wouldn’t you? Immediately…”
“Yes.”
“Yes, yes, one understands such a thing in a second. There was something so uncanny in the way you spoke…”
“What do you mean?”
“Just don’t be so anxious.” Falk smiled. “But it seemed to me as if my fate had spoken.”
“Your fate?”
“Yes, you see, you don’t actually need to say what you mean… Yes, just look: At first you never told me that you loved me, we were still quite strangers, but I heard it in your voice. For you speak quite differently than all other people. Now I have heard it again, I mean, I now know so surely what would then
come. I don’t know where I get this certainty from… But what are we talking about… How is my big son?”
“He was very restless today. Ran and screamed, and when I asked him why he screamed so, he answered: I must, I must!”
“Strange!” Falk walked thoughtfully up and down. “The child is quite remarkably nervous. Yes, he will surely become a genius; all geniuses have hot heads and cold feet… Ha, ha, ha. Probably a small brain part should be cut out for him too… I believe every person has such a part that should be removed, yes, yes—then we would all become like God… But tell me, Isa: such a genius is a strange animal, like me for example. Just look at me: am I not a genius? He, he, he… Now the human race is so degenerated, out of five hundred million there are four hundred ninety-nine cretins and idiots. Shouldn’t a genius then have the obligation to improve the race?”
“By what?”
“Well naturally by begetting as many children as possible with as many women as possible.”
“But you said that the children of geniuses become idiots.” Falk laughed.
“Yes, you have a fabulous memory, but it would be interesting for our Janek to study later on living specimens the qualities that his magnificent Lord Papa had. In the possible hundred children that I could have in the possible hundred places, the hundred lovable qualities that I enjoy would have to be inherited.”
“Now you are babbling, dear Erik.”
Isa slowly undressed and did her hair. “Well good night, Isa. I want to work some more today.”
“Erik, I am afraid. Don’t go yet.”
“Don’t be a child… I only spoke about it because I will perhaps write it. Think of me, then you will forget the fear.”
“Come, kiss me.”
“No, I don’t want to kiss you. You are so confusingly beautiful, and I must work… Good night.”
“Well, let’s just keep this to ourselves for a bit,” Rafe suggested. “Ellen all ready knows enough to make her more alert about things. Let’s see if she finds anything out first before we tell her any more. She could get into trouble over this and we don’t want that to happen.”
Tobal agreed and they turned the conversation to other topics. “I heard you got lucky with your third chevron?”
Rafe snorted and began telling the story. They talked long into the night. Tobal never did get a chance to talk with Ellen and she wasn’t around the gathering spot the next morning when he tried looking for her.
No meditation without Ellen—the quiet hit hard, her absence gnawing at him as he geared up for Sanctuary. He looked around for the girls but they had left already. Judging from their tracks in the snow they were about three hours ahead of him. He didn’t really care since he had a lot on his mind and wondered what Ellen wanted to talk to him about.
Tobal made the long trek toward sanctuary. The trail up the cliff was a problem since it was snow covered and so narrow. He cleaned the narrow ledge before crossing it and needed to make several trips because he couldn’t pull his small sled over it either. At the top of the cliff the terrain looked much different than it had two months before when he had last made the trip. It was also much more dangerous. Brown shrubs with falling leaves and dried grass showed in open areas and there was drifted snow in others. The wind had a bite to it and he was glad for the warm fur parka, trousers, and snow boots. Even though they were bulky and cumbersome, they were warm. As long as he didn’t work up a sweat he would be fine and the open spaces free of snow made the going much easier than if he had to use snowshoes.
He took his time and enjoyed the solitude and the movement. It took four days to reach sanctuary but he was in high spirits when he got there. He had let the girls go on ahead of him and wasn’t really expecting anyone to be at sanctuary itself. He was prepared for a long wait. Snow was falling and the sun had already set although it was still light enough to see. Stepping through the door he stomped his boots and kicked them against the wall to knock the snow off. He proceeded taking off his furs because it was warm inside and the heat was uncomfortable. Then he waited for his eyes to adjust to the dim light. After his eyes adjusted he saw a small dark figure huddled on one of the cots in the other room.
Moving into the dimly lit room he saw someone that reminded him of Rafe clutching a dark fur blanket or robe around small shoulders and watching with big dark eyes. This boy’s hair was raven black and he looked Native American. He also looked small, scrawny and too young to be here.
“I’m Tobal.” He said extending his hand in welcome. “What’s your name?”
“Crow,” the boy replied. “I’ve been waiting here for three days and was beginning to think no one was going to come. The others already left. You have come for me haven’t you?” He stammered hopefully sitting up straight on the cot.
Tobal didn’t know what to do. This kid was going to be a real pain and it was going to be during the worst part of the winter. He didn’t like the thought at all.
“How old are you anyway?” He asked rather brusquely.
“Fourteen,” the boy said. “My grandfather is a shaman and had a vision that I needed to come here.”
Tobal silently cursed the old shaman and his visions. “Where’s your stuff?” He asked at last.
“Stuff, what stuff?” the boy replied in puzzlement.
“Your pack, sleeping bag and med-kit!”
“What do you mean?”
“Haven’t you processed yet?” Tobal was getting more and more irritated with this kid.
“My grandfather said I was to wait for you and that you would teach me what I needed to know,” Crow said hopefully.
Tobal groaned inwardly and winced at the thought of a two-day delay waiting for the kid to process.
“Ok, Crow,” he said, “listen to me. The first thing is go through that doorway over there and get some tests taken. It will be a medical check up and you will be given some things to wear and use. That will take about two days and I can’t help you. You’ve got to do it yourself. OK? I will be out here waiting.”
“OK.” Crow said meekly and headed for the door wearing the dark fur like a robe that reached to the ground. Crow turned and came back to Tobal. He reached inside the robe and pulled out a rumpled letter and handed it to him.
“This is for you.” He said and then disappeared through the doorway into the med center.
Tobal unfolded the mangled envelope and stared at the writing on the front as a chill swept up his spine and he shivered violently. Written faintly with pencil in an erratic hand were the words: “To the son of Ron and Rachel Kane.”
Tearing the letter open Tobal puzzled out the crabbed handwriting.
“You don’t know who I am,” the letter began, “But I am a friend of your mother and father. This is my grandson, Crow, of whom I am very proud. He is much more than he seems. I am sure you will take care of him just as I took care of both your mother and your father in their own time of trial. I trained both of them and grew to love them very much. It was I that hand-fasted them together and taught them the mysteries of bi-location and shamanism.”
“I’ve told Crow many stories about your mother, father and their work. He will tell you these stories when the time is right. But he knows them as the Lord and Lady. He also knows what lies hidden at the lake. He doesn’t know directly but will recognize it when he is there. I hope this will help your search for the truth. I owe your mother and father that much. I wish I could do more. There is help coming and justice will prevail, you must believe that. Some things simply take time! We will meet when the time is right and your questions will be answered.”
Brightest Blessings, Howling Wolf”
That night, Tobal jolted awake, sweating—Rachel’s voice hissed, “Harry’s close!” The medallion pulsed hot, leaving him gripping it, heart pounding.
Tobal was stunned. He sat on a cot and reread the letter in the dim light. He wanted to tear open the door and find Crow. Only the certain knowledge that the processing area would not allow such a thing prevented him from such hasty action. He was forced to think things through and the more times he read the letter the more cryptic it seemed to him.
He realized Crow couldn’t answer any direct questions about his parents but only relate stories about the Lord and Lady, whoever they were. Also, while Crow knew something about the lake, the letter said he would recognize it when he saw it and not be able to talk about it directly. For the first time Tobal wished he had the freedom to meet Howling Wolf in person and learn the truth about his parents. That was not possible right now and he was committed to his current course.
Tobal thought back on his meeting with Crow. He had introduced himself as “Tobal” and not “Tobal Kane”. How had Crow known to give him a letter addressed simply to “The Son of Ron and Rachel Kane?” Had Howling Wolf somehow known he would be here and be the one Crow would find? Or had the girls told Crow who he was and that he would be coming soon. Such questions made him uncomfortable and it was a long time before he was able to sink into a troubled sleep.
Morning came and Tobal set about making himself more comfortable while he waited for Crow to get through processing. It was amazing what a load of furs could do to add comfort and softness to the otherwise uncomfortable cots. The relaxation was a pleasant change. It wasn’t until he tasted the strange water and food paste that he regretted being there. The mystery surrounding Crow and his grandfather offered no ready solutions and his thoughts gradually turned toward other things.
In particular the weather gave him concern. It had been snowing steadily for two days and there would probably be places where the snow had drifted over his head. This was his first winter in the mountains and he didn’t really know what to expect. Still, he knew the terrain he had to travel to get back to his base camp and in good weather the trip was hard. He had no idea what it would be like on snowshoes. At least he had brought along snowshoes and winter clothing for the boy too or they would really be in trouble.
He found a dried maple branch outside and began whittling out of boredom just to have something to do. He had in mind some small woodcarvings to give as gifts to Nick, Fiona, Sarah, Crow, and of course Rafe. With that in mind he rough cut the branch into five pieces to be worked as time permitted. He envisioned small figurines like charms to be worn on a thong or cord around the neck. He had gotten the idea from some of the carvings he had seen during the last circle.
He wanted to give Rafe a fox since it seemed so appropriate. Rafe was cunning like a fox. He worked the rest of the day on the tiny figure and it gradually came to life in his hands. The carving was simple and recognizable as a fox although it lacked a lot of detail. The real work would be gradually smoothing the rich maple and polishing it to a fine finish. He was in the smoothing stages when Crow finally came out of the processing unit with his equipment and clothing.
Crow hadn’t really wanted to come here but his grandfather had insisted.
“Why?” Tobal asked with curiosity.
“He wants me to become a citizen of Heliopolis,” Crow said. “It is also time for me to solo. In my village we can solo at fourteen. It is when we are considered adults.”
“Wait a minute! I’m getting confused. Are you telling me you are already able to solo?”
“My Grandfather says I am.”
“Why don’t you solo in your own village?”
“To become a citizen I need to solo here and have training with you.”
“But you said you were already trained,” Tobal said in a perplexed tone.
“There are some things only the son of Ron and Rachael Kane can teach me. That is what my Grandfather told me. He said you are my next teacher, which is why I am here. Perhaps things like the map reading,” he suggested helpfully.
Tobal was getting baffled and somewhat alarmed at the repeated mention of his parents. He had no clue what he was supposed to be teaching Crow if he already knew enough to solo.
“Where is your pack and equipment then if you are ready to solo?” He asked.
“You didn’t have any gear when I saw you at sanctuary?”
“In my village we are only allowed clothing we have made ourselves, a water flask and a knife.” Crow said, “when I went through processing the machine took all of my things.”
Tobal thought back to what Crow had been wearing. He remembered seeing him sitting on a cot with a fur Robe wrapped around him in the dark room. He hadn’t really seen the rest of what the boy had been wearing and for some reason hadn’t thought that much about the fur robe because he had been wearing furs himself.
“What is the name of your village?”
“It has no name,” Crow said, “We just call ourselves People of the Oak. The oak tree is sacred to us. There are many oak trees near our village.”
“Where is your village located?”
“It lies ten days march toward the setting sun.” Crow pointed to the West. “It took me longer to get here because of the weather.”
“I have heard of such a village,” Tobal said slowly. “It is said there are many children and many elders. It is also said many of the elders once came to our gathering spot and shared circle with us.”
“That is not true!” Crow stomped his foot in anger. “Our elders worshiped at the Lake with the Lord and Lady of the Oak. We did not share circle with the evil ones ever! I do not want to join your clan and learn its evil ways but my grandfather says I must. He said the time is right and you will need help in fighting the evil. He also says you need to hear the stories of the Lord and Lady and need to know they speak with me.”
“They speak with you?” Tobal said stunned.
“Yes, at circle and in my visions they come and guide me. I ask them for help and they protect me.”
“The Lord and Lady come to me at circle too,” he told Crow. “We ask their blessings. I see them within the circle and at times above the fire, but they don’t talk to me.”
“Grandfather says the Lord and Lady were once people just like we are,” Crow babbled excitedly. “He says he knew them once. He knew them when they lived at the lake. He even says he hand-fasted them together. Grandfather is a powerful shaman and a good friend of the Lord and Lady. My parents were good friends of them too.” Crow fought back some tears. “My mother and father went with the Lord and Lady and never came back. The Lord and Lady came back but my parents never did. Grandfather said you would tell me why.” He looked at Tobal expectantly.
It was too much. It was just too much! Visions of the Lord and Lady at circle swept through his mind…they couldn’t be his parents, they were the God and Goddess. They were there before he was. He thought of the mass grave down at the lake and the cairn of stones piled high around a large dead oak tree. He thought of Crow’s parents and Howling Wolf who had hand-fasted his parents together. His head felt like it was going to split. He pressed his fingers against his temples rubbing furiously.
“I don’t know yet,” was all he could say. “I don’t know yet but I’m going to find out somehow.”
His gaze met and locked with Crow’s.
“We will find out together,” he said. “I am going to need your help and learn the old stories. Together we will find out about your parents and about my parents and what happened to them.”
Crow rushed over and hugged him fiercely.
“You promise?” He asked.
“I promise.”
They made their way back to Tobal’s base camp by the evening of the fourth day. Tobal had expected it to take five days and was amazed when Crow actually found it. The kid really knew his way around the wilderness.
It felt good to be in a permanent shelter that was actually warm. It seemed a luxury to heat water for a much-needed sponge bath and change of clothes. The next few days were spent just getting things around the camp into good repair and hauling in firewood for the coming week.
Crow was very curious about the tools Tobal had made and spoke of things he had seen his grandfather make. Crow was a quiet boy that didn’t talk much, but once you got him going he could tell stories for hours. His parents had died while he was young and he didn’t know much about them. He had been raised by his grandfather in the mountains and taught the old ways. His grandfather was a powerful shaman and healer that others came to see when they were injured or seeking his wisdom.
Tobal was a little nervous about his first travel in deep snow and wanted to get started early. The days were getting shorter and there was only about six hours of travel possible during the day. They took extra rations from the food dispenser, enough to last each of them a week just in case there were problems. The nasty paste was divided into small cubes that could be added to water or eaten individually after they had been frozen. The benefit of the cold weather was many perishable food items would keep much longer, especially if they were frozen.
Day two on the return trek, a black shape slithered by, leaving no footprints. The medallion pulsed warm against Tobal’s chest, making him pause. Crow muttered, “Jotunheim’s creep—trouble’s brewin’.” Day three, a drone hummed overhead. Tobal frowned, “What’s that?” Crow shrugged, “Beats me.” “Federation scouts—seen many?” Tobal asked. Crow shook his head, “First one.”
They started out using snowshoes and made good time. The sled pulled easily and they took turns pulling it. The snow had stopped falling and it was a bright day. It was almost too bright as he squinted against the glare. Tobal decided to keep to his normal travel path even though the snow suggested taking shortcuts over ground that now seemed smooth and snow covered. It was not worth the risk of falling into open holes or being trapped in some crevasse. At least following his normal path he would be familiar with any hazards that might lie hidden beneath the snow or ice.
Crow turned out to be a tough, wiry kid that could run circles around Tobal with or without a pack on his back. He was much lighter than Tobal and took to the snowshoes immediately. He said they were like ones his grandfather used in the winter.
The boy seemed to have an endless supply of energy and crisscrossed the trail ahead of him checking out things that caught his interest. Crow had obviously spent a lot of time in the mountains and knew how to travel by landmarks. He had an instinctive awareness of direction even in bad weather. This worked against him at times. He did have trouble with the map and compass and understanding how to use them together.
“I know where I am,” he complained to Tobal. “Why should I need to know where I am on this piece of paper?”
Tobal was frustrated, “See this ‘X’ ,“ he pointed at the map. “That is where my base camp is and where we are going. How can you find it if you can’t read the map?”
“How can this piece of paper tell me where your camp is?” Crow retorted growing angry in turn.
They finally compromised when Crow was able to understand the map and locate the different landmarks on it.
“If I take you to the spot you have marked will you leave me alone?” he asked resentfully. “Will you let me take you there my own way?”
Tobal agreed and to his great surprise Crow headed cross-country toward his camp over terrain he had never been through. Crow seemed completely at ease in the rough terrain and several times showed him danger spots he had not noticed. Once Crow kept him from breaking through the ice as they crossed a small ice covered stream.
Since Tobal was not familiar with winter weather his goal was to simply head to his base camp as quickly as possible where he knew it was safe and there was extra food. He didn’t even bother setting snares or looking for food other than what they stumbled across accidentally. They relied exclusively on the food reserves he had brought with him and the frozen food cubes taken from sanctuary.
Firewood was the biggest trouble and they found themselves breaking dead branches off trees and placing them on the sled as they traveled through the day. In this way they had much of their wood when it was time to set up camp in the evening. Camping was greatly simplified and they simply dug trenches into the deep snowdrifts in a “V” shape and covered the roof area with branches and the blanket material.
The snowdrifts made excellent insulation from the wind. Each leg of the trench was a sleeping area and at the place where the trenches joined they built a small fire using the firewood they had gathered during the day. They also used this fire to melt water and refill their canteens.
One evening, after Crow let slip that the Lord and Lady spoke to him, he nudged Tobal by the fire, eyes bright. “They talk to me, y’know—guide me. Grandpa taught me to reach ‘em. Wanna try?” Tobal’s pulse quickened, but he nodded. They sat cross-legged, breaths slowing, the fire’s crackle fading. A strange pull hit Tobal—his body slumped, cold and still by the flames, Crow’s doing the same. They rose, weightless, soaring above the snowy treetops, the crunch of frost echoing below. An owl glided past, its wings slicing the air. “Spirit animal, it guides us.” Crow whispered, awestruck. They drifted to the lake, a shimmering force field blocking the frozen waterfall. They couldn’t go any further until Arthur’s warm glow appeared. “Follow me,” he said, voice steady, leading them through the icy cascade. The rock parted like smoke, revealing a cave lit by flickering torches. The Lord and Lady stood to greet them, Rachel’s smile soft, Ron’s nod firm. “Welcome son,” Rachel said, her voice wrapping Tobal like a warm breeze. Crow was excited to see them as well. They lingered, hearts racing, before slipping back to their bodies.
A few nights later, Crow grinned, “Let’s go again—see what they will show us.” They meditated, bodies slumping by the fire. They lifted off, the snowy forest a blur, the owl’s hoot echoing as it guided them once more. At the lake, the force field hummed, Arthur waiting. “This way,” he urged, guiding them through the waterfall, the cave’s torchlight dancing. Rachel stepped forward, “Feel the air, Tobal—time’s yours to bend. Arthur will show you how.” Ron clapped, “Push it, kid!” Arthur added, “The Nexus is near—practice this.” Tobal stumbled through a time ripple, laughing as Crow whooped, the warmth holding them longer as they went through ripple after ripple.
Another night, Crow’s voice trembled, “I want them to show me somethin’—my folks.” They projected, rising above the snow-dusted pines, the owl’s eyes gleaming as it turned and led them across the snowy expanse . At the lake, the force field pulsed, Arthur leading them in. The air grew thick with restless spirits, their murmurs filling the cave. Rachel face turned grave as she took Crow’s hand, “Come, see where your ma and pa rest—beneath the cairn above the waterfall.” They rose through the roof of the cave into the center of the haunted village and floated to a misty gravesite, the burnt village’s outline faint. Ron nodded, “They were innocent.” Crow’s breath hitched as his mother’s ghost smiled, her love radiant, his father’s form solid, voice warm, “We’re proud, son.” Tears streaked Crow’s face as he reached out, his parents embraced him, the ghostly moon’s light illuminating them.
Yet another evening, Tobal said, “Let’s ask more.” They meditated, bodies still by the fire, soaring over the snowy treetops, the owl’s shadow flickering ahead of them. The force field welcomed them, Arthur guiding through the torch-lit cave. Rachel coached, “Shift time again, Tobal—feel the flow.” Ron added, “Strengthen it, Crow—push harder!” Arthur nodded, “The Nexus fuels this—Reptilians can’t breach it yet.” They wove ripples, the cave’s warmth a comfort, returning when ready.
The days turned bitter cold and it seemed like they were out in the snow every day doing something. On the worst days they stayed inside. It was sheltered in Tobal’s little valley but there was a lot of snow on the ground. The only way to travel was with snowshoes and pulling a supply sled.
They spent the days trapping and hunting and the evenings working on winter equipment and telling stories. Tobal was amazed at Crow’s abilities. In addition to beaver and muskrat Crow routinely trapped mink, fox and wolf. He kept the hides from every snowshoe hare and was making a rabbit blanket.
He said it would take a long time because he needed fifty rabbit hides for the blanket. But he told Tobal a rabbit blanket would be extremely light and extremely warm. They were considered a luxury to have back in his village.
Crow also snared partridge and kept the wing and tail feathers. Once he trapped an owl and was anxious all week over the bad omen. Crow was highly skilled at leather working and created functional and decorative winter clothing Tobal envied. As the days wore on it seemed Tobal was the student and not Crow.
Tobal had learned the basics but Crow had grown up in a culture that had gone far beyond the art of simple survival and had turned these skills into an art form. Tobal was fascinated and asked many questions. Together they worked on projects Tobal had never even thought about doing.
Still thoughts of his parents were never far away. He wished he knew more.
It was time for Crow’s initiation in late November and Tobal was thinking about it as they snow shoed their way to the gathering spot. Perhaps he had been initiated and soloed at his own village he mused thoughtfully, not that it mattered. Gaining citizenship meant going through sanctuary and no other way. As they trekked to circle Tobal explained about joining the clan and being initiated into the circle. Crow still wasn’t certain he wanted to become part of the “evil” ones clan.
“There is no ‘evil’ in the clan or the circle.” Tobal kept telling him. “The Lord and Lady appear during the rituals and ceremonies so it can’t be bad. Everyone at the gathering place is young and could not have been part of what killed your parents. Many of them were not even been born yet.”
Crow remained suspicious and untrusting. In the end it was the mention of the Lord and Lady being present during the initiations that convinced Crow to finally go through with it and join the group.
“If they are not there, I will not go through with it,” he said simply.
Tobal shrugged, there was not much more to say on the matter. Tobal filled Crow in on what to expect during his entry into the clan itself. He didn’t want a repeat of what happened with Melanie and he didn’t know the true extent of Crow’s abilities yet. He only knew that Crow was better than he was in survival and he suspected Crow knew quite a bit about taking care of himself self defense wise. He had a feeling that small or not. Crow was not going to be in the Journeyman degree over a year. His hard time was going to be training six newbies to solo simply because it would take up so much time and be boring to him.
They had to snowshoe avoiding areas of possible snow slides and avalanches. Winter travel was certainly different than what he had become accustomed to and carried its own unique dangers. Again more than once Crow showed him dangerous areas and explained how to avoid them in the future. Tobal felt grateful, but he also felt like the student and not the teacher.
It felt good to be going back to circle and he was looking forward to spending time with his friends. After leaving Crow with the guards he made his way into the gathering spot looking for people he knew and chatting with them. The first thing he headed for was the Circle of Elders to see what was happening that month. He saw Ellen there and waved at her. She smiled and waved back. He knew he would have to talk with her later that evening.
During Crow’s initiation, Ellen’s eyes widened as Tobal and Crow’s astral forms, glowing with the Lord and Lady’s light, joined them and hovered above the bonfire. Later, she grabbed Tobal’s arm, voice low, “What the heck were you doing up there?” Tobal rubbed his neck, “That was my ma and pa, I think.” Crow piped up, “They guide me too—Howling Wolf’s kin.” Ellen stared at Tobal, “Your parents? Tobal nodded. Then she turned to Crow, And you’re part of this?”
At circle Zee’s newbie, Kevin’s newbie, and Wayne’s newbie and two others were at last allowed to solo after a grueling examination by the elders. All of their winter clothing was examined and they needed to have snowshoes, a sled and a two weeks supply of jerky they had made themselves. For the first time they were asked about what they planned to do during their solo month. They were told medics would be checking on them and if they needed help they could signal the medics. One last final warning about frostbite and the elders were done.
Char’s newbie, Rory had soloed and she received her first chevron. Tobal noticed she had also brought a newbie for initiation. It was pretty clear they were planning on spending the winter together without Wayne. Her newbie was a pleasant faced blond girl that seemed a little shy around everyone and didn’t talk much. She seemed friendly enough and Tobal didn’t think Wayne should mind too much.
Besides Crow, Fiona’s newbie, Anne; Becca’s newbie, Derdre; and Nikki’s newbie, Seth were all going to be initiated that night. They would be spending at least the next month in training. They were all being prepared for their initiations. Tobal planned on being introduced to each of them later in the evening. As they waited Nikki got her second chevron and was now tied with Becca and Fiona. It was obvious these three women were more competitive than average.
Madame Bluebeard by Karl Hans Strobl and translated by Joe E Bandel
Sixth Chapter In one of the few Viennese alleys that hasn’t yet surrendered all its past to the present, stands the house of the marriage bureau “Fortuna.” A narrow building, no wider than two windows. Above the dark entrance, in a small niche, is a Mother of God with the infant Jesus. The little Madonna wears a silk dress, changed twice yearly. The Jesus child, perched on her right arm, reaches eagerly for the orb of the world, which his mother playfully holds out. Before the glass shielding the figures from street dust, a flame burns year-round in a red chalice. Passing under the Madonna’s blessing, one enters the house, climbs a dim staircase, and may knock at the first- floor door bearing a tin sign inscribed “Fortuna.” Here, the Madonna yields to the pagan goddess of luck. The “Come in!” answering the knock booms like a shotgun blast. Entering, one finds Herr Anton Sykora, and the shotgun makes sense. Clearly, Sykora was once an athlete. His shoulders could still bear a piano with two players; his neck is a bulging ridge; his arms, swollen with muscle, strain his black frock coat. Clean-shaven, he peers cheerfully through gold-rimmed glasses, chewing constantly. His lips are lush—the upper starts near his nose, the lower curls toward a massive, blunt chin. When Sykora moves, chewing, jutting his jaw, arms dangling, he resembles a great ape. Such giants are always good- natured. Kindness and joviality are the first traits a stranger notices in him. But these don’t hinder his business acumen. On the contrary, he’s highly skilled in his trade. He boasts a fine clientele, with connections across all social strata. His stock is well- assorted. Through “Fortuna,” one can enter any marriage—dowries of any size, various ranks, titles, even the best-preserved characters in rich variety. The bureau’s chief is convinced of his profession’s importance. He often says, “Matchmaking is one of modern life’s most ingenious institutions. Marriages are no longer made in heaven but through the classifieds. This has practical and moral advantages. The practical are obvious—you know where you stand, no time wasted. The moral are equally clear. How degrading for parents to parade their daughters through balls and socials for years. It’s against human dignity, leaving moral scars. Self-esteem springs a leak. It’s different with us. We’re true benefactors of humanity.” In his long dealings with all classes, Sykora has gained great eloquence and a wealth of terms and phrases, deployed with full effect. He can speak for hours, adorning his speech or punctuating it with quips. Sykora is immensely popular with the tax authority. He submits to assessments without protest, never appealing. He greets his district’s tax administrator with a hat swept to the ground. Among the pious of his neighborhood, Sykora enjoys great esteem. He doesn’t hoard what the pagan Fortuna brings. He gives to churches, charitable foundations, youth groups, and the poor. No plea for a worthy cause goes unanswered. On a December day, shortly before Christmas, he received a telegram from Vorderschluder: “Buy Südbahn shares immediately per H’s order.” Sykora smoothed the telegram with a bone folder, correcting the “n” in “Südbahn” that looked like a “u” with his pencil—he valued order and couldn’t abide postal sloppiness—then rose from his swivel chair. The ring-shaped rubber cushion sighed back into shape. He tapped the adjacent glass partition. Behind it sat Herr Moritz Diamant, Sykora’s secretary, the bureau’s second-in-command. Diamant, once a medical student, abandoned his studies upon realizing most human ailments stem from the wallet’s state and are best cured there. He’d become an expert diagnostician in this field, his therapies highly effective. In good spirits, he’d say, “A marriage bureau is the best sanatorium.” A small, wiry man with a bushy mop of hair falling in two tufts to his temples, he looked like David beside Sykora’s Goliath. He had to look up to his boss, always with a mischievous twinkle, as if saying, “Comrade, we know each other.” Diamant emerged from his cubicle, gazing absently at Sykora. “Listen, Edelstein,” the chief said, “I’m traveling this afternoon.” Diamant’s distraction vanished. He was all attention. “Aha! Vorderschluder!” “Don’t be cheeky, Doctor; it’s none of your business.” Diamant twinkled at him. “Comrade, we know each other!” “Fine, I’m off this afternoon. Everything’s in order, right? Have you written to young Kanitz, Früchtel, about Margarete Schweigel?” “It’s being typed.” “And the Statthaltereirat from Graz?” “That… what’s her name? The Prague manufacturer’s daughter won’t have him. Too old.” “For a miss with her fifty thousand, we’ll find something special. What these women fancy! Send him another selection. Anything else?” “No—that is, I’d like another small advance.” Sykora clapped a paw on Diamant’s shoulder. Diamant stood firm, unflinching. “Let me tell you, Jewel, you’re asking for advances a bit too often!” “Well—given the Vorderschluder deal…” “You, Crown Jewel, the Vorderschluder deal’s mine alone. Besides, what deal’s there? You know…” David twinkled up at Goliath. “Comrade, we know each other.” Goliath withdrew his paw, grumbling, “We’ll talk when I’m back.” Sykora donned his winter coat, raised the fur collar, and stepped into a light snowfall turning Vienna’s streets to coffee-brown slush. He visited his lawyer for a meeting with the owner of the “Misericordia” funeral parlor, discussing a partnership stake. Then he attended a board meeting of the League of Christian Progress Friends, recently elected its honorary chairman. After lunch at his regular tavern with a bank clerk, two tax officials, and a prosecutor’s deputy, he headed to the station. Soon after dusk, the carriage sent to meet him rolled into Vorderschluder’s castle courtyard. Snow fell thicker here than in the city, blanketing the yard an inch deep. Between the stables and servants’ wing, a groom swept a path, his broom flinging powder left and right. Across the yard, the overseer stood in his open doorway, warm yellow-red light behind his shoulders, curious about the station visitor. In the vestibule, Lorenz awaited, taking Sykora’s fur with the haughty deference of a lackey. They ascended the stairs, Sykora leading, Lorenz trailing with the coat. Cozy warmth enveloped them; below, logs crackled in the hall’s fireplace. On the first floor, Lorenz opened the door to the mistress’s rooms, ushering the guest in. They entered 58an octagonal, blue-papered chamber. “Servus!” Sykora said. “Servus!” Lorenz replied. They laughed, shaking hands. Matched in size and strength, they shared similar noses and foreheads, their faces strikingly alike. But Lorenz’s expression leaned toward guarded vigor, Sykora’s toward genial affability. “Well, then,” the Fortuna chief said, rubbing his hands, “here we are again. Where’s Helmina?” “She’s waiting—come!” Frau Helmina sat in her boudoir on a tabouret inlaid with mother-of-pearl and ivory, a gift from Herr Dankwardt’s oriental travels. She turned, offering Sykora her hand. “God greet you, Helma,” he said. “How’s it going, what’re you up to? Sapperment, it always smells divine here.” He thrust his short nose forward, lips parting, inhaling deeply. “Nowhere smells as good as your place. You’ve got a knack, I’ll give you that. So, the loving husband’s away?” “Yes, he’s in Krems. There’s a stallion show tomorrow. He wants to buy something…” “Bravo, tending to the estate. He’s capable. Happy with him? Doing his duty at home and hearth?” Sykora shook with good-natured laughter. Helmina rose, standing between the two burly men, slender and supple, like a fine steel blade between two wooden clubs. “Well, then, got nothing for me?” Sykora said, his laughter subsiding into a chuckle. “A decent cognac or something? That trip here’s a fair haul. Got a weak spot in my stomach from it. The lord husband’s got something in the house, I hope. No matter—Lorenz’ll fetch it. Grab a cigar too, Lorenz. Right… now let’s settle for a cozy chat.” Lorenz nodded and left. As Helmina crossed the black Afghan rug to lock the antechamber door, Sykora sank with a contented sigh into a wide cushioned chair behind a small, round Indian brass table. His hand covered a quarter of its surface. “You kept me waiting long for news, Helmina,” he said, chewing with his massive jaws, puffing. Helmina stood before him. “What was there to write? Nothing important happened.” “How’s the inheritance from the baron going?” Helmina glared, annoyed. “What? Well… I don’t know. We’re litigating. The relatives won’t yield, claiming he was incompetent. They’re a vile lot. I don’t know how it’ll end.” “It’d be nice to have Rotbirnbach. But if it falls through, it won’t kill us. We’ve got other irons in the fire.” Lorenz returned from the bedroom with a cognac bottle, two glasses, and a cigar box. He poured a glass, drank it, and nodded to Sykora, as if confirming the cognac’s quality. Refilling both glasses, he sat beside the guest on a low divan, stretched his legs, and closed his eyes. “Here’s the thing,” Sykora said after a sip, “we need money. A lot of it.” “I can’t give you anything,” Helmina said firmly. “I’ve had bad luck lately. Struck out three times.” “Yes, yes… it happens. Our bicycle and car factories aren’t doing as well as they should either. Lorenz must’ve mentioned, right?” Lorenz nodded, eyes shut, a long, thin Havana dangling from his teeth. “But now we’ve got something new… something splendid. I’ll say just this: Galician petroleum. Galicia’s our European America. There’s still a fortune to be made.
Alraune by Hanns Heinz Ewers and translated by Joe E Bandel
“Revenge,” she replied promptly. He clapped her approvingly on the shoulder. “That’s right Alma. I see you have read all the right books. So he is determined to get revenge on his treacherous family and the only way to do it was to cut them off from his inheritance. You understand everything so far don’t you?” “Naturally I understand,” she declared. “It would serve them right.” “But how to do it,” he continued. “That was the question. After long deliberation he found the only possible way. The only way he could prevent his millions to be taken was if he had a child of his own!” “Does the prince have one?” she asked. “No,” he answered. “Unfortunately he has none. But he still lives. There is still time–” Her breath flew and her breasts heaved quickly, “I understand,” she cried. “I can have the prince’s child.” “That’s right,” he said. “Will you?” And she screamed, “Yes I will.” She threw herself back in the lounge chair, spread out her legs and opened her arms wide. A heavy lock of red hair fell down onto her neck. Then she sprang up, emptied her glass again. “It’s hot in here,” she said. “–Very hot!” She tore her blouse off and fanned herself with a handkerchief. He held her glass out to her. “Would you like some more? Come, we will drink to the prince!” Their glasses clinked together. “A nice robber story you tell there,” hissed the Privy Councilor to his nephew. “I am curious how it comes out.” “Have no fear, Uncle Jakob,” he came back. “There is still another chapter.” Then he turned again to the red haired prostitute. “Well then, that is what it’s all about Alma. That’s how you can help us. But there is still a problem that I must explain to you. As you know, the baron–” “She interrupted him, “The baron? I thought he was a prince?” “Naturally he is a prince,” confirmed Frank Braun. “But when he is incognito he calls himself baron– That’s the way it is with princes. Now then, his Highness, the prince–” “His Highness?” she whispered. “Certainly,” he cried. “Highness like King or Kaiser! But you must swear that you will not talk about it–not to any one–So then, the prince is in disgrace now in a dungeon and heavily guarded at all times. No one is permitted to see him except his attorney. It is highly unlikely that he will be able to be with a woman before his last hour.” “Oh,” she sighed. Her interest in the unlucky prince was visibly less but Frank Braun paid no attention. “There,”–he declaimed totally unperturbed in a voice ringing with pathos–, “deep in his heart, in his terrible need, in his dreadful despair and unquenchable thirst for revenge he suddenly thought about the strange experiments of his Excellency, the genuine Privy Councilor, Professor, Doctor, ten Brinken, the shining light of science. The young handsome prince, now in the spring of his life, still remembered well his golden boyhood and the good old gentleman that looked after him when he had whooping cough and that sent him bon-bons when he was sick–There he sits, Alma. Look at him, the instrument of the unlucky prince’s revenge!” He waved with grand gestures toward his uncle. “That worthy Gentleman there,” he continued, “has in his time advanced medical knowledge many miles. You know how children come into the world Alma, and you also know how they are created. But you don’t know the secret mysteries of life that this benefactor of humanity has discovered! He knows how to create children without the mother and father ever seeing each other! The noble prince would be at peace in his dungeon or at rest in his fresh grave knowing that you, dear girl, with the good help of this old gentleman and under the expert care of this good Doctor Petersen will become the mother of his child.” Alma looked across over at the Privy Councilor. She didn’t like this sudden shift, this weird transformation of turning a handsome 134ALRAUNE—the story of a living creature wellborn prince into an old and very ugly professor. It didn’t appeal to her at all. Frank Braun noticed as well and began a new line of persuasion, trying to get her to think of something else. “Naturally the prince’s child, Anna, your child, must remain hidden after it comes into this world. He must remain hidden until he is fully-grown to protect him from the persecution and intrigue of his evil family–Naturally he would be a prince, just like his father.” “My child would be a prince?” she whispered. “Yes, of course,” he confirmed. “Or maybe a princess. That is something we can not know. It will inherit the castle, the grounds and several millions in money. But you will not be permitted to force yourself on him and compromise everything.” That did it. Fat tears ran down her cheeks. She was already in her role, feeling the grief and sorrow of having to give up her beloved child. She was a prostitute, but her child would be a prince! She couldn’t be in his life. She would have to remain quiet, suffer and endure everything–for her child. It would never know who its mother was. A heavy sob seized her, shook her entire body. She threw herself over the table, buried her head in her arms and wept bitterly. Tenderly, almost lovingly he laid his hand on her neck softly stroking her wild loose hair. He could taste the sugar water in the lemonade that he had mixed as well and took her very seriously in this moment. “Magdalena,” he whispered to her. “Magdalena–” She righted herself, stuck her hand out to him. “I promise you that I will never press myself on him. He will never hear me or see me, but–but–” “What is it girl?” he asked softly. She grabbed his arm, fell onto her knees in front of him and buried her head in his lap. “Only once–only once!” she cried. “Can’t I see him just one time? From a distance–perhaps out of a window?” “Will you finish this trashy comedy,” the Privy Councilor threw at him. Frank Braun looked wildly at him–and knew his uncle was right but something in his blood rebelled and he hissed back: “Quiet you old fool! Don’t you see how beautiful this is?” He bent back down over the prostitute, “Yes, girl. You shall see him, your young prince. I will take you along when he leads his soldiers for the first time, or to the theater when he is sitting above in the box–You can see him then–” She didn’t answer, but she squeezed his hand and tears mixed in with her kisses. Then he slowly straightened her up, carefully set her back in the chair and gave her some more to drink. It was a large glass half full of cognac. “Will you do it?” he asked. “Yes,” she said softly. “I will–What should I do?” He reflected a moment, “First–first–we will draw up a little contract.” He turned to the assistant doctor. “Do you have some paper, doctor? And a quill? Good! Then you can write. Write everything twice, if you please.” He dictated, said that the undersigned of her own free will would agree to be at the disposal of his Excellency ten Brinken for the purpose of this experiment. She would solemnly promise to faithfully obey all the orders of this gentleman. And further, that after the birth of the child she would completely renounce all claim to it. In return his Excellency would immediately place fifteen thousand Marks into a savings account in the name of the undersigned and turn this account over to her upon the delivery of the child. He would further provide for her maintenance and support up to that time and carry all costs as well as giving her a monthly allowance of one hundred Marks to use as she pleased. He took the paper and read it out loud one time. “It doesn’t say anything about the prince!” she said. “Naturally it doesn’t,” he declared. “That must remain highly secret.” She could see that, but there was still something that bothered her. “Why–” she asked. “Why did you pick me? Any woman would gladly do what she could for the poor prince.” He hesitated. This question was a little unexpected but he found an answer. “Well, you know,” he began. “it is like this–The prince’s childhood sweetheart was a very beautiful duchess. He loved her with all his heart as only a real prince can love and she loved the handsome young noble just as much. But she died.” “How did she die?” Alma asked. “She died of–of the measles. The prince’s beloved had golden red hair just like yours. She looked exactly like you. The prince’s last wish is that the mother of his child look like the beloved of his youth. He gave us her picture and described her to us exactly. We searched all over Europe and never found the right one–until tonight when we saw you.” She was flattered and laughed. “Do I really look like the beautiful duchess?” He cried, “You could have been sisters!–By the way, can we take your photograph? It would make the prince very happy to see your picture!” He handed the writing quill over to her, “Now sign, child!” She took the paper and wrote “Al–” Then she stopped. “There is a fat hair in the quill.” She took a napkin and cleaned the quill with it. “Damn–” murmured Frank Braun. “It occurs to me that she is not yet an adult. Legally we must also have her father’s signature–Oh well, this will do for the contract. Just write!–By the way, what is your father’s name?” She said, “My father is Master Baker Raune in Halberstadt.” Then she wrote her father’s name in clumsy slanting letters. Frank Braun took the paper out of her hand and looked at it. He let it fall and picked it up again staring at it. “By all that’s Holy,” he cried out loud. “That–that is–” “What’s the matter now, Herr Doctor?” asked the assistant doctor. He handed the contract over to him, “There–there–look at the signature.” Dr. Petersen looked at the sheet of paper. “So,” he asked puzzled. “I don’t see anything remarkable about it.” “No, no, naturally not, you wouldn’t,” cried Frank Braun. “Give the contract to the Privy Councilor. Now read that, Uncle Jakob!” The professor examined the signature. The girl had forgotten to finish writing her first name. “Al Raune” was written on the paper. “Of all things–A remarkable coincidence,” said the professor. He folded both sheets carefully together and stuck them in his breast pocket. But his nephew cried, “A coincidence?–Well it might be a coincidence–Everything that is remarkable and mysterious is just a coincidence to you!” He rang for the waiter. “Wine, wine,” he cried. “Give me something to drink– Alma Raune–Al Raune, if you will.” He sat down at the table and leaned over toward the Privy Councilor. “Uncle Jakob, do you remember old Councilor to the Chamber of Commerce Brunner from Cologne and his son whom he named Marco? We had classes together in school even though he was a couple of years older than I was. He father named him Marco as a joke and now the boy goes through life as Marco Brunner! Now here is the coincidence. The old Councilor to the Chamber of Commerce is the most sober man in the world and so is his wife. So are all of their children. I believe the only thing they drank in their house at Neumarkt was water, milk, tea and coffee. But Marco drank. He drank a lot even as an upper level student. We often brought him home drunk. Then he became an ensign and then a lieutenant–that was it. He drank more and more. He did stupid things and was put away. Three times his father had him placed into treatment centers and three times he came out. Within a few weeks he was drinking more than ever. Now comes the coincidence. He, Marco Brunner, drank– Marcobrunner! That was his obsession. He went into all the wine houses in the city searching for his label. He traveled around on the Rhine drinking up all that he could find of his wine. He drank up the sizable fortune that he had received from his grandmother. ‘Hey everyone,’ he screamed in his delirium. ‘Why does Marco Brunner polish off Marcobrunner? Because Marcobrunner polishes off Marco Brunner!’ The people laughed over his joke–It was all a joke – all a coincidence; just like all of life is a joke and a coincidence. But I know that the old Councilor for the Chamber of Commerce would have given many hundreds of thousands if he had never made that joke–I also know that he has never forgiven himself for naming his poor son Marco and not Hans or Peter. In spite of all that it is still a coincidence–a very foolish, grotesque coincidence like this scribbling of the prince’s bride.” The girl was standing up drunkenly, steadying herself with her hand on the chair. “The prince’s bride–” she babbled. “Get me the prince in bed!” She took the bottle of cognac, poured her glass completely full. “I want the prince, do you hear me? I want all of him, the sugar sweet prince!” “Unfortunately he is not here,” said Dr. Petersen. “Not here?” She laughed. “Not here? Then it must be someone else! You–or you–or even you old man–It doesn’t matter as long as it’s a man!” She ripped her blouse off, removed her skirt, loosened her bodice and threw it crashing against the mirror. “I want a man–I’ll take all three of you! Bring someone in from the street if you want.” Her shift slid down and she stood naked in front of the mirror lifting up her breasts with both hands. “Who wants me?” she cried loudly. “Let’s play–all together! It doesn’t cost anything today–because it’s a celebration to help the children and the soldiers.”
“I think you are Czerski. Very nice, very nice, what do you want from me?”
“You will soon find out.”
“So, so… the night is very beautiful, we can walk together, although I would much rather walk alone.”
They walked long beside each other without saying a word. Falk was very restless and struggled for composure.
“So finally tell me what you want from me.”
“What I want from you? Well, you see, you naturally know that I was engaged to Janina?”
“No, I don’t know that at all. I learned today that you were practically engaged, but not engaged.”
“Yes, for all I care practically engaged. But that doesn’t matter at all. Janina had the right to choose, and she chose.”
“Yes, of course. That was her affair.”
“Yes, yes, that was her affair,” Czerski repeated absently and was silent. “But just tell me, Herr Falk, you are married?”
Falk started and stopped. “What business is that of yours?”
“It is actually none of my business, or yes, it is very much my business. I don’t want to talk about you destroying my happiness, no, I don’t come into question at all, but you have dishonored the girl I loved, yes dishonored, that’s how our social conditions are. How do you come to seduce and dishonor this poor girl, you as a married man?”
Falk laughed cynically.
“How one comes to it? Good God, what a naive man you are! The question you put to me is as old as the world. He, he, how one comes to it? I have asked myself the question at least a thousand times…” Czerski looked at him darkly.
“You are a filthy man, a scoundrel you are.” Falk laughed friendly.
“But aren’t we all? Aren’t you a scoundrel too? By the way, you are a strangely insolent man. I would very much like to give you a slap in the face if I weren’t too limp for it. Go to the devil and leave me in peace.”
“Leave your chivalrous impulses aside. Otherwise it could go very badly for you. But I have a moral obligation to Janina, and so I must know what you now intend to do. No, it is none of my business what you want to do, you must act as I want.”
Falk stopped, looked at Czerski with the utmost astonishment and then began to laugh loudly.
“Listen, Czerski, did you lose your mind in prison? I wouldn’t be surprised at all, I would find it very understandable… He, he, one must get strange fixed ideas in this hideous solitude. You had a cell to yourself? I must do what you want! Ha, ha, ha…”
“Yes, you must do what I command you.”
“So, so, you are starting to get cozy. Bien! So, what do you command?”
“You must marry Janina.”
“But you know that I am married. There is a law that punishes bigamy, don’t you know it? Did you forget all bourgeois institutions in prison?”
“You must separate from your wife and marry Janina.” Falk stopped speechless and fell into rage.
“Have you gone mad?” He could bring out nothing more.
“No, I haven’t gone mad, but no matter how much I thought about it, I find no other way out. You must do it, I will force you to it. Your wife will make no difficulties for you. I don’t believe she wants to live with you further if she learns that you have a mistress.”
Falk trembled inwardly so violently that he had trouble continuing to walk. His knees grew weak, he stopped and stared speechlessly at Czerski. Then he walked slowly on.
“Why do you want to do that?” Falk coughed and collected himself with difficulty. “Because it is the only way out.”
“You are mistaken, Czerski, I will not do what you want. You cannot force me to it either…”
Falk spoke very seriously and calmly.
“All you achieve with your plan is to destroy me and my wife. Your whole plan is built on my wife leaving me, and that is correct. I don’t doubt it for a moment. But the conclusion you draw from it is completely wrong. I will never marry Janina…”
“Why?”
“Because you shall not have the satisfaction that I acted under your pressure. Do what you want, it is naturally free to you, but I repeat, yes I assure you on my word of honor, that I will never marry Janina. You achieve nothing by it, on the contrary: I will naturally take revenge on you. The means are completely indifferent to me. For I hold very much to the word of God: Eye for eye, tooth for tooth. You see, you belong to the social-democratic party. But they don’t trust you, you actually count as an anarchist. And you know that for the social democrats every anarchist is a police spy. That you were in prison? Oh God, that means nothing. The social democrats don’t care about the logical consequences of such a trifle.”
Czerski looked at him tensely. Falk laughed maliciously, but inwardly it boiled in him with fury and unrest.
“You know that I am the chairman of the central committee. You also know that they have unlimited trust in me. But they know very little about you. You even have a powerful enemy in the party who slanders and suspects you… yes, it is Kunicki, you know it, you were so imprudent to demand his expulsion from the party because of the duel story… Now listen…” Falk stopped… “He, he… you seem very tense. Yes, I understand it. So I could say a word if asked about you, only a word,
actually no word. I would only need to raise my eyebrows, shrug my shoulders, shake my head thoughtfully… You know that such a thing has colossal significance in party life…”
“That would be villainy,” Czerski shouted in utmost rage.
“Why then?” Falk looked at him coldly. “I don’t know you. I did send you money for agitation often. But even in that the appearance speaks against you. Everything failed for you. You wanted to lead the book transport over the Russian border, the books were seized, you were also so imprudent as to incite the workers to violence once, which otherwise only an agent provocateur does…”
Czerski seemed about to throw himself at Falk. Falk smiled.
“Leave that, dear Czerski. I have unconditional trust in you. I know no person I trust more. I only want to make clear to you that I would take revenge in any case.”
“You are a scoundrel,” Czerski shouted hoarsely.
“Yes, you already said that once, and I answered you that I bestow this title of honor on you too. By the way, don’t get excited, otherwise you will draw the short straw. I was for a time so stunned that I thought I would sink to my knees, now I am quite calm and superior. You are also imprudent with words. You spoke of commands and forcing… That was too high-flown. You knew very well that I cannot be forced… Don’t go, we can speak very calmly, for me the story is at least as important as for you. I can just as well accompany you a piece, he, he…”
“I want nothing to do with you,” Czerski said darkly, but stopped.
They stood close under a lantern. Falk became very serious.
“Listen, Czerski, you owe it to me to hear me now.” “I already told you what I want to do.”
“But don’t you understand that it is madness? You look quite sick by the way. I saw you two years ago at the congress. Don’t you understand that it is madness? You achieve nothing by it. Nothing at all. You force me to a crime. Ha, ha, ha… No, Czerski,
you are a bad psychologist… You are actually a bit biased toward me, we had too much to do with each other… Just don’t believe that I want to beg you. Just don’t let yourself be deterred in your decisions. You are by the way a stupid man.”
Now he began to laugh maliciously and placed himself quite broadly before Czerski, who stared at him with peculiarly absent eyes.
“You got excited there over a quite clumsy story. Clumsy, unheard-of clumsy! Do you really believe that I would be capable of denouncing you as an unreliable man?”
He became serious again and suddenly very limp.
“By the way, I am not the central committee at all. Your whole party is as indifferent to me as you with your boyish intentions…”
Czerski suddenly started.
“So you don’t love Janina at all?” Falk looked at him in astonishment.
“No.”
“Listen, Falk, you acted villainously, I would never have believed it of you. I had boundless respect for you… You were the only person besides Janina’s brother…” He broke off and brooded further.
Falk became very excited.
“It pains me infinitely that I had to intervene in your life in this way…”
Czerski suddenly interrupted him.
“And you want to continue living with this lie? Want to continue deceiving your wife?”
Falk looked at him in astonishment.
“Dear Czerski, you now suddenly want to raise yourself to judge over me. That is quite ridiculous. I owe no person account for what I do, least of all you… By the way, we have spoken enough. Do what you want… You are a good man, and perhaps no scoundrel, it delights me immensely to have seen a non-scoundrel… But now good night…” He suddenly became raging. “Go to sleep, Czerski!” He was completely beside himself with rage.
“Go to sleep, I tell you!” Czerski looked at him contemptuously.
A police patrol passed and examined them attentively.
“Go to sleep!” Falk shouted to him once more and walked slowly along the street. He was as if paralyzed. The artificial composure suddenly disappeared and the unrest grew so strong that his heart contracted as in a cramp and cold sweat broke out on his forehead.
Then he walked faster and faster until he became completely exhausted.
“Now it comes. Yes, now it comes for sure. The wheel has started rolling and it will roll on incessantly… Yes, naturally. This truth-fanatic will not let himself be deterred.”
Falk wanted to think over the danger, but his brain was tired, only the idea of ruin, of being destroyed dominated him with unspeakable torment.
A woman hurried past, and behind her ran two drunken students.
“The dogs! No, how everything is disgusting, how disgusting! No, to thunder! That is unheard-of idiotic, to stake one’s whole life for a few seconds of animal pleasure. The whole life?” He laughed scornfully. “No, to the devil, one stakes only a few seconds for a few new seconds… Ha, ha, ha… One woman replaces the other… Long live the queen…”
He stopped on a bridge and stared ahead. He had become as if blind, but gradually he saw an enormous black mass grow heavily and majestically over the whole sky, and gradually he recognized the mighty forms of the train station. Now and then he heard a shrill whistle of the locomotive maneuvering under the bridge. He went to the other side of the bridge. Before him stretched the wide terrain of the station grounds. He saw the enormous number of lights along the tracks, he saw the variously colored signal lanterns, he stared until all the lights flowed together into a great, trembling rainbow, no, a great thousand-colored light-sun…
Madame Bluebeard by Karl Hans Strobl and translated by Joe E Bandel
Her large earrings, unforgotten, sparkled, casting long, needle-sharp blue-green rays across the room. What’s in her mind? Ruprecht wondered. What does she feel, seeing a man who died for her? Stronger than pity, horror, or feminine fears seemed a pride—perhaps satisfaction in her vanity—that she’d been his doom. She stood, staring at the corpse. The sight of that shattered head seemed a pleasure. What had the peasant said? They called her a trud—a vampire… Ruprecht glanced around the room. The walls displayed a series of daring paintings, frivolous nudes reflecting the baron’s taste. Against the backdrop of that bloody head, they struck with grotesque horror. Most pitiful was the empty space under the silk canopy where the bed had stood. The floor and wall bore clear marks of its place—a dusty, gray rectangle on the dirty parquet, proof of neglectful cleaning. That was the impression the entire castle left on Ruprecht. Helmina replaced the sheet’s corner over the corpse’s head. A faint bloodstain marked her middle finger. She drew a handkerchief and rubbed off the sticky red. “Have the relatives been notified?” she asked the servant. “We’ve telegraphed the uncle and his sister. They’re expected this afternoon.” “Did the baron leave anything written? A letter, or… a sealed package?” “We found nothing. But the gracious lord wrote something last night. It’s likely locked in the desk. The mayor took the key until the commission arrives.” “Let’s go,” Helmina said to Ruprecht. They descended the stairs, where workers were draping walls with black cloth. In the hall below, two women in coarse sackcloth aprons prepared to scrub the floor. Outside in the courtyard, the slightly drunk coachman clutched a village policeman’s uniform button, speaking earnestly. “See here, what’s a man? I’ve been around, know the whole world. What’s a man? A bit of powder, a bullet—and he’s gone! Gone! Gone! What’s a man? Nothing! Nothing! Ask me—I know the world…” On the ride home, Helmina spoke of the baron’s manner of death. She thought shooting oneself was, all things considered, the best way to exit the world. She described the bullet’s destruction in detail, as if relishing the recollection of each particular. Strange talk for a wedding morning, Ruprecht thought. He couldn’t resist asking if the event left no unpleasant impression on her. Helmina studied him. “Of course, it’s dreadful. But what’s done is done.” No, it truly didn’t touch her deeply. He must’ve been a nuisance, Ruprecht thought. A woman feels no pity for a pest. The funeral proceeded in foul weather. The uncle, a retired general with white hair and red face, and the sister, an elegant, slender woman behind a thick black veil, followed the coffin. Landowners from the region gathered. Ruprecht noticed a cool, refined reserve toward him and his wife. Clearly, Helmina wasn’t absolved of blame. He realized, too, that no local gentry had attended his wedding. Defiantly, he mirrored their aloofness. Fine—no tedious visits or obligations. Two days after the funeral, Helmina received a summons from the notary in Gars. “Something business-related,” she said, “though I’m not sure what.” Her manner suggested she had a guess. Ruprecht let her go alone, staying with the children to build a toy theater. Crafting such childhood relics brought him new joy. Helmina returned at dusk. “Imagine,” she said, breathless upon entering, “Baron Kestelli named me his heir.” Ruprecht set down pliers and hammer. “His heir?” “Yes! It’s not much—the estate’s heavily mortgaged. But with some capital to clear the debts and rational management, it could yield something. You just need money.” Ruprecht pondered, then sent the children out. “You’re seriously considering accepting this inheritance?” “Why not? The relatives will contest the will—the notary warned me. There’ll be a lawsuit. But I’ll win. The will seems legally sound. Rotbirnbach isn’t entailed; the baron could dispose of it freely.” She stood before the grand Venetian mirror, her figure framed by a semicircle of electric flames. Ruprecht held a paper Samiel from Der Freischütz, studying the wild hunter’s features. “I can’t allow you to accept it,” he said, tossing Samiel into the box with Agathe and Kaspar. “Oh!” Her tone was mocking. “Yes!” Ruprecht stepped closer. “Forgive me, but I must ask—were you ever intimate with the baron?” Helmina turned, her smile cold and superior. “That’s a strange question.” “Don’t misunderstand. I’m not reproaching you. I find it absurd to be jealous of a wife’s past. But I need clarity here.” With a dismissive flick, she scattered the paper figures. “I could refuse to answer. But you’ll have clarity. There was nothing between us. Nothing. You 52believe I’m telling the truth, don’t you? I owe you no account of what came before.” Nothing, then. Good—despite his open- mindedness, Ruprecht found this reassuring. He softened. “I believe you. But people won’t hesitate to assume he was your lover. You must admit, it looks that way.” “Oh, your lofty spirit can’t bear that? You care what people say?” Irritated, he snapped, “Nonsense, I don’t usually care. People—ridiculous. But it irks me that they might think I’m complicit in something… not entirely clean.” “Let’s talk of other things!” No—Helmina was resisting, rebelling. The rebellion had to be crushed. “No,” he said, “we won’t change the subject. I won’t allow it.” “You’ll have to, dear. You wanted our assets separate. You manage yours; I’m responsible for mine. The baron loved me unhappily, killed himself, and left me his castle to remember him. Simple. I set aside sentiment, treat it as a financial matter, a business operation. I’m as detached as can be.” She broke off, laughing brightly, a clear sound filling the room like light. She rushed to Ruprecht, kissing away his retort. “Our first quarrel!” she cried. “What’s it to you? Why meddle in my affairs? Isn’t it ghostly? The baron’s dead, yet stirs strife between us. We won’t tolerate ghosts. Perhaps that was his intent? We’re fighting! The living man never could’ve done this… So, away with it…!” She laughed again, throwing herself back, head tilted, arms falling, forcing Ruprecht to catch her to keep her from collapsing. He felt her body’s weight. She laughed like a bacchante, her hair loosening, a dry, brittle lock curving like a writhing snake. She grew heavy in his arms. He pulled her close, feeling her hot body… what were scruples, considerations, against this raw beauty and boundless pleasure… That evening, Ruprecht nursed a hangover of regret. He faced a danger, and for the first time, he lacked absolute confidence in mastering it.
Homo Sapiens: In the Maelstrom by Stanislaw Przybyszewski and translated by Joe E Bandel
It was very stupid of her to torment herself with that. He had nothing on his heart. On the contrary, he had not been so cheerful for a long time. He hardly knew what suffering meant now. No, no… He only perhaps had a little desire to torment other people. He did that very gladly, he had a boundless need for love, and he felt it most intensely when he tormented people. Oh, he could stretch her on the rack in quite different ways, just to see this hot, devoted love flare up so fiercely in her torment. He could tell her the most incredible stuff, that he was married, for example, that he already had a child and that her child was born a bastard. Couldn’t she understand these instincts? Besides, she shouldn’t take him too seriously. He didn’t always have his five senses together.
But Janina was not calmed.
“No, no, dear Erik, I understand very well what you mean, but it’s not like that with you. I can distinguish very well…” She thought for a while.
“Tell me, is Czerski making you so restless?” Falk pricked up his ears.
“Czerski? Czerski? Hm… Yes, I will probably have a lot of trouble.”
“Why?”
“No, not exactly trouble… but…” Falk suddenly broke off.
“He sat about a year and a half in prison?” “Yes, almost.”
“Strange that he was released just now…” Janina looked at him questioningly.
“Why is that strange?” Falk looked up in surprise.
“Did I say it was strange? I was thinking of something quite different. But what I wanted to say… he probably looks very bad… Well, yes, of course… Hm, I’m sorry for him. He is an extremely capable fellow, only so reckless… Now he has probably become a complete anarchist. That is natural… Did he cry?”
“No, he was very calm. He said he was prepared for it. Only reproached me for not having spoken completely honestly with him… Then he took the child, looked at it for a long time and asked about the father.”
“You told him? Yes of course. Why shouldn’t you. He, he… I don’t need to be ashamed that I helped a good citizen into existence… He, he… you see, Jania, sometimes I have to laugh nervously like that, but it comes from being so overtired… Life is not as easy as you think in your youthful high spirits… Well, laugh at the nice joke…”
But Janina did not laugh. She looked broodingly at the floor. Falk became irritated.
Why was she so sad? Could he really go nowhere without being presented with sad and mournful faces?
Janina was startled by his vehemence.
He controlled himself and tried to smooth it over.
“The little Erik is healthy, isn’t he? Yes, of course. But you are probably still very weak… Hm, it’s not easy to give birth to a child…”
He looked at a picture hanging above the bed.
“You drew that picture with me back then… Hm… Do you still remember? It was so terribly hot: you had a bright red sailor blouse on and when you lay over the drawing board like that… He, he, he… That’s how it started…”
Janina looked at him seriously.
“It would have been better if I had never met you.” “So? Why then?”
“No, no… I don’t know. I was happy with you.” “But?”
“I am afraid of you. I don’t know who you are, I don’t know what you do. I have known you now for ten years… Yes, ten years since I first saw you… I was not yet fourteen, I was with you almost daily for a time and I know nothing, nothing about you. I don’t believe you are open with me… Sometimes it seems to me that your words come quite mechanically, without you knowing exactly what you are saying… No, no, you are not happy. That is the only thing I know about you. Sometimes I become quite mad with pain. I want to crawl into you to see what is going on inside you… You don’t love me at all, you say it openly, and yet I must do everything for you, I don’t know why. I am like a small child to you, yes, will-less like a two-year-old child… What is it about you?”
Falk looked at her smiling. “The stronger will.”
“Perhaps you would love me if my will were strong?” “No.”
“Why?”
“Because I tolerate no other will beside mine.” Falk went to the window.
The uncanny silence struck him. “Is it always so quiet here?”
“Yes, at night.”
He looked at the wide asphalt courtyard, four stories from four sides. A real prison yard. Opposite in the second floor he saw a window lit.
He went to the table and poured fresh water into the glass.
“It’s strange that Stefan managed to cross the border. But poor Czerski had to pay. There was probably a house search at your place too?”
“Yes, but they left me alone.”
“Hm, hm… I’m very sorry for him… He loved you very much, didn’t he?” Janina did not answer.
Falk looked at her, drank hastily and stepped to the window again. “Well, I must go.”
Janina looked at him pleadingly.
“Don’t go, Erik, stay with me today, stay…” He became restless.
“No, Jania, no, don’t ask me that. Demand nothing from me. It is so beautiful when I can come to you and go again when I want.”
Janina sighed heavily.
“Why do you sigh, Jania?”
She suddenly burst into tears.
He became impatient, but sat down again. She controlled herself with difficulty.
“You are right. Go, go… It was just a moment… I suddenly became so restless. Always do what you want…”
Her voice trembled. They were silent for a long time.
“I probably can’t see the little one now?… I’ll come tomorrow or the day after anyway.”
He stood up.
“Does Stefan write to you often?” “Rarely…”
“Strange that he knew nothing about our relationship. I mean the earlier relationship three years ago…”
“He was in America then.”
“Right! God, how forgetful I am… Well, goodbye… I’ll probably come tomorrow.”
Alraune by Hanns Heinz Ewers and translated by Joe E Bandel
“Around eleven o’clock?” The assistant doctor made a somewhat dubious face. “Isn’t that a little late? His Excellency is in the habit of going to bed around that time and after such a strenuous day.” “His Excellency must exert himself a little bit longer today doctor.” Frank Braun decided. “Deliver the message. The hour is certainly not too late for our purpose. It’s almost too early–In fact, it would be better if it were twelve o’clock instead–That way if poor uncle is too tired he can rest a bit ahead of time. Goodbye Doctor– until this evening.” He stood up, nodded curtly and left. He bit his teeth together, feeling at the same moment as his lips closed just how childish, how much of a mad mess it all was. He was almost ashamed of how he had treated the good doctor, how small he had been, how cheap his joke was. All of his nerves and sinews screamed for action–and instead he let his thistle headed brain scatter in a thousand directions–while he played childish pranks! Dr. Petersen watched him go. “He is full of pride,” he said to himself. “Not once did he offer to shake my hand.” He ordered another coffee, added a little cream and deliberated while smearing butter on another slice of bread. Then with innermost conviction, “Pride goes before the fall!” Very satisfied with this wholesome common wisdom he bit into the white bread and raised the cup to his mouth. It was closer to one o’clock that evening when Frank Braun finally appeared. “Excuse me uncle,” he said lightly. “Now dear nephew,” replied the Privy Councilor. “We have been waiting way too long!” “I had something better to do uncle, and by the way you are not waiting here because of me but only because of your purpose.” The professor squinted over at him. “Youngster–” he began, but he controlled himself. “No, let it go. I am grateful that you have come here to help me nephew. Are you ready to go now?” “No,” declared Frank Braun blinded in childish defiance. “I will have a whiskey soda first. We have enough time.” That was his nature now, driving everything to the limit, sensitive and thin skinned to every little word, taking offence at even the slightest provocation. He always said harsh things to others but couldn’t endure the softest rebuke or criticism himself. He could feel how the old gentleman was hurt by his actions but knew the real reason his uncle was hurt was because he needed his stupid young nephew, that is what really sickened and offended his uncle. It almost felt like a put down that the Privy Councilor was so completely oblivious, couldn’t see through the shabby surface behavior, couldn’t understand the blonde defiance for what it really was. While he on the other hand had to resist whether he wanted to or not, be more of a pirate than he really was, pull the mask still tighter and go his insolent way like he had discovered on the Montmartre, shock the bourgeois. He leisurely emptied his glass, then stood up negligently like a bored, melancholy prince, “Whenever you gentlemen are ready.” He looked down on his guests from above as if they were infinitely beneath him. “Innkeeper, a cab.” They left. The Privy Councilor was quiet, his upper lip hung down deeply, fat tear ducts drained over his cheeks. His mighty ears stuck out on both sides and the glittering right eye shone green in the dark. “He looks like an owl,” thought Frank Braun. “Like an ugly old owl searching for a mouse.” Dr. Petersen sat open mouthed in the front seat. He couldn’t comprehend the unbelievable behavior of the nephew towards his uncle. It wasn’t long before the young man once more found his equilibrium–Why should he get angry at the old ass? In the end his good side came out as he helped the Privy Councilor out of the cab. “Here we are,” he cried. “Please step inside.” “Café Stern” it said on the large sign illuminated with electric lights. They went inside, down long rows of small marble tables and through a crowd of noisy and yelling people. Finally they sat down. This was a good place. Many women sat around all decked out with enormous hats and colorful silk blouses, multitudes of flesh waiting for customers. They were spread out lounging around like window displays. “Is this one of the better places?” the Privy Councilor asked. The nephew shook his head. “No Uncle Jakob, not at all. We wouldn’t find what we wanted there–This might even be too good. We need the bottom dregs.” In the back a man in a greasy tight fitting suit sat at a piano continually playing one popular song after another. At times a few drinkers bellowed out words to the songs until the bouncer came over to quiet them down and tell them that this was a respectable place and they couldn’t do that. Little clerks ran around and a couple good citizens from the province sat at a nearby table making advances and talking dirty to the prostitutes. A waiter swung between the tables bringing an unappetizing brown sauce in glasses and a yellow one in cups. It was called bouillon and the other Melange. He also carried a full carafe of schnapps with little striped shot glasses. Two women came up to their table and asked for coffee. It was no big deal; they just sat down and ordered. “The blonde perhaps?” whispered Dr. Petersen. But the attorney waved him away. “No, no not at all–She is only flesh. Not much better than your monkeys.” A short one in the back of the room caught his eye. She was dark and her eyes seethed with eagerness. He stood up and waved to her. She loosened herself from her companion and came over to him. “Listen–” he began. But she said, “Not tonight, I already have a gentleman– Tomorrow if you want.” “Get rid of him,” he urged. “Come with us. We are looking for something special.” That was tempting. “Tomorrow– can’t it wait until tomorrow darling? I really can’t tonight. He’s an old customer. He paid twenty Marks.” Frank Braun gripped her arm, “I will pay much more, a lot more. Do you understand? You will have it made. It’s not for me–It’s for the old man over there. He wants something special.” She stopped. Her gaze followed his eyes to the Privy Councilor. “Him, over there?” She sounded disappointed. “What would he be wanting?” “Lucy,” screamed the man at her table. “I’m coming,” she answered. “Not tonight. We can talk about it tomorrow if you want. Come back here around this time.” “Stupid woman,” he whispered. “Don’t be angry. He will kill me if I don’t go with him tonight. He’s always that way when he’s drunk. Come tomorrow–do you hear me? And leave the old man–Come alone. You won’t need to pay if you don’t like it.” She left him standing and ran over to her table. Frank Braun saw how the dark gentleman with the starched felt hat bitterly reproached her. Oh yes, she had to remain true to him–for tonight. He went through the hall slowly looking at the prostitutes but couldn’t find any that looked corrupt enough. There was still a last residue of self-respect, some instinctive certainty of belonging to some other class of society. No, there were none of the lowest of the low. The pert and saucy ones that had their own way, that knew what they wanted to be, whores. He could hardly define what it was that he was looking for. It was a feeling. She must love what she does, he thought, and want no other. She would not be like these others that through some chance unfortunate coincidence had wound up here. These upright little women would have been workers, waitresses, secretaries or even telephone operators if their lives had only been just a little bit different. They were only prostitutes because the coarse greed of males made it that way. No, the one he was looking for should be a prostitute. Not because she couldn’t be anything else, but because every inch of her body screamed for new embraces, because under the caresses of one lover, her soul already longed for the kisses of another. She needed to be a prostitute just like he–he hesitated. What was he? Tired and resigned, he finished his thought, just like he needed to be a dreamer. He returned back to the table, “Come uncle. She is not here. We will go some other place.” The Privy Councilor protested but his nephew wouldn’t listen. “Come uncle,” he repeated. “I promised you that I would find someone and I will find her.” They stood up, paid, went across the street and then further to the north. “Where,” asked Dr. Petersen. The attorney didn’t answer, just kept walking, and looking at the big signs on the coffeehouses. Finally he stopped. “Café–Drinks–Gentlemen,” he murmured. “That would be right.” These dirty rooms were furnished in every style imaginable. To be sure, the little white marble tables stood here as well and plush red sofas were stuck against the walls. The rooms were lit with the same electric bulbs and the same flat-footed waiters shoved through the crowd in sticky suit coats. But there was no pretense. Everything appeared just as it really was. The air was bad, smoky and stuffy, but when you breathed it in you felt better and freer somehow. There was no constraint and students sat at nearby tables drinking their beer and talking dirty with the women. They were all confident, sure of themselves, as mighty floods of filth flowed out of their lips. One of them, small and fat with a face full of dueling scars appeared inexhaustible and the women neighed and bent over writhing with resounding laughter. Pimps sat around on the walls playing cards or sitting alone, staring at the drunken musicians and whistling along while drinking their schnapps. Once in awhile a prostitute would come in, go up to one of them, speak a few hurried words and then disappear again. “This will do!” Frank Braun said. He waved to the waiter, ordered cherry water and told him to send a few women over to the table. Four came but as they sat down he saw another going out the door, a tall, strong woman in a white silk blouse with luxurious fiery red hair springing out from under a little hat. He leaped up and rushed out into the street after her. She went up the road slowly, indolently, lightly rocking her hips. She curved to the left and entered into a doorway. Glowing red letters arched over it, “North Pole Dance Hall”. He stepped across the dirty yard after her and entered into the smoky hall almost the same time she did but she didn’t notice. She stood standing out in front looking over the dancing crowd. It was noisy with yells and shouts; men and women whirled around moving their legs till the dust flew high as the harsh words of the Rix Dorfer howled through the music. It was rough, crude and wild as the dancers pushed through each other and the crowd was certainly growing. He liked the Croquette and the Likette that they danced over on the Montmartre and in the Latin Quarter on the other side of the Seine and fell into them easily. They were lighter, more grand and full of charm. There was none of that in this shoving, seething mass, not the slightest twinge of what the French girls called “focus”. But a hot blood screamed out of the Rix Dorfer, a wild passion was driving the dancers crazy throughout the dance hall. The music stopped and the dance master collected money in his dirty sweaty hands from the women, not from the men. Then he bowed to the audience and gestured grandly for the band in the gallery to start a new dance. But the crowd didn’t want the Rhinelander. They screamed at the conductor, yelling at him to stop but the orchestra played on battling against the will of the dance hall, secure high above and behind their balustrade. Then the Maitre pressed out onto the floor. He knew his women and his fellows, held them solidly in his hand and would not be intimidated by drunken yells or threatening raised fists. But he also knew when he had to give in. “Play the Emil,” he called up. “Play the Emil!” A fat female in a huge hat wound her arm around the dance master’s dusty suit coat. “Bravo, Justav. That was well done!” His influence spread like oil over the raging crowd. They laughed, pressed onto the dance floor, cried “Bravo”, and slapped him whole heartedly on the back or playfully punched him in the belly. Then, as the waltz began he broke out in song, screaming and hoarse: “Emil, you are a plant, You climb all over me! Are always quick to kiss And that’s why I love you!” “Alma,” cried out someone in the middle of the room. “There’s Alma!” He left his partner standing, sprang up and grabbed the red haired prostitute by the arm. He was a short dark fellow with smooth hair curling tight against his forehead and bright piercing eyes. “Come,” he cried, grabbing her tightly around the waist. The prostitute danced. More daring than the others, she pranced the waltz letting her partner whirl her quickly around. After a few beats she was completely into the dance, throwing her hips around, bending forward and backward, pressing her body up against her partner in constant contact. It was shameless, vulgar and brutally sensual. Frank Braun heard a voice near him, saw the dance master watching the prostitute with keen appreciation. “Damn, that whore can swing her ass!” Oh yes, she could swing her ass! She swung it high and cheeky like a flag, like a storm filled banner of naked lust, like the Baroness Gudel de Gudelfeld swung hers for the applause of the Crown Prince. She doesn’t need any ornaments thought Frank Braun as his eyes followed her down the hall and back. He quickly stepped up to her as the music stopped and laid his hand on her arm. “Pay first,” the dark haired man laughed at him. He gave the man a coin. The prostitute looked him over with a quick look, examining him from top to bottom. “I live nearby,” she said. “Scarcely three minutes in the–”
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