Homo Sapiens: In the Maelstrom by Stanislaw Przybyszewski and translated by Joe E Bandel
“Well, tell then.”
“No, no, that is terribly boring.”
Falk began to sink back into a dull brooding. Geißler looked at him astonished.
“Is something wrong with you?”
“Actually nothing, I only overcame a heavy fever attack.”
“Yes, thunder! Geißler suddenly cracked his fingers—what do you say to Grodzki?”
“Grodzki?” A violent fright shot through Falk’s limbs. “Well yes, he shot himself after all.”
“Shot?” asked Falk mechanically.
“That is a phenomenal city talk. He abducted a painter’s wife, suddenly came back, and shot himself.”
“The wife of a painter?”
“Yes. The poor fellow went mad. But this Grodzki! they say he shot himself out of fear.”
“Out of fear?” Falk came into an indescribable confusion. Out of fear?
“They say he stood shortly before a monster trial. A kind of sensational case like that of Wilde.”
Falk laughed.
“So that is why people shoot themselves. Ha, ha, ha, and I believed that their will was so strong to command over life,
ha, ha, ha…”
“They only say it so, perhaps it is only a gossip story… I don’t believe it. Was after all a phenomenal talented person. Well, you know him best. By the way, your name is often mentioned now.”
“Mine?”
“Yes, they want to bring you in connection with Grodzki.” Falk became distracted.
“Do they want that? Strange…” Geißler looked at Falk attentively.
“The illness has weakened you very much, what? You must take care of yourself… But how is Isa?”
Falk started.
“You loved her very much, didn’t you?” “To mental idiocy.”
“And so it passed?”
“Well, well; it is not quite passed.” “Not?”
Falk felt a wild joy.
“You seem to rejoice over it.”
“I arrange the affairs,” said Falk with a sudden, overbearing mood.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, if something should happen to me…”
“Don’t speak nonsense. You are sick. Should stay in bed.”
“Yes, yes, you are right.” He stood up. “You will come to us soon,” he said distractedly.
“Yes, naturally.”
When Falk stepped into the hallway, he suddenly remembered that he should speak with Geißler about the trip. But he now suddenly knew quite surely that he would not travel.
When he came to the street, he began to think about farewell visits… When one is to travel, one must make farewell visits, he thought profoundly.
The thought of the trip took possession of his brain again. But he did not want to think further about it. He suddenly felt that he would have to draw a host of conclusions from this fact, thus e.g. go up to Geißler again and such things once more, which would infallibly destroy his whole strength. He now wanted to be free from all thoughts.
And now: to Olga.
The last thought excited him again.
Where did the decision suddenly come from? So without any preparation, without any thinking? A miracle, a great miracle! Consequently will is a phenomenon? No, my you is a phenomenon.
Then he wondered that the idea of a Chinese theater had suddenly mixed into his thoughts: An actor stands on the stage, makes a foot movement and says to the audience: Now I ride… He, he, he…
His brain came into motion again. Grodzki appeared to him again.
“That is very risky after all, to commit suicide! This disgusting sniffing after the reasons…”
Meanwhile he came before Olga’s house. The eternally open restaurant had something irritating. He remembered that already as a boy the eternal lamp in the church irritated him. Ridiculous that it was never allowed to go out. Is Olga perhaps the holy Vestal who has to guard the eternal fire in the pub? Well, well, Falk… You become a little tasteless and banal…
He stepped onto the stairs, put on his gloves and adjusted his tie.
He knocked.
In Olga’s room Kunicki sat in shirt sleeves on the sofa, the coat lay over a chair back.
He shot the Russian in a duel, it shot through Falk’s brain like lightning, at the same time he remembered what was said about Grodzki’s death, and in the next thousandth of a second a decision shot up in him.
“You are hot again, dear Kunicki, as usual, as usual.”
Falk laughed with malicious friendliness. Kunicki looked at him darkly.
“Well, dear Kunicki, you look as if you wanted to introduce social harmony in the next two days.”
Falk laughed even more friendly and pressed both Olga’s hands. He looked at her beaming.
“See, see, how beautiful you look!”
“Don’t babble! I have very unpleasant things here with Kunicki. He is furious that we sent Czerski on agitation.”
“Perhaps Herr Kunicki wanted to travel?” Falk looked at him with most obliging smile. “That is a noble competition.”
Kunicki threw Falk a furious, hostile look and said excitedly:
“Your ridiculous pinpricks don’t concern me at all. But here it is about the thing. You know as well as I that Czerski is an anarchist.”
“No one knows it better than I. I spoke very long and broad with him about it.”
“So much the worse for you. You cannot take it ill if I open the committee’s eyes about you.”
“I care the devil about your committee,” Falk flared up. He fell completely out of his role. “I do what I want.”
“But we, we do not allow you that,” Kunicki cried furiously. “You destroy through Czerski our whole three-year work. You only aim to destroy our work.”
“Your work, your work?!” Falk laughed scornfully. “Have you quite forgotten what you accomplished with your work. He, he, a year and a half ago you developed a beautiful plan to me, from which it was evident that you would eliminate within two months all difficulties that stood in the way of a general strike of the mine workers. I gave the money for it, although I naturally did not believe in your dreams… But you interested me then. I needed a person who could convince me that mighty mass suggestions are still possible… You were to show me the microscopic art piece of a new crusade, only with a changed motto: l’estomac le veult… Ha, ha, ha… Interesting enough it was to see whether people still let themselves be carried away… I believed that you might be capable of it. But after a week you came back with nothing done, I even believe with considerable bodily injuries…”
“You lie,” Kunicki cried furiously, but controlled himself immediately. “You want to make me appear ridiculous. You can do that if it gives you pleasure. I gladly forgive you your childishness and in you it is doubly comical… he, he… aristocratic-aesthetic Nietzschean longing for power and greatness…”
Kunicki choked on the deliberate, insulting mocking laughter.
“Yes, yes, please, please, if it only gives you pleasure…” Falk looked at him maliciously. “No, dear Kunicki, I did not want to insult you, and I want it all the less as I see how strongly the unhappy, not to say comical role you played chokes you.”
“You are mistaken,” said Kunicki. Falk reveled in the effort Kunicki had to control himself… “I do not understand your intentions, but if you believe that a person like you can insult me…”
Falk laughed long and very heartily. “Ha, ha, ha, I understand very well that I cannot insult a person like you. That was only a little phrased in relation to the effort you have not to feel insulted… But let us come back to Czerski. Yes, see, I do not believe in social democratic salvation. I also do not believe that a party that has money in abundance, a party that founds sickness and provision funds, can accomplish anything… I also do not believe that a party that thinks of a comfortable rational solution of the social question can come into serious consideration at all.
“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…
Homo Sapiens: Under Way by Stanislaw Przybyszewski and translated by Joe E Bandel
X.
The restaurant was not closed despite the advanced hour; Flaum still had guests, and so they went in. The editor ordered wine.
“I’m very glad,” he said, “that we met again. It was terribly interesting how you performed at the district commissioner’s today. But—forgive me—you judge a bit too much in bulk and wholesale.”
“Yes indeed I did that. I often do. That’s self-evident. Every thing really has very many different sides, which—understand—not lie next to each other for convenient overview. No, sir, on the contrary. There are the most various illuminations. A thing is like a hectogon; only one surface gets full light there. And now look: the whole human judging rests on the fact that only this one surface is considered and perhaps still three or four that lie closest.”
Falk emptied the glass.
For his intellect there was no judging at all. He could say nothing certain about any thing. If he judged at all, it happened merely because he somehow had to communicate with people, and then he judged just like all other people, i.e. he proceeded from certain premises of which he knew that they counted as “given,” and drew the conclusions.
But for himself there were no premises and therefore also nothing “given”; he therefore asked the Herr Editor not to take his opinions as absolute.
The editor seemed not to understand that and drank to Falk for lack of an answer.
The young doctor listened curiously and drank very eagerly. Suddenly he got the desire to annoy the editor: Falk joked so excellently.
“What do you think, but in all seriousness, of a social future state?”
The editor winked his eyes; he noticed the malicious intent.
“What do I think of that?” said Falk. “Yes, I already developed at the district commissioner’s my opinion, which rests on ‘given’ valuations.”
“By the way, this whole state interests me only insofar as it—admittedly again only if the premises are correct, Herr Doctor—yes, only insofar as it can bring certain reforms in the field in which I am active.”
“Look, then for example the state will also create the social living conditions for artists, and then you can be convinced that many people who now à faute de mieux became artists because it is nowadays the easiest bread, will then rather become supervisory officials in some warehouse or otherwise make themselves somehow useful with four- to six-hour work time and social equality. Artists will be only those who must.”
The editor, who now scented joke behind every word of Falk’s, threw in irritably:
“You seem to hold artists in low esteem too?”
“No, really not, and precisely because there are almost no artists, or if there are any, they botch themselves immediately as soon as they have to bring their wares to market.”
“For me only he is an artist who is not otherwise able to create than under the unheard-of compulsion of a so-to-speak volcanic eruption of the soul; only he in whom everything that arises in the brain was previously glowing prepared and long, long collected in the warm depths of the unconscious—let us call it—that doesn’t write a word, not a syllable that is not like a twitching, soul-torn-out organ, filled with blood, streaming to the whole, hot, deep and uncanny, like life itself.”
“Well, such artists he probably never met?”
“Oh yes, yes! but only among the despised, the unknown, the hated and ridiculed, whom the mob declares idiots.”
Falk drank hastily.
“Yes indeed; and one of the greatest I saw go to ruin and perish. There was one, my schoolmate; he was the most beautiful
man I ever met. He was brutal and tender, fine and hard, he was granite and ebony, and always beautiful. Yes, he had the great, cruel love and the great contempt.”
Falk pondered.
“Yes, he was very strange. You know, that characterizes him: we once got the essay topic: how heroes are honored after death.
Do you know what he wrote? what would probably be the greatest honor for a hero?
“Well?”
“Yes, he wrote: the most beautiful honor he could imagine for a hero would be if a shepherd accidentally dug up the bones of the hero in question, then made a flute from the hollow bones and blew his praise on it.
Another time he wrote on the topic what benefit wars bring, that wars are a great boon for farmers, that they namely excellently manure the soil with the corpses of the fallen warriors; corpse manure is much better than superphosphate.
Yes, allow me, that is brutal; but brutal like nature itself. That is mockery; but the terrible mockery with which nature plays with us. Yes, sir: that is the sublime mocking seriousness of nature itself.”
The editor was silent, offended.
“Does Herr Falk want to joke with him? that really isn’t nice.”
“No, he doesn’t want that at all, he never joked with any person, least of all with the Herr Editor.”
“Yes, then they are only personal opinions that can apply only to one person.”
Falk felt a strange irritability that he couldn’t comprehend; but he controlled himself.
“Yes indeed; my opinions apply only to me. I am I and thus my own world.”
“Well, Herr Falk seems to have strangely high opinions of himself.”
“Yes, I have, and every person should have them. You know, there is a man in Dresden who calls himself Heinrich Pudor. In
general one holds him for a charlatan and he indeed makes himself talked about through strange quirks. For example, recently he demanded of the state attorneys that they prohibit the playing of Chopin’s music because it is arousing and sensual. But despite all the quirks there sticks in him yet a strange power.
Recently he held an exhibition of his own paintings in Munich. The paintings are supposed to be ridiculous and childish; I don’t know, I haven’t seen them. But for the exhibition he wrote a catalog in which it says: I am Heinrich Pudor! I am I! I am neither an artist nor a non-artist! I have no other attributes than only that I am I!
Look, that is well said.
No, you are mistaken, Herr Doctor: that is no excessively demanding significance. For as soon as I am human, I am precisely a significant, uncannily significant piece of nature. If I now say: Here are my paintings! however ridiculous they may be, but they are a piece of me! and presupposed that they are really generated from innermost compulsion: then they characterize me better than all good deeds I have done and will still do.
Here is a piece of my individuality; whoever is interested may look. I am I, and nothing is in me of which I need to be ashamed.”
“But that is absolute megalomania,” the doctor threw in.
“Absolutely not absolute and absolutely not relative! You as doctor should know that the so-called megalomania goes hand in hand with the loss of individuality. Only when the consciousness of my ownness is lost do I hold myself for Napoleon, Caesar etc. But even the strongest consciousness of my own I and its significance has nothing maniacal.
No, on the contrary: it educates humanity, it produces the great individuals of which our time so terribly lacks, it gives power and might and the holy criminal courage that until now has created everything mighty.
Yes, he certainly has that, Herr Editor! Only the ‘megalomaniac’ consciousness has the great energy and cruelty, the courage to destroy, without which nothing new and splendid comes about.
By the way, hm, it is indifferent whether one has it; the main thing is that one *must* have it! yes, *must*…
Again the unrest and fear rose high in Falk.
“No, it is really terribly idiotic to waste our time with stupid conversations; this empty threshing of straw. No, to the devil, let’s be merry, let’s drink! The riddles of life… hey! Herr Host! another bottle!”
And they drank. Falk was very nervous. His mood communicated itself to the others. They drank very hastily.
Soon the editor had drunk beyond measure.
“Yes, he loved Falk above all; he would consider himself happy to have him as a collaborator.”
Falk had definitely promised him to send regular reports from Paris to his *Kreisblatt*.
The doctor giggled.
“*Elbsfelder Weekly*: two columns ads, regular reports from Paris! Ha-ha-hah, where is the village Paris?”
The editor felt mortally insulted. Falk listened into himself.
An infinite longing for his wife dissolved in him. Yes! her bodily warmth, her hands and arms!
Strange how Marit had completely left him; no trace of desire. He broke up.
When he came home, it was already day. He cooled his eyes in the washbasin and opened the window. Then he wrote the following letter:
My dear, above all beloved wife!
I am drunk with my love. I am sick and wretched with longing for you. Nothing concerns me in this world except you, you, you!
You love me; tell me how you love me, you my, my everything!
And when I am with you, how will I find you, how will you be to me? Am I still to you your great, beautiful man? Why was your last letter so sad?
How everything in me groans for you! How I long for you! Tell me! am I to you what you are to me?! – The light, the life, the air: everything, everything in which alone I can live? For you see: now, now I know
sure: never have I known anything more surely: I cannot live without you! no, really not.
Only love me! Love me beyond your power; no, as much as you can. You can very, very much! Only love me, love me.
I will write a whole literature for you, just so you have something to read. I will be your clown so you have something to laugh at. I will crawl under your feet, like a slave I will serve you, the whole world I will force to its knees before you: only love me as you loved me, as you perhaps still love me. I will with absolute certainty leave here in two days… Your husband…
But when Falk had slept it off, he made five days out of the two—after which he took the letter to the post.
Homo Sapiens: Under Way by Stanislaw Przybyszewski and translated by Joe E Bandel
IV.
Falk sprang up. He had fallen asleep on the sofa, fully dressed. The daylight, filtered through the garden’s tree shadows, gnawed at his sleep-deprived face, giving it the expression of great, quiet sadness.
His mother stood before him, trying to slide a pillow under his head.
“God, what a terrible dream I had!”
“But, dear child, you’re completely ruining yourself if you stay up all night.”
“No, on the contrary, Mama, I slept very well. I was just so tired that I fell asleep right where I sat. Certain natures can do that excellently. I heard of a mailman who slept while walking and lived to 90. By the way, Mama; I’ll be traveling in a few days; it’s of great importance that I get to Paris as quickly as possible.”
His mother couldn’t understand. Why had he come at all? This long journey just to stay a few days?! His wife could surely live a few weeks without him. Couldn’t he grant his old mother the joy and stay at least two more weeks?
Yes, he’d love to; Mama knew exactly how much he loved her, but he couldn’t possibly stay longer, he…
At that moment, there was a knock at the door. Marit entered, confused.
She greeted his mother by kissing her arm. Falk extended his hand with a ceremonial bow.
Marit grew even more confused.
“Mrs. Falk mustn’t mind her disturbing so early, but she had come to early Mass with Papa, and Papa had something to do in town.”
Mrs. Falk apologized ten times that nothing was cleared away yet, but Erik, the lazybones, had slept until now.
“Imagine,” Mrs. Falk continued, “he fell asleep right here in the dining room instead of properly going to bed. By the way, it’s very good you’ve come, Marit; you must help me keep Erik here. He absolutely wants to leave.”
Marit looked up, horrified.
“What? You’re leaving already?”
“Yes, he absolutely had to. He had to start working a bit; he couldn’t do anything here.”
Marit sat as if frozen, looking at Falk with wide, frightened eyes. “Besides, there was no point in him sitting around idle; life here was so narrow, so unbearably narrow… Yes, Mama, dear Mama, you mustn’t take it badly, but I’m used to the vastness, greatness, freedom of the big city. I can’t stand people here staring at me and gawking. And then this narrowness, this narrowness.”
Marit sat thoughtfully; it seemed as if she heard nothing.
“Yes, yes, she had to go now; Herr Falk would surely come for a farewell visit.”
But she couldn’t go: Mrs. Falk set the table and brought coffee.
Falk and Marit sat across from each other. Mrs. Falk let her wise gray eyes shift from her son to the girl.
Falk brooded. Suddenly, he fixed his eyes on Marit and examined her closely.
“It’s strange, you have such a remarkable resemblance to a girl I met in Kristiania.”
Falk spoke completely dryly, in a reporting tone.
“She was terribly sweet, and around her forehead was a flood of red-blonde hair; it looked like the Nordic spring sun.”
“By the way, you look quite worn out, Fräulein Marit. It’s strange that you can’t be happy at all; it’s probably your religion that considers joy a sin?”
Falk emphasized “your” mockingly.
“No, no: Mama needn’t be so outraged, he only said it in passing.”
Silence fell again.
Mrs. Falk spoke of her late husband, tears coming to her eyes.
Marit stood up.
“She had to go now. She couldn’t wait for Papa; with him, five minutes always lasted an eternity, and now that Mama was at the spa, she had a lot to do.”
Falk stood up too.
“Would he be allowed to accompany her? A walk would do him good, and it was indifferent whether he went toward Johannisthal or with Marit to Elbsfeld.”
“Yes, if it pleased him…”
They walked silently side by side for a long time.
Falk had pulled his hat low over his eyes, kept his hands carelessly in his pockets, and seemed deep in thought about something.
And again, Marit looked up at him again and again, but he seemed determined not to see it.
“Is it really true that you want to leave?”
Falk looked at her as if he hadn’t understood, with a cold, tired gaze.
“Oh! Leave? Of course, yes, absolutely. What am I supposed to do here? Don’t think it’s a pleasure to torment myself near you; I’ve had enough of that. Yes, I want to leave; maybe today. Besides, everything’s indifferent; and I’ll probably do whatever comes to mind.”
Two large tears ran down Marit’s cheeks.
“He mustn’t do that. Everything he said to her about love was a lie. A person who loves couldn’t do that.”
“But for heaven’s sake, tell me, what do you want from me? Yes, just tell me: you know very well that you could give me the greatest happiness if I could just kiss you; you won’t allow that. I want to talk to you about something stirring in me; I can’t do that either. So what—what?”
Marit cried.
“You said I mustn’t love you, that you can’t give me anything! Didn’t you say you couldn’t possibly take love from me?”
“God, I explained to you why I said that. Besides, even if there were obstacles, don’t you understand the infinite happiness of the moment?”
Marit looked at him, astonished.
“What do you want—what do you want from me? Speak completely openly.” “What do I want? What do I want? Well! Do I know?”
“Yes, you want to ruin me! You want to plunge me into unhappiness, then leave—isn’t that right?”
“Ruin? Unhappiness? The English want happiness… Ridiculous, disgusting, this satiated happiness of Müller and Schulze! Can’t you understand that the highest happiness lies in a second? That it’s disgusting to wallow in eternal happiness? What do I want from you? Two, three hours of happiness, then away, far away! Happiness is shy; you dishonor it, make it indecent if you enjoy it too long.”
“God, don’t torment me so terribly. I can’t bear it. Do you want me to be destroyed?”
“No, I don’t want that. Let’s not talk about it anymore. It’s madness that I have to circle around this one thought; I don’t want that anymore. I don’t want to say anything more. I want to be good to you, completely good. You just mustn’t cry. No, you mustn’t.”
Falk was completely desperate; deep pity choked him.
“Yes, yes, don’t cry; I’ll be good and reasonable and very cheerful. Shall I tell you something very beautiful?”
“Yes, he should; she loved to hear him.” A while passed.
“Well; I had a strange dream today. You know, when my father was still alive, we had a small estate right on the Russian border; right behind our barn stood the Russian border guard. So it happened that a farmhand had stolen grain. My father was a wild, strict man. He beat me mercilessly. I didn’t really get better from it; on the contrary, I hated him as only a child’s soul can hate.
But my father had discovered the theft and the thief. All the farmhands were called from the village and the guilty one stood before my father.
‘Did you steal?’
‘Yes,’ answered the farmhand defiantly.
‘Do you want to go to prison or receive thirty lashes?’
Without a sound, the farmhand lay on the ground, and the execution began.
‘Hit hard, or you’ll be whipped yourself,’ my father shouted to the coachman.
And the coachman struck with the strong, oxhide whip as hard as he could.
‘Now you strike!’ he called to an idiotic farmhand, whose broad face contorted into a contented grin.
A blow so powerful, so terribly powerful… but my God, don’t be so terribly outraged, my Fräulein; so far, everything’s in order…
So a terrible blow whistled onto the body of the unfortunate man. He jumped up, bared his teeth, and lay down again.
The surrounding farmhands burst into loud laughter, in bright joy: The farmhand did well! Yes, he has the strength of a Goliath!
Another blow, then two, three, four, five…
I screamed, I raged in my hiding place. I scratched the ground with my fingers. I stuffed my ears full of dirt so I wouldn’t hear. Yes, yes, as a child, you’re so foolishly compassionate.
The execution was over. The farmhand rose and fell again; he couldn’t walk. Around him, the human cattle broke into bright laughter.
But the farmhand had incredible willpower; he rose anyway and dragged himself out of the yard.
My father was satisfied and sat down to breakfast. I remember, he ate a lot and well. I wanted to jump on him like a wildcat, tear him apart. But understandably, I didn’t.
That night, our farm burned at all four corners. I jumped out of bed and rejoiced over it as I never rejoiced in my life. Now my father was punished!
The stable doors were torn open, the cattle were brought out…
At that moment, my mother entered the room, and the dream ended.”
Marit was completely shaken.
“Did that really happen like that, or was it all just a dream?”
“Well, that’s irrelevant. The interesting thing is only the work of the sleeping individual consciousness. In the moment when my mother opened the door, the non-sleeping consciousness unrolled the whole memory with incredible speed. There’s nothing remarkable about that, by the way. Hippolyte Taine tells of a man who, during a faint that lasted only two seconds, lived through a life of fifty years.”
Marit couldn’t understand that.
“It’s not necessary for you to understand it either. *Rassurez-vous*: I don’t understand it either… Now other impressions joined the original memory, and all that wove itself into a dream.”
Marit wasn’t satisfied; Falk should explain it more closely.
“No, Fräulein Marit, you won’t get any wiser from it. You just have to admit that the soul is something entirely different from what it reflected in the crude, uneducated brains of the Church Fathers. Just listen further.
Yes, for example, the fact that the farmhand’s body writhed and jerked in my dream probably came from another impression. You know I studied natural sciences? Yes, back then I worked in the physiological laboratory and vivisected a ton of frogs and rabbits. I had to do it, and I always anesthetized the animals. But once I took a live frog, nailed it to a board, and opened the chest and abdominal cavity. The frog jerked so violently that it slid up the nails to the nail heads. Then I cut out its heart—”
“You don’t want to hear that? Well, let’s talk about something else. Am I cruel? No, absolutely not. But it would be foolish to project human pain consciousness onto an animal psyche, or to measure my feelings with the pain scale of crude farmhands who watched the inhuman execution of one of their brothers with heartfelt joy.”
Now both were silent.
They came to a small grove that sloped down to the lake.
It was hot, and across in the forest, noon shimmered and quivered. Everything blurred in the sucking heat. The lake lay limp and still; a oppressive calm lay over the whole area.
“Wouldn’t she like to sit down a bit? He absolutely wouldn’t bother her. He’d sit at a respectable distance.”
He lay long in the moss; she sat three steps away on a stone, nervously playing with her parasol.
Suddenly, he sat up.
“Why do you actually go to church? Don’t you have enough pride not to go where all the rabble goes, where it smells bad and the lust for happiness reveals itself so openly and shamelessly in prayers to the Almighty Lord?”
Marit thought of how once she had fainted from the bad smell and sweat of all those people, how they carried her to the sacristy and a disgusting man ripped open her corset there so she could come to—oh, how abominable that was! But she stayed silent.
“Don’t you understand that there’s something deeply coarsening in that?”
“No, she didn’t understand that, and didn’t want to. Religion was her only happiness, her only refuge.”
“Oh so…” Falk drawled… “Very good, very good.”
Falk seemed terribly tired. He lay back down long in the moss and closed his eyes.
Shadows of the bushes played on his face; there was a line of strange suffering.
Marit thought.
He was a terrible man. The image of the sweat-smelling church grew stronger and stronger in her. A disgust overcame her that grew and grew. She didn’t understand. Was he right? Yes, and then the eternal mumbling of prayers! She didn’t dare think further. God, God, what would he make of her!
The line of suffering on Falk’s face grew clearer and clearer. Now she wanted to throw herself on his heart and smooth the horrible fold of suffering with her hand.
How she wanted to see him happy, so happy, so happy… Tears trembled in Marit’s eyes.
“My God, Falk!…” but she got no further. Falk sat up, astonished.
She looked ashamed at the ground and struggled with her tears; one rolled down after another.
Falk moved closer to her.
She seemed about to stand up suddenly.
“No, for God’s sake, she needn’t be afraid of him; absolutely not. If he wanted something, it had to be given to him voluntarily and with joy. No, he took nothing himself. No, no, he had not the slightest intention of touching her. She could be completely calm.”
He stared at the lake and the shimmering noon heat across in the forest. Marit tried to resume the conversation.
“Why had he actually been so mean to her yesterday?” “Mean? No, what was she saying…”
Falk yawned.
“Mean? Absolutely not; only sad was he. He loved her. He wanted her to live in his spirit, become a part of him. But on the contrary: everything he despised, what he considered low and stupid, that she revered. Everything he wanted to tell her, she couldn’t hear. He, the free one, the master, could of course not calmly watch the woman he loved so unspeakably live in such wretched, lowly slavery. He, who was God and supreme law to himself, would get completely sick if he saw every one of her actions predetermined by some formula…
Yes, that spoils, destroys you for me,” he said excitedly. “You detach yourself completely from my mind. Give alms, and I know without further ado, you do it because it stands in your law book: ‘Be merciful, so that you may enter the kingdom of heaven.’ Visit a sick person, I know again that some formula promises you something beautiful for it. You’re compensated for everything, paid for everything. Don’t you feel the lowness, the meanness of this way of acting? Everything only for the sake of reward; everything for the sake of the ridiculous, imagined joys you expect in the kingdom of heaven. Disgusting!”
Marit grew completely pale. Falk flew into a rage.
“Do something because you must, not because you should! Throw away what doesn’t please you! Be yourself, only you, you, the splendid, wonderful Marit… Yes, yes, yes! Forever yes! You say you love me, and a stupid formula is enough to break your most splendid, mightiest instincts. And afterward, you pray ten rosaries to the Virgin Mary that she saved your soul from the claws of evil. That should be love? That? That love that can be broken by a stupid formula?”
Falk laughed with wild scorn.
Marit sat mute, trembling in all her limbs.
“Yes, answer me then! That should be love? Answer then, what you understand by love!”
Marit was silent.
“Marit, answer me! I don’t want to torment you, no. I love you to madness. I’m sick for you! Yes, I know you love me, yes. I know it; nothing do I know more surely…”
Falk moved quite close to her; he embraced her.
“No, for God’s sake! Falk, Erik, no. Don’t torment me so terribly!”
“Ah pardon! A thousand pardons. Yes, yes, I forgot myself again. God yes, it’s indifferent anyway. It shall never happen again… Shall we go?”
Falk yawned affectedly.
Marit walked at his side, torn by pain. She struggled in vain to master it.
“Yes, yes; everything is completely indifferent,” she repeated in her thoughts.
“Now goodbye!” Falk extended his hand. They had reached the garden gate.
Marit flinched.
He mustn’t leave, it screamed in her; for heaven’s sake, not leave! She grabbed his hand.
“You’re not leaving, Falk? No? You mustn’t leave! Do what you want, but don’t leave.”
Her lips trembled; she could no longer control herself. “Don’t leave! You’ll make me unhappy otherwise!” Her voice broke.
Falk looked at her coldly and harshly.
“Yes, I don’t know that. That depends on circumstances. In any case, you’ll hear from me before I leave.”
Homo Sapiens: Under Way by Stanislaw Przybyszdski and translated by Joe E Bandel
No, please, you must let me finish, I have to talk about this…
“No, not at any price; I can’t bear scenes like yesterday. Be reasonable, you’re so nervous.”
Falk fell silent, Marit choked back her tears. They walked a while in silence.
“You asked me for friendship yesterday, so as a friend, I have certain rights.”
“Yes, of course you do.” “Are you really married?”
“No, I’m not. I only have a child, whom I love beyond measure; and I want to go back to him now and live with him, somewhere in Upper Italy—yes, that’s really my plan. I love the child so infinitely; I don’t know anything I love as much.”
Marit grew nervous and silent.
“The child is really quite wonderful…”
And now Falk began to talk about the child with an unusual warmth and tenderness, all the while fixing his eyes sharply on Marit.
Marit visibly suffered.
“By the way, you probably don’t know: I was very ill in Paris, poisoned by nicotine, yes, nicotine. I would’ve probably gone to ruin if I hadn’t had excellent care.”
“Who cared for you?”
“Well, she’s a very remarkable lady. She’s very intelligent and plays the piano wonderfully. Oh yes, she has the mind of a man.”
“Is that the child’s mother?”
“Oh no, I have nothing to do with the mother.” Marit looked up at him, astonished.
“But you said yesterday that you couldn’t get rid of the lady? You said she clung to you like a burr.”
Falk grew confused.
“Did I really say that?”
“Yes, you said that; you even said that’s why we couldn’t be happy.”
Falk thought.
“Then I must’ve really been drunk. No, I don’t understand…”
He acted as if he were utterly shocked at himself. Marit had to recount yesterday’s conversation in detail.
“Yes, yes; I was really drunk. No, you mustn’t put any stock, absolutely none, in what I say in that state; I tend to make things up then.”
Marit looked at him suspiciously.
“You have to believe me; when I’m drunk, I tend to tell the wildest stories. No: the mother’s gone. I think she’s a model now, or something like that, living with a sculptor.”
Marit grew very happy; she smiled.
“So the whole story from yesterday was a comedy?”
“Yes, yes,” Falk hurried to reply, “but it was a comedy I performed in good faith; I believed everything I said.”
Marit still couldn’t understand, but she stayed silent. Falk grew restless.
“No, no, I have nothing to do with the mother anymore. The lady who cared for me is entirely different; her name is Fräulein… Perier. For two weeks, she sat by my bed, endured my terrible moods with angelic patience, and played the most wonderful stories for me; day and night, she was there.”
“Did she live with you?”
Falk made a surprised face.
“Yes, what’s wrong with that? In Europe—” he emphasized the word—“there’s great freedom in the interactions between men and women. There aren’t the foolish prejudices like here. Here, a lady can be officially engaged to someone in front of the whole world, and still the mother and two aunts have to trail behind. No, in Europe, there are no religious or conventional rules in matters of love. There, everyone is their own rule and law.
Yes, yes, it’s so free there, so free. Good God, how narrow, how unbearably narrow it is here.
There are laws and barriers and police measures; people are so confined—in a thousand idiotic: you may do this, you may not do that!”
Falk thought.
“Why did you pull away so violently yesterday? Can’t you kiss a sister or a friend, what’s wrong with that?”
“No, I couldn’t do that. I’d have to despise myself. I wouldn’t be able to look you in the face freely. And would you have even a trace of respect for me?”
Falk laughed loudly with open scorn.
“Respect? Respect?! No, where did I lose that word, what is it even? No, I don’t know the word or such a concept at all. I only know free women who are their own law, and then I know women who are slaves, pressing their instincts into idiotic formulas. And among these slaves, I distinguish women with strong instincts, with enough power, beauty, and splendor to tear apart the foolish ropes with proud, victorious majesty, and then women with weak instincts—in a word: the livestock that can be sold like any other commodity, obedient like any other household animal.”
“So you must highly esteem the woman who bore your child and then ran off to another?”
“No, because I don’t know esteem. She only went where her instincts drew her, and that’s surely very beautiful.”
“No, that’s ugly, despicable!” “Hmm, as you wish.”
Marit grew very irritated.
“And that Fräulein—what’s her name?—Perier.”
“Yes, then you’d have to see Fräulein Perier as the highest ideal; why don’t you love her then?”
“Of course, in fact, Fräulein Perier is the most intelligent woman I’ve met—”
Marit flinched.
“That I don’t love her is only because the sexuality with which you love is completely independent of the mind. In love, the mind isn’t usually consulted.”
“So those are the women you like!”
Marit was nearly crying. This Fräulein Perier was a bad person! Yes, she knew it for sure.
“Yes, yes, yes; that’s how you judge from the standpoint of formulas and Catholicism.”
Both fell silent. Falk was stiff and curt, making it clear that further talk was pointless.
Marit suffered. She felt only one question: why had he told her all those stories yesterday about the woman who clung to him like a burr.
“So the mother ran off from the child? Falk, be open! I tormented myself all night over this; I beg you.”
“Why must you know that?” “Yes, I must, I must.”
Falk looked up at her, surprised.
“Yes, I told you. Besides, how could another woman care for me if she were with me?”
Marit calmed down. So he had no woman with him. She was almost grateful to him. From time to time, she looked at him; there was something in her gaze, like a child who wants to apologize but is too proud.
Falk stared stubbornly at the ground. They reached the garden gate.
“Won’t you stay for dinner? Papa would be very pleased. Papa asked me to keep you. He has so much to discuss with you.”
But Falk couldn’t possibly stay; he was very polite, but icy cold.
Then he left, after bowing very correctly.
Marit watched him for a long time: now he must turn back to her. Falk walked on and didn’t look back.
My God, my God, Marit sighed in agony; what have I done to him?
She went up to her room and lit the oil lamp before the image of Mary; then she knelt and threw herself on the floor before the gentle, smiling face of the miraculous Virgin.
Homo Sapiens: Overboard by Stanislaw Przybyszewski and translated by Joe E Bandel
XIV.
The restaurant “Green Nightingale” was loud and lively.
Iltis sat broad and dignified, as befits a great man, explaining to Mikita why women are far beneath men. He ostentatiously turned his back on a young literati sitting next to him. The day before, there had been an unpleasant scene between them because the young man remarked that Iltis’s hatred of women likely stemmed from more than just theoretical reasons. Whenever a lady appeared in their company, Iltis would start in.
“You see,” said Iltis, “you’re young, and so is Falk. You can’t understand; but just wait until you’ve slogged through ten years of marriage with a woman—” he hissed the last word softly, out of consideration for Isa—“then you’ll see. Here comes dear old Falk with his Yuma women, Chickasaw Indians, and such scientific nonsense; but the fact remains that women are inferior creatures.”
The Infant tried to interject, but Iltis cut him off sharply.
“No, no!… A fact is a fact!” He puffed himself up… “Besides, one shouldn’t be petty with evidence.”
Mikita wasn’t listening. A grief gnawed at him, a shame that whipped his blood into his brain with choking rage.
What’s the point of going on?… It’s all over… He thought of her harshness—her… her… Yes, wasn’t that outright hatred?
How he’d pleaded with her, crawled before her, begged for forgiveness! But she, hm… yes, that icy smile… Didn’t it say: why are you begging, why are you embarrassing me, what do I still have to do with you…
He sighed heavily.
“Well, you don’t seem to be taking it lightly…” Iltis winked. “But allow me, the matter can’t possibly hold up,” the Infant mused, pondering how best to present his counterarguments. Iltis grew highly indignant.
“You mustn’t be petty. Just don’t be petty, or we’ll end up with foolish science. Shall I tell you about my experiences with scientists?”
Why is Falk staying away, Mikita brooded; that wasn’t necessary… Ha, ha, ha, to give me a chance to win Isa back… Cheers, dear Erik; not necessary, not necessary.
But why am I tormenting her? What do I still want from her?… Love? Can you force that? Ridiculous! Ridiculous! How could anyone love him at all, yes, love a man who’s only ridiculous?
He looked over at Isa, who, as usual, sat a bit apart.
But Isa didn’t look at him. She seemed very agitated. Red patches burned on her cheeks, and her eyes darted restlessly around…
The door opened, and the blonde Neocatholic entered.
Isa looked quickly at the door, clearly unable to control herself in that moment; she flinched.
She smiled at the young man, but she couldn’t hide the expression of great disappointment.
Yes, disappointment! Damn it, he wasn’t blind… that’s how people look when they’re disappointed. And that nervous, trembling hint of expectation—expectation! Who’s she expecting? Who? Foolish Mikita, don’t you know who she’s expecting?! Don’t you know why she doesn’t want to be alone with you for half an hour; don’t you know why she’s been dragging you here for three days straight!
He laughed bitterly.
Falk, she’s expecting Falk, heh, heh—Falk! He repeated the name, it surely gave him great pleasure; Falk was his friend, more than that! a brother; he’d surely made a great sacrifice for him, yes, surely… The fiancé who suffers from sentimental idiocies should get his bride, bring his little sheep to safety…
“Hi! Hallo! Hoo!” he roared at Iltis—“To your health!”
Everyone looked around in surprise; that was quite unusual for Mikita.
Mikita pulled himself together.
“To hell with your philosophizing… Woman—man… it’s all nonsense; everything’s nonsense… Let’s be merry! Merry!”
Isa looked at Mikita wearily.
Why was he shouting like that? What was wrong with him now? Who was he jealous of this time?
How foreign that man was to her. How could she ever have loved him? No, she couldn’t take it anymore; she had to end it. Tonight! When he escorts her home—yes, tonight!
How would she tell him? Her heart trembled.
How would she tell him? Calmly and matter-of-factly. Was he blind, couldn’t he help her in this awkward situation? He knew now that she loved Falk. Didn’t he get it yet? She’d shown him so clearly that he meant nothing to her.
Intrusive man! She was afraid to think it, she didn’t dare; but now, suddenly, she had thought it… She was surprised that she felt nothing about it…
Intrusive man! Yes, she felt joy that she could think it without it being painful.
The door creaked again.
Now it’s him for sure, she knew it; she trembled. But it was a stranger.
This was too awful, waiting and waiting like this among all these unpleasant people.
She felt Mikita’s eyes fixed on her, but she avoided looking at him.
God, how indifferent he was to her!
What had Falk been doing these dreadful five days?
Should she go to him? But she didn’t know where he lived. Ask Mikita? No, that wouldn’t do.
She sank into herself.
How could she see him? Why, for heaven’s sake, had she asked him never to see her again?… Oh God, she hadn’t known how much she loved him, how indifferent Mikita was to her, how the whole, whole world only brought her pain.
She was senselessly desperate.
Why was he shouting again? She glanced involuntarily at the empty bottles in front of Mikita.
“Do you even know what love is?”—Mikita was beside himself. “Do you know what sexual pain is? Huh? Do you? Have you ever loved a woman at all?”
Iltis made a dismissive gesture.
“That… that…” Mikita stammered—“the woman birthed the man, that’s enough for her! The woman gives birth, and the man loves. The woman never loves, never; she’s content with giving birth…”
“What? Women love too? What?”
“But women commit suicide for love,” the Infant interjected, “you can read about it in the *Lokal-Anzeiger* every day.”
“What? Suicide? Ask him, just ask him; he knows better—” Mikita pointed at Iltis, who smiled encouragingly—“women commit suicide when they’re pregnant and abandoned by their lovers!”
Mikita slammed his fist on the table. Isa looked at him with boundless contempt.
He was drunk again. How could she ever have loved this man?
An awkward silence fell. Isa’s presence weighed on everyone. It was a bit inconsiderate of Mikita in her presence.
Mikita suddenly fell silent.
He saw it: yes, for the first time, he saw it—that look! He saw it clearly before him.
He let his head sink.
So clear! The look burrowed deeper and deeper into him. He saw the eye within him now, it looked at him… How did it look at him?
If he painted it?… Three steps back… No! Into the corner of the studio—the other one… And now through the mirror… Yes, he couldn’t help it… It was contempt! Great, cold contempt!
For Isa, it became unbearable. She felt a feverish unrest; her heart beat fast and heavy against her corset.
She had to see Falk at all costs, he had to come eventually. He’s here every day; why doesn’t he come these days?
The conversation picked up again.
“Oh, leave me alone with literature; this endless chatter about poets and publishers and publisher prizes really makes one nervous—” Iltis yawned affectedly—“What do you want with Falk? He’s a good guy.”
Isa perked up.
She saw Mikita suddenly straighten. “What? What? Falk?”
“Well, yes,” the Infant lectured, “Falk has talent, I’ll grant that; but it’s still developing, it needs to ripen, to ferment; you don’t know yet how he’ll turn out. He’s searching, he’s still groping…”
“What? Falk groping?…” Mikita laughed with feigned warmth. “You’re priceless… You know, Falk’s the only one who can do something. Falk’s found the new. Yes, Falk can do what you all wish you could—Falk—Falk…”
At that moment, Mr. Buchenzweig approached Isa.
He assumed all this talk must bore a lady, so he wanted to entertain her.
She looked at his smooth, plump, handsome barber’s face. What did this man want?
Yes, Mr. Buchenzweig had the great honor of seeing the gracious Fräulein at the soirée in the presence of Mr. Falk. Mr. Falk is a remarkably interesting man, really the one who interested him most… He only came here to meet him…
“You, Isa,” Mikita called across the table—“did you know Falk left Berlin?”
He fixed his eyes on her intently.
Isa flinched. She felt a sharp pain in her face, a constricting sensation in her chest… she saw Mikita’s wild, malicious, flushed face with wide eyes, then turned mechanically to Buchenzweig.
She wanted to drink a glass of wine; it was empty. Buchenzweig eagerly ran for the waiter.
Everything blurred before her eyes. She saw nothing. She suddenly heard someone speaking; it was Buchenzweig. But she didn’t quite understand what he wanted. She only looked at him, smiled mechanically—the wine was brought. She drank.
“I know Mr. Halbe very well. A remarkably charming man, a great force in our time, which so lacks great talents.”
Isa looked at him. The man suddenly repulsed her. She didn’t know why.
“Excuse me, Mr. Buchenzweig, your company is very pleasant, but I must go home now.”
She approached Mikita.
“I have to go home now.”
“Oh, really?—bored here?” She didn’t listen to him and got dressed.
Again, she saw the repulsive barber’s face of Mr. Buchenzweig. Who did he remind her of? Yes, right, the barber who shampooed her hair.
As they got into the cab, with Iltis gallantly assisting Isa, Mikita shouted to him:
“Wait till I get back! We’ll have a merry night.”
Isa shrugged. Neither spoke a word.
She was paralyzed, unable to think. She was so tired.
Now and then, a desolate despair hit her, then tipped back into this limp exhaustion.
“You, Isa, my exhibition opens in Munich tomorrow.” “Oh, right…”
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