Mysteries (35 page)

It was four o’clock.

They stood up. She took a step toward him and he clasped her to his breast. She put her arms around his neck, and they remained standing like that for a few moments, her pure, timorous nun’s heart going pitapat against his hand; feeling it, he stroked her hair to calm her down. They were agreed.

Then she started talking: “I’ll lie awake all night thinking. Maybe we’ll meet tomorrow? If you’d like to?”

“Sure, tomorrow. Yes, I’d like to! What time? May I come at eight?”

“Yes—. Would you like me to wear the same dress again?”

This touching question, her quivering lips, those two wide-open eyes looking up at him—it all moved him, going straight to his heart. “My dear sweet child,” he replied, “you decide! How good you are! ... But you mustn’t lie awake tonight, you mustn’t! Think about me, say good night and go to sleep. You aren’t scared to be here alone, are you?”

“No! ... You’ll get wet walking home.”

She even thought of that, his getting wet!

“Stay happy and sleep well!” he said.

But no sooner had he stepped into the hallway than he remembered something, and turning to her, he said, “I forgot to tell you something: I’m not a rich man. Perhaps you thought I was rich?”

“I know nothing about that,” she replied, shaking her head.

“No, I’m not rich. But we can buy ourselves a home and what more we’ll need, I’m rich enough for that. And later, as time goes by, I’ll take care of everything, bear every burden, that’s what I’ve got my two hands for.... You aren’t disappointed that I’m not rich, are you?”

“No,” she said, taking his hands, which she pressed once more. At the last minute he told her to close the door securely behind him and stepped into the street.

It was pouring, and very dark.

He didn’t go back to the hotel, but headed for the Parsonage Woods. He walked for a quarter of an hour; the darkness was so dense that he could barely see anything. Finally he slackened his pace, walked off the road and found his way to a large tree. It was an aspen. There he stopped.

The wind soughs through the forest and it’s still pouring, but otherwise there’s dead silence all around. He whispers a few words to himself, a name, says “Dagny, Dagny,” falls silent and says it again. He stands bolt upright by the tree as he says this. A moment later he speaks louder, saying “Dagny” in a clear voice. She insulted him last evening, venting all her contempt on his head; he still feels every word she spat out in his heart, and yet here he stands talking about her. He kneels down by the tree, takes out his pocketknife and carves her name in the trunk in the darkness. He works at this for several minutes, feeling his way, carving and again feeling his way, until it’s done....

He had been without his cap the whole time he was busy with this.

When he got back to the road he stopped, hesitated for a moment, and then turned around. He gropes his way back to the tree, runs his fingers over the trunk and finds the letters. Then he kneels down a second time, leans forward and kisses this name, these letters, as though he would never see them again, stands up at last and quickly walks off.

It was five o’clock when he reached the hotel.

THE FOLLOWING DAY the same rain, the same dark, heavy weather. With all that water steadily gushing through the downspouts and beating against the windowpanes, it looked as though it would never cease. Hour after hour went by, the entire forenoon went by, and the sky grew no clearer. In the small garden behind the hotel everything was bent and broken; the leaves were pressed into the ground, buried in mud and water.

Nagel stayed indoors all day; he read, pacing the floor in his usual way, while continually looking at his watch. It was an endless day! He waited with the utmost impatience for evening.

On the stroke of eight he set out for Martha’s place. He was quite unsuspecting, but she received him with a suffering air, red-eyed with weeping. When he spoke to her, she answered curtly and evasively, without even looking at him. She repeatedly asked him to forgive her and not to feel let down.

When he took her hand she began to tremble and tried to pull back, though in the end she sat down on a chair next to him. There she remained until he left an hour or so later. What had happened? He plied her with questions, asking for an explanation, but she couldn’t give much of an account of herself.

No, she was not ill. It was just that she had thought it over—.

So that was what she meant to say, that she regretted her promise, that perhaps she couldn’t love him?

Yes, that was it.... “But forgive me, and don’t feel let down!” She had thought it over last night, all night long, and found it more and more impossible. Well, she had also consulted her heart, and she was afraid she couldn’t love him as she ought to.

Ah, that was it! Pause. But didn’t she think she might get to love him in time?
¹
He had looked forward to the chance of starting a new life. Oh, he would be so kind to her!

Moved by this, she pressed her hand to her bosom; but her eyes were still lowered and she didn’t say anything.

So she didn’t believe, did she, that he could make her love him later on, when they would always be together?

She whispered, “No.” A few tears trickled down from her long eyelashes.

Pause. His body was shaking, the blue veins in his temples stood out sharply.

Oh dear. Well, there was nothing to be done about that! She mustn’t cry anymore on that account. The whole thing couldn’t be helped. She had to forgive him for pressing her with his entreaties. He had meant it for the best—.

She quickly grasped his hand and held it firmly. Rather surprised by this sudden emotion, he asked, Was there something in particular about him that was offensive to her? He would correct it, remedy it, if it was in his power. Perhaps she didn’t like that he—

Suddenly cutting him off, she said, “No, there’s nothing, nothing! But it’s all so unthinkable; for example, I don’t even know who you are. Well, I do know you wish me well, don’t misunderstand me—”

“Who I am, for example?” he said, looking at her. He’s instantly struck by a suspicion—he understands that something has undermined her confidence in him, something hostile that has forced its way between them. “Has anyone been to see you today?” he asks.

She doesn’t answer.

“I’m sorry, it doesn’t matter, I have no right to ask you any more questions.”

“Oh, I was so happy last night!” she said. “Good God, how I waited for the morning to come, and how I waited for you too! But today I’m full of doubts.”

“Just tell me one thing: so you don’t believe I’ve been honest with you, you still suspect me, in spite of everything, isn’t that so?”

“No, not always. Please, don’t be angry with me! You’re such a stranger here, I only know what you tell me; you may mean it sincerely now but regret it all later. How can I know what ideas may enter your head?”

Pause.

He puts his hand under her chin, raises her head slightly and says, “And what else did Miss Kielland say?”

Bewildered, she gave him a timid glance that betrayed her dismay. “I didn’t say that, did I?” she exclaimed. “No, I didn’t say that!”

“No, no, you didn’t.” He became lost in thought, his eyes staring unseeingly at one spot. “No, you didn’t say it was her, you didn’t mention her name, you may feel easy on that score.... And yet, Miss Kielland has certainly been here; she came in through that door and left the same way after accomplishing her errand. It was so important to her that she simply had to go out today, in this weather! How strange! ... Dear, kind Martha, you good soul, I kneel before you because you are good! Trust me in spite of everything, trust me just for tonight, and I’ll show you later how little I mean to deceive you. Don’t take back your promise. Think it over again, won’t you? Think it over till tomorrow and let me see you then
²
—”

“Oh, I don’t know,” she broke in.

“You don’t know? So you’d rather get rid of me once and for all now, this evening? Oh well.”

“I would rather come visit you sometime after you—well, after you’re married and it’s finished—the house, that is—I mean after ... I would rather be a maid in your house. Yes, I would.”

Pause. Her mistrust of him had already struck deep roots; no longer able to overcome it, he couldn’t set her mind at ease as before. And he felt, regretfully, that the more he talked, the more she slipped away from him. But why did she cry so bitterly? What was tormenting her? And why wasn’t she letting go of his hand? Once more he reverted to Miniman; it was a test. He wanted to make her grant him a meeting tomorrow, after she had reconsidered everything.

“Forgive me for bringing up Miniman again, it’ll be the last time,” he said. “Now, take it easy, I have good reasons for saying this. I’m not going to badmouth the man; on the contrary, you will recall I spoke to you about him in the most favorable way. I thought he might possibly stand in my way with you, and so I spoke to you about him; I maintained, among other things, that he could support a family like anyone else, and I still believe he can, if he gets some help to start with. But you flatly refused to listen, you had nothing to do with Miniman! You even begged me never to mention him again. Fine! But I’m still a bit suspicious, you haven’t convinced me, and I ask you again if there’s something going on between you and Miniman. If so, I withdraw at once. Ah, you shake your head; but then I don’t understand why you refuse to think the matter over till tomorrow and let me know then. That’s only fair. And you who are so kind!”

Then she relented; what’s more, she rose to her feet and, her emotion running away with her, stroked his hair as she had done once before, smiling through her tears. She would meet him tomorrow, she would be glad to; he just had to come a little earlier, at four or five, while it was still light, then nobody could say anything. But now he had to go, he had better leave at once. Yes, and come back tomorrow, she would be home and keep a lookout....

What a queer child of an old maid! At one word, half a remark, her heart was ablaze, making her tender and smiling. She held his hand till the moment he left, she was still holding it as she walked him to the door. On the steps she said a very loud good night, as if there might be someone around whom she wanted to defy.
³

It had stopped raining—finally, it had almost stopped; here and there one could already see a patch of blue sky between the turbid clouds, and only an occasional raindrop fell on the damp ground.

Nagel again breathed more freely. Sure, he would regain her trust, what was to stop him? He didn’t return to the hotel but strolled by the docks, along the shore, passed the last houses in town and entered Parsonage Road. There was no one to be seen.

After he had walked another few steps, someone jumps up from the edge of the road and begins to walk in front of him. It was Dagny; the blond braid hung down her back over her raincoat.

A tremor shot through him from top to toe, and he almost came to a standstill for a moment; he was astounded. So she hadn’t gone to the bazaar this evening? Or was she simply taking a short walk before the tableaux began? She walked at an infinitely slow pace, even stopping once or twice to look up at the birds that were beginning to dart among the trees again. Had she seen him? Did she want to test him? Had she gotten up when he came to find out once more whether he dared accost her?

She could feel at ease about that, he would never again intrude upon her! And suddenly anger stirs within him, a dull, blind anger at this woman who might still want to tempt him to forget himself, simply to have the satisfaction of humiliating him afterward. She was quite capable of telling the people at the bazaar that he had had another rendezvous with her. Hadn’t she just been to see Martha and spoiled his chances there as well? Why couldn’t she simply stop putting mischief in his way? She had wanted to pay him back what he deserved, fair enough, but her payback was more extreme than was necessary.

They both walk equally slow, one behind the other, always about fifty steps apart. This goes on for several minutes. Suddenly her handkerchief falls to the ground. He can see it slip from her side, flutter along her raincoat and hit the road. Was she aware that she dropped it?

He tells himself that she wanted to test him; her rage had not yet abated, she wanted to make him pick up this handkerchief and bring it to her, so she could look him squarely in the face and really gloat over his defeat with Martha. His anger rising, he purses his lips and stamps a passionate wrinkle on his brow. Heh-heh, oh sure, he was to present himself before her, expose his face to her and let her laugh him to scorn! Look, there she dropped her handkerchief, it’s lying on the road, in the middle of the road. It’s white and extremely fine, a lace handkerchief at that; one could bend down and pick it up....

He walked at the same slow pace, and when he got to the handkerchief he stepped on it and kept walking.

They went on like that for another few minutes; then he saw her suddenly look at her watch and turn abruptly. She was coming straight at him. Had she missed her handkerchief? He turned also and walked slowly ahead of her. When he again reached the handkerchief, he stepped on it anew, a second time and under her very eyes. And he continued walking. He felt she was right behind him, and yet he didn’t increase his pace. They kept this up until they reached town.

Sure enough, she turned off in the direction of the bazaar; he went up to his room.

He opened a window and leaned forward, his elbows on the sill, broken, crushed by emotion. His anger was gone; clinching up, he started sobbing, sobbing with his head in his hands, mutely, with dry eyes, his body shaking. How could this have happened? Oh, how he regretted it, how he wished it undone! She had tossed her handkerchief down, maybe on purpose, maybe to humiliate him, but so what? He could have picked it up, stolen it, and kept it in his bosom for the rest of his life. It was white as snow, and he had trampled it in the mud! Once he had gotten hold of it, perhaps she would have refused to take it back; perhaps she would have let him keep it! Heaven knows. But if she had held out her hand for it, he would have thrown himself at her feet and pleaded, imploring her with raised hands to let him keep it as a remembrance, out of pity. And what would it matter if she had mocked him once more?