Mysteries (39 page)

He takes out his wallet, where he’s keeping the letters to Martha and Miniman. Dagny’s handkerchief is in a separate pocket, wrapped in paper; he takes it out, kisses it again and again, kneels and goes on kissing it, and then slowly tears it to shreds. This occupies him for a long time; it gets to be one, one-thirty, and he’s still tearing and tearing at these tiny little shreds. In the end he has made the handkerchief completely unrecognizable, hardly anything but threads is left. He gets up and puts it under a stone, hiding it very carefully so that nobody can find it, and sits down again. Well, was there anything else? He tries to remember, but can’t think of anything. Then he winds his watch, as he used to do every night before going to bed.

He peers about him, it’s rather dark in the forest; he cannot see anything suspicious. He listens, holds his breath and listens; there isn’t a sound, the birds are silent, the night is mild and dead. He puts his fingers into his vest pocket and takes out the little bottle.

The bottle has a glass stopper, and over the stopper is a triple paper cap tied on with blue pharmacist’s string. He unties the string and pulls out the stopper. Clear as water, with a faint scent of almonds! He holds the bottle up to his eyes—it’s half full. Right then he hears a sound far away, a couple of plangent strokes; it was the church bell striking two in town. He whispers, “The bell has tolled!” And he quickly raises the vial to his lips and empties it.

The first few moments he still sat upright, his eyes closed, the empty vial in one hand and the stopper in the other. The whole thing had gone so briskly that he hadn’t quite kept up with it. Now, afterward, his thoughts gradually began to crowd in on him, he opened his eyes and looked about him in a daze. These trees, this sky, this earth—all this he would now never see again. How strange! The poison was already sneaking about inside him, seeping through the fine tissues, making its blue way into his veins; in a moment he would go into convulsions, and a little later he would be dead and stiff.

He has a distinctly bitter taste in his mouth and feels his tongue crumpling up more and more. He makes absurd gestures with his arms to see how far he has already died, begins to count the trees around him, gets as far as ten and gives up. Why, was he going to die, really die tonight? No, oh no! No, not tonight, eh? How strange!

Yes, he was going to die, he clearly felt the acid doing something to his insides. No, why now, why at once? Good grief, it mustn’t happen just yet, must it? How his eyes were growing dim already! What a soughing was sweeping through the forest, though there wasn’t a breath of wind! And why were red clouds beginning to drift above the treetops? ... Ah, not just now, not just now! No, do you hear, no! What shall I do? I don’t want to! God in heaven, what shall I do?

And suddenly all sorts of thoughts crowd in on him with overwhelming force. He wasn’t ready yet, there were a thousand things to be done first, and his brain flares and sparkles with all that remained to be done. He still hasn’t paid his hotel bill, he’d forgotten about it; heavens, yes, it was just an oversight, and he would put it right again! Oh, he must be spared overnight—mercy, an hour’s mercy, a little more than an hour! Great God, there was also a letter he had forgotten to write, another letter, a couple of lines to a man in Finland; it concerned his sister, her whole estate! ... So conscious was he in the midst of his desperation, and with such marvelous intensity was his brain working, that he even thought of his newspaper subscriptions. O-o-h, he hadn’t canceled his subscriptions either, the papers would be arriving continually; they would never stop, filling up his room from floor to ceiling. What should he do? And now he was practically half dead!

He tears up the heather with both hands, turns over on his stomach and tries to bring up the poison by sticking his finger down his throat, but to no avail. No, he didn’t want to die, not tonight, not tomorrow either; he would never want to die, he wanted to live, yes, to still see the sun for an eternity. He would simply refuse to keep this bit of poison down, he had to get it up before it killed him—up, up, come hell or high water!

Frantic with terror he jumps to his feet and begins to stagger about the woods looking for water. He calls “Water! Water!” so that it echoes far away. He raves on for several minutes, running around in all directions, bumping into trees, doing high jumps over juniper patches and groaning loudly. He doesn’t find any water. Finally he stumbles and falls on his face, his hands scrabble the heather-covered ground as he falls, and he feels a slight pain in one cheek. He tries to move, to rise, but the fall has dazed him and he sinks back again; he feels more and more faint and doesn’t rise.

Well, so be it, there was no getting out of it! Oh good Lord, then he would have to die after all! If he’d had the strength to find water somewhere, perhaps he would’ve been saved! Oh, what a bad end he would come to, regardless how sweet he’d once imagined it. He was going to die of poison under the open sky! But why wasn’t he stiff already? He could still move his fingers and raise his eyelids; strange how it dragged on and on!

He feels his face, it’s cold and bathed in sweat. Having fallen forward, with his head turned downhill, he just lies there, making no fuss about it. Every limb of his body is still quivering; he has a cut on one cheek and calmly lets it bleed. How it dragged on and on! He lies there patiently, waiting. Again he hears the church bell strike the hour, it strikes three. He starts: could he have had the poison in him for a whole hour without being dead? He raises himself on his elbow and looks at his watch; yes, it was three o’clock. What a long time it was taking!

Well, if he must, maybe he had better die now, despite everything! And suddenly, as he came to think of Dagny, how he would sing for her every Sunday morning and do her many kindnesses, he felt resigned to his fate and got tears in his eyes. Mawkishly, to the accompaniment of prayers and silent tears, he began to focus his thoughts on all the things he would do for Dagny. Oh, how he would protect her, keeping all evil away from her! Perhaps he would be able to fly to her and be near her already tomorrow—good God, if only he could do it by tomorrow and have her wake up truly radiant! It was mean of him not to want to die a moment ago, when he could make her happy that way; in fact, he regretted it and asked her forgiveness. He couldn’t understand what he had been thinking of. But now she could depend on him, he yearned to come sailing into her room and stand before her bed. In a few hours, maybe within the hour, he would be there, oh yes, he would be there. And he would surely get an angel of the Lord to do it for him if he couldn’t do it himself; he would promise him lots of nice things in return. He would say: I’m not white, but you can do it, you’re white; in return you can do with me whatever you like. You’re staring at me because I’m black, aren’t you? Certainly I’m black, is that anything to stare at? And I’ll gladly promise to stay black for a long, long time yet if you’ll do me the favor I ask of you. I can stay black for an extra million years, and much blacker than I’m now, if you insist, and, if you like, we can add another million years for every Sunday you sing for her. Believe me, I’ll dream up any number of things to offer you in return, not sparing any trouble, if you’ll just listen to me! You won’t be flying alone, I’ll come with you, I’ll carry you and do the flying for both of us; I’ll do it with pleasure and without staining you, black as I am. I’ll take care of everything, all you have to do is rest. God knows, perhaps I might even have a present I could give you; maybe you would find some use for it. I’ll keep it in mind in case anybody should give me something; perhaps I might be lucky and earn lots of things for you, one never knows....

Sure, he hadn’t the least doubt that he would eventually persuade an angel of the Lord to do this for him....

Again the church bell strikes the hour. Half absent, he counts the four strokes and thinks no more of it. He had to be patient. Then he folded his hands and prayed to be allowed to die quickly, within the next few minutes; that way he might be able to reach Dagny before she awoke. If he did, he would offer thanks and praise to everything and everybody; it was a great favor, and he had only this one fervent wish....

He closed his eyes and fell asleep.

 

 

He slept for three hours. When he awoke the sun was shining down at him, and the whole forest was filled with a loud murmur of chirping birds. He sat up and looked about him; suddenly he remembered all he had done during the night. The bottle was still lying beside him, and he recalled how fervently he had prayed to God at the end, asking to be allowed to die real soon. And here he was, still alive! Once again some evil circumstance he’d not foreseen had crossed his path! Completely at sea, he thought it all through to no avail, being aware of only one thing: that thus far he was not dead!

He got up, took the bottle and walked a few steps. Why did he always come up against obstacles whenever he honestly tried to do something? What was wrong with the poison? It was genuine Prussic acid, a doctor had confirmed it was enough, more than enough; also, the parson’s dog had dropped stone dead after a mere taste of it. And it was the very same vial, it had been half full, that he remembered having seen with his own eyes before he emptied it. The vial had never been in anyone else’s hands either; he always carried it in his vest pocket. What were these insidious powers shadowing him everywhere?

Like a flash it hits him that the vial had been in strange hands, after all. Coming to a halt, he instinctively snaps his fingers. Hm, it was obvious: Miniman had had it in his possession for a whole night. He had given Miniman his vest at the bachelor party in the hotel; the vial, his watch, and some papers were left in the pockets. Early the following morning Miniman had returned the articles. Oh, that old foolish cripple, once again he had been there with his crafty goodness! How clever, what an artful trick!

Nagel clenched his teeth with indignation. What had he said that night in his room? Hadn’t he explicitly stated that he didn’t have the courage to use the poison on himself? And yet, that utterly rotten, hypocritical freak of a dwarf had been sitting on the chair next to him, secretly doubting his words! What a wretch, a real mole! He had gone straight home and emptied the vial, had perhaps even rinsed it thoroughly and then filled it half full with water. And after this noble deed he had gone to bed and slept soundly!

Nagel began walking toward town. Being fairly rested, he thought things over bitterly and clearly. The events of the night had humiliated him and made him seem ridiculous in his own eyes. To think that he had actually scented almonds in this water, felt his tongue shrivel up from it, and sensed death inside him because of it! And this mouthful of perfectly ordinary christening water from the well had made him rave and jump sky-high over stock and stone! Angry and blushing with shame, he stopped and let out a wild scream; but the next moment he looked about him, afraid someone might have heard him, and broke into a song to cover it up.

As he walked on, his mood was softened by the bright, warm morning and the unceasing birdsong in the air. A cart came driving toward him; the boy driver says hello, Nagel does likewise, and a trailing dog wags his tail and looks him straight in the eye.... But why hadn’t he managed to die last night, fairly and squarely? He still grieved over it. He had laid himself to rest feeling quite satisfied to have reached the end; he was filled with a gentle happiness until he closed his eyes and fell asleep. By this time Dagny was up, maybe she had already gone out, and he hadn’t been able to do anything nice for her. He couldn’t have felt more ignominiously taken in! Miniman had added one more kindness to the many others his heart overflowed with, he had done him a favor and saved his life—the very same favor he himself had once done a stranger, an unfortunate who didn’t want to land in Hamburg. It was on that occasion he had earned his lifesaving medal, heh-heh,
earned
his lifesaving medal! Oh sure, you save people, you don’t hesitate to do a good deed sometimes, you go straight ahead and save people from death!

Feeling positively sheepish, he sneaked up to his room in the hotel and sat down. There everything was clean and cozy; the windows had been shined and newly ironed curtains hung. On the table was a bouquet of wildflowers in water. He had never seen any flowers there before, the surprise threw him into a state of happy wonderment and made him rub his hands. What a stroke of luck on such a morning! What a charming idea on the part of a poor chambermaid! A good person, that Sara! Yes, it really was a delightful morning. Even the faces down in the marketplace looked happy; the plasterer sat at his table quietly smoking his clay pipe, though he didn’t sell a pennyworth. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing, after all, that those wild plans of his last night had come to nothing! He thought with horror of the fear he had experienced as he was rushing about in search of water; he still trembled at the thought of it, and sitting safely in his chair in this pleasant bright room with the sun shining in, he had at that moment a wonderful feeling of having been delivered from evil. But as a last resort, there was still a good, unerring expedient left which he hadn’t tried! You might not succeed the first time—you didn’t die, you stood up again; but there was, for example, a little reliable six-shooter you could get from any old arms dealer whenever it was needed. The account was not settled yet....

Sara knocked on the door. She had heard he had come in and wanted to let him know that breakfast was served. As she was about to leave, he called her back and asked if the flowers were from her.

Yes, they were from her, nothing worth mentioning.

Still he took her hand.

“Where have you been all night?” she asked, smiling. “You weren’t home at all, were you?”

“Look,” he said, “this thing with the flowers was really a charming gesture on your part; you also shined the windows and gave me fresh curtains last night. I cannot tell you how much pleasure you have given me by this, I wish you every happiness in return for it.” Suddenly he experiences one of those crazy moments in which he becomes sheer mood, nothing but unpredictable whims, and says, “Listen, I had a fur coat with me when I came to this hotel. God only knows what has become of it, but I definitely had a fur coat with me, and I’m going to give it to you. Oh yes, I’m doing it to show my gratitude, my mind is made up, the coat is yours.”