again I could drink and vomit, drink and vomit. So out of one day grew a second and a third and a whole row of days and I never once left the room at Lobedanz’s.
15
During this first week which I spent with Lobedanz, both of my rings, my gold watch and my brief-case passed into his possession. I am quite convinced that the pawnbroker was merely an imaginary person, and that the one who actually acquired my valuables was that “very poor man” Lobedanz himself. What I got in return was absurdly little. Perhaps twelve to fourteen bottles of schnaps, at four marks a bottle (incidentally, the quality he brought was always poor), and now and then a little food. For I ate hardly anything. Whenever I happened to glance in the mirror now, I would observe my face with a sort of cruel voluptuousness. Covered with days-old bristles, it looked bloated yet emaciated, positively burnt-out. “That’s the way to destroy oneself,” I said triumphantly. And immediately I thought of Magda again, and how shocked she would be if she could see me in this condition, and how I would fling it in her face that she, and she alone, was the shameful cause of this transformation!
My health changed much during this time. Of course, I did not give another thought to the cure I had planned. I drank as much as I could get into my stomach. Usually, it was on strike, and I had a great deal of trouble to get the required amount down; at other times, for some unknown reason, it was quite willing to swallow and keep down whatever it got. Those were the good times. Then I sat at the window, with the bottle always close by me; I sang old folk-songs and
From such childish dreams, Lobedanz would wake me roughly enough. He made it clear that I should get neither drink nor lodging from him unless I produced some more money at once.… We became involved in an endless quarrel, on his side, always polite, quiet, insinuating, on mine, rude, with passionate outbursts that ended almost in floods of tears. But it did not help in the least to keep reproaching him for the usurious prices at which he availed himself of my belongings, giving me little, almost nothing, in return. He sheltered behind the pawnbroker who just would not give more, he swore up hill and down dale that he had not made a penny out of me up to now, and still maintained that I must get money or move out. Yes, and now he even made dark insinuations that the police might be very interested in people of my sort, and that it was not permitted to take up residence without reporting to them, and that this was making it dangerous for him. At that time, I paid no attention to such threatening talk. But I knew that I would have to get some money, for the gentle Lobedanz was as hard as flint.
The only thing I got out of him was another bottle of brandy on tick, to make me fresh for my night expedition. I had just had one of my good days, that is, a day when my body was on good terms with alcohol; that was a bit of luck. On another day, it would have been impossible for me to undertake such a trip. I knew that I could not go to the bank any more: I was sure that they had been notified of my disappearance, and advised that, if I did turn up, no payments were to be made to me without previous consultation. So I would have to break into my own house. The thought of meeting Magda was not so pleasant—now that such a meeting was almost certain—as it had been a week ago, when I had only dreamed of her. But it had to be. I thrust the brandy bottle into my trouser pocket—the gentle Lobedanz had refused me the return of my brief-case—and started on my way. It was shortly after midnight. Lobedanz let me out of the house and whispered that it was very dark. I should be particularly careful when crossing the bridge over the river.
“I’ll wait up for you, sir,” he whispered, “however late it may be. I’ll have a bottle ready for you. And then, sir,” he whispered still softer, “then, sir, if you’ve still got any jewellery or silver—I’ve got a dealer on hand who pays very decent prices, not like that twister—just bring whatever you can and I’ll look after you all right.”
“That’s the way to catch simpletons,” I thought, and was simpleton enough not to withhold my appreciation from Lobedanz for being so clever as to keep a bottle of brandy ready as a reward for my return. Of course, I had quite different plans, of which he had no inkling.
Walking was much easier for me than I had expected. I felt hardly any need for drink. I was rather excited. I well remember how, all the long way, I tried anxiously not to think of what lay ahead of me. I recited to myself, over and over again, all the poems I knew by heart from my schooldays; and in spite of that, I found myself between one verse and the next, talking to Magda or wondering which suitcase would be the best one to take.
At last, after nearly three-quarters of an hour’s walking, I arrived at the garden gate of my villa. Shortly before, one o’clock had struck from the town’s three steeples. I closed the gate softly behind me, and avoiding the gravel-path, made my way across the grass round my house. Everything lay quiet and dark. For a long time, I stood under Magda’s bedroom window, and thought I heard her quiet breathing; but it was only my own heart beating loud and restless within my breast. When I came to think that here I stood by my own house, within five yards of my own wife, like a penniless stranger in the night, unwashed and unshaven for a week, such a wave of self-pity swept over me that I burst into bitter tears. I wept long and painfully. I would have liked to get into Magda’s room and let her console me, but in the end, the schnaps again proved the best comforter. I drank long and deeply. My grief calmed down. I fought back an inclination to sleep for a while, and returned to the front of the house.
16
I am standing in my stockinged feet in the hall of my house. I have left my shoes by the door. It is dark, but now my hand gropes for the switch, a faint click, and it is light. Yes, here I am at home again, I belong here, in all this order and cleanliness! With an almost reverent shyness, I gaze around at this cosy little hall, with its light- green carpet, from which the ugly traces of that dismal night have long since been removed; I look at the hall- stand, on which Magda’s green costume jacket and a blueish summer coat are neatly hanging side by side. And now I tiptoe over to the mirror, in which one can see oneself from head to foot, and I look myself up and down. And I am gripped by a terrible fear when I see myself standing there in my soiled and shapeless clothes, with a greyish-black collar, a pallid bristly face, and red-rimmed eyes.
“So that’s what’s become of me!” cries a voice within me, and my first impulse is to rush in to Magda, to fall on my knees before her, and to implore her: “Save me! Save me from myself! Hold me to your heart!” But this impulse vanishes: I smile craftily at my image in the mirror.
“That’s just what she would like,” I think. “And then—off with the old man into a drunkard’s home, while she gets hold of the business and the money!”
Be cunning. Always be cunning. And I quickly move a chair over to the big cupboard in the hall, I reach up, and take down a suitcase, the best suitcase we possess, a real cowhide one; it belongs to Magda really, I gave it to her once for a birthday present. But that is of no importance now, besides—do not married people own everything in common? In the next quarter of an hour, I become feverishly active, I pack my overcoat, two suits, underwear. I fetch my toilet things from the bathroom. Magda will be surprised in the morning! From the shoe-cupboard I fetch two pairs of shoes—I arrange everything as if for a long journey. And now I really do feel as if I were about to start on a long journey, perhaps, perhaps this time Elinor will be more amenable. Now I have finished with all these things, and before I begin the most difficult part, I sit down for a moment on the hall floor, take a drink, and rest. It is very noticeable how feeble I have become during the last few weeks. This bit of packing has exhausted me out of all proportion, my heart is palpitating, I am covered with sweat.
Then I set to work again. Till now, everything has gone splendidly. I have made no noise that would wake a normal sleeper, nothing has fallen from my hands. But, as I have said, the most difficult part is still ahead of me. I open the drawer under the mirror, and look, the torch is lying there sure enough! I switch on, and look, it really works! There’s nothing like a well-ordered household—hurrah for Magda! I switch off all the lights and steal into our living-room with the torch. It is next to the bedroom, and is separated from it only by a double-door decorated with coloured glass panels, through which every light and every sound penetrates. In the darkness, I grope over to the writing-desk, in whose centre compartment our ready money lies in a small cashbox. Usually, only the money
