noticeable, and that all was going well, I paid no attention to her glances. I recall that I ate that soup with particular relish.
Else cleared the table, and as she did so she whispered some domestic question to my wife, which caused Magda to get up and follow Else into the kitchen, probably to cut up or taste something. I was left alone in the dining-room, waiting for the meat course. I was thinking of nothing in particular; I was filled with a pleasant contentment; I was enjoying life. I had no warning of what I was about to do next. Suddenly, to my own surprise, I got up, tiptoed over to the sideboard, opened the lower door, and there, sure enough, was the bottle of red wine which we had started on that fateful November evening when our quarrels had begun. I held it up to the light. As I expected, it was still half-full. There was no time to lose, Magda might return at any moment. The cork was driven rather deep into the neck of the bottle, but I pulled it out with my nails, put the bottle to my mouth, and drank and drank like an old toper. (But what else could I do? There was no time to get a glass, quite apart from the fact that a used glass would have given me away.) I took three or four long pulls, held the bottle up to the light again, and saw that only a miserable drop was left. I finished that off as well, replaced the cork in the bottle, shut the sideboard door, and tiptoed back to my place. My stomach heaved, upset by the sudden flood of alcohol; it was convulsed as if by cramp, a fiery mist rose before my eyes, and my forehead and hands were damp with sweat. I had a hard job to pull myself together before Magda returned. Then I sat down at table again, feeling pleasantly abandoned to my drunkenness, and only the necessity of at least going through the form of eating, presented any difficulty. My stomach seemed a very delicate thing, ready to revolt at any moment. Each single bite had to be fed to it with the greatest care, and I regretted that the food which I had to swallow for appearances’ sake was going to disturb the drunkenness which was quietly making itself felt.
It never occurred to me that it might be a good thing to exchange a few words with Magda. Instead, my mind was busy with another problem, which presented grave difficulties. The wine-bottle was in the sideboard all right, but with the scrupulous way in which Magda ran her household, she was bound to notice within a short time that it was empty. I couldn’t possibly allow that to happen. I must take precautions in time. But how incredibly difficult it was! The best solution would be to buy another bottle of red wine this very afternoon, pour about half of it away, and put it in place of the empty one. But when was I to do it, how could I get to the sideboard when I had to be at the office all the afternoon, and Magda and I always spent the evening together, she with some needlework and I with my newspaper? When? and what was I to do with the empty bottle? Would I be able to buy some wine of the same brand? Did Magda remember what sort it was, what kind of label it had? Best would be to get up secretly at midnight, carefully take the label off the old bottle and stick it on the new one. But supposing Magda were to surprise me at it! And moreover, had we any glue in the house? I would have to smuggle some from the office in my brief-case. The more I thought about it, the more complicated the whole affair became. Already it was absolutely insoluble. It had been easy enough to empty the bottle, but I should have thought before, how difficult it was going to be to restore it to its former condition. Supposing I just broke the bottle, and pretended that I had knocked it over while looking for something? But there was no wine left to spill. Or dare I simply half-fill it with water, and put off filling it with wine until some later time?
My head was more and more muddled. While I cast around in my mind, I had quite forgotten not only the meal but Magda as well. So I started, when she asked me with genuine apprehension in her voice: “What’s the matter, Erwin? Are you ill? Have you got a temperature? You look so red.”
I eagerly seized on this pretext, and said calmly: “Yes, I really don’t feel quite well. I think I’d better lie down for a moment. My … my head’s throbbing.”
“Yes, do, Erwin. Go to bed immediately. Shall I ring Dr Mansfeld?”
“Oh, nonsense,” I cried angrily, “I’ll just lie down on the sofa for a quarter of an hour, and I’ll be all right. Then I must get back to the office.”
She led me to the sofa like an invalid, helped me to lie down and spread a rug over me. “Have you had trouble at the office?” she asked anxiously. “Tell me what’s worrying you, Erwin. You’re quite changed.”
“Nothing, nothing,” I said, suddenly angry. “I don’t know what’s the matter with you. A little attack of giddiness or blood pressure and immediately there’s something wrong at the office. Business is fine, just fine!”
She sighed softly. “All right, then, sleep well, Erwin,” she said. “Shall I wake you?”
“No, no, not necessary. I’ll wake up of my own accord—in a quarter of an hour or so.…”
Then I was alone at last: I let my head fall back, and now the alcohol flooded right through me in an unrestrained free-running wave. With a velvet wing it covered all my sorrows and afflictions, it washed away even the little new worry over my unnecessary lie about business being fine. I slept.… Slept? No, I was extinguished, I no longer existed.
5
It is already beginning to get dark when I wake up. I throw a startled glance at the clock: it is between seven and eight in the evening. I listen for any noises in the house. Nothing stirs. I call, softly at first, then louder: “Magda!” But she doesn’t come. I get up stiffly. My whole body feels battered, my head is hollow, my mouth dry and thick. I glance into the dining-room next door: no supper table is laid, though this is our usual supper-time. What is the matter? What has happened while I slept? Where is Magda?
After some reflection, I grope my way to the kitchen. Walking is not easy, it is as if all my limbs are stiff and bent, they move with difficulty in their joints.
I half expected to find the kitchen empty too, and almost dark, but the light is on, and Else is standing by the table, busy with some ironing. As I come in she looks up with a start, and the expression on her face is no more reassured when she sees who it is. I can well imagine that I look a bit wild. Suddenly I feel as if I am dirty all over. I should have gone into the bathroom first.
“Where is my wife, Else?” I ask.
“Madam has gone to town,” replies Else, with a quick, almost fearful glance at me.
“But it’s supper-time, Else!” I say reproachfully, though I have not the slightest inclination to eat any supper.
Else shrugs her shoulders, and then says, with another quick glance, “There was a telephone call from your office. I think your wife has gone to the office.”
I swallow with difficulty; I am conscious how dry my mouth has become.
“To the office?” I murmur. “Good God! What’s my wife doing at the office, Else?”
She shrugs her shoulders again. “How should I know, Herr Sommer,” she says. “Madam didn’t tell me anything.” She reflects for a moment, then goes on. “They rang up shortly after three, and your wife has been gone ever since.” So for more than four hours already Magda has been at the office. I am lost. Why I am lost I cannot say, but I know that I am. My knees grow weak, I stumble forward a few steps and slump heavily into a chair. I let my head fall on the kitchen table.
“It’s all up, Else,” I groan. “I’m lost. Oh, Else.…” I hear her set down the iron with a startled crash, then she comes over to me and puts her hand on my shoulder. “What is it, Herr Sommer? Don’t you feel well?” I don’t see her. I don’t lift my face from the shelter of my arms. In the presence of this young girl I am ashamed of my gushing tears. It’s all over, all lost, my firm, my marriage, Magda—oh, if only I hadn’t drunk that wine this lunch-time, that’s what made everything go wrong; without that, Magda would never have gone to the office (a fleeting thought: I’ve still got to settle that affair of the empty wine bottle, too!). Else gently shakes my shoulder. “Herr Sommer,” she says “don’t give way like that. Lie down again for a bit, and I’ll quickly make you some supper in the meantime.” I shake my head. “I don’t want any supper, Else. My wife ought to be here by now, it’s high time …”
“Or,” says Else persuasively, “would you like to eat a little something here in the kitchen with me, Herr Sommer?” Adding rather doubtfully. “As your wife is out.…” By its very novelty, there is something seductive about this quite unheard-of proposal. To eat in the kitchen with Else? Whatever would Magda say? I raise my head and look at Else properly for the first time. I have never looked at her like that before: for me, she was always merely a dark shadow of my wife in the remoter regions of the house. Now I see that Else is quite a pleasant dark-haired girl of about seventeen, of a somewhat robust beauty. Under a light blouse she has full breasts, and at the thought of how young those breasts are I feel a hot wave run over me.
But then I come to my senses. It’s all so impossible. Already this business of letting myself go before Else just now is utterly impossible.
