“Only three,” I answered, laughing. It never occurred to me to feel ashamed. With this girl, all such feelings disappeared completely.
“Incidentally, what’s your name?”
“Do you intend to come here often?” she countered.
“Perhaps,” I answered, rather confused. “Why?”
“Why do you want to know my name? For the half hour we sit here, ‘my sweet’ or whatever else you like to call me, will do.”
“All right, don’t tell me your name,” I said, suddenly irritable. “I don’t care.”
I took the bottle and poured another drink. Already it was quite clear to me that I was completely drunk and that I should not take any more. Even so, the urge to go on drinking was stronger. The coloured web in my brain enticed me, the dark untrodden jungles of my inner self tempted me; from afar, a soft seductive voice was calling.
“I don’t know whether I shall often come here,” I said rapidly. “I can’t stand you, I hate you, and yet I’ve come back to you this evening. This morning I drank the first schnaps in my life. You poured it out for me, you stole into my blood with it, you’ve poisoned me. You’re like the spirit of schnaps: hovering, intoxicating, cheap and. …”
I looked at her, breathless, myself the more astonished at these words which hurtled out of me, goodness knows where from. She sat opposite me. She had not taken up her sewing again. She had crossed her stockingless legs and had pushed her skirt back a little from her knees. Her legs were rather sturdy, but long, and fine-ankled. On her right calf I saw a birthmark nearly the size of a farthing—it seemed beautiful to me. She held a cigarette in her hand; she blew the smoke in a broad stream through her nearly closed lips; she stared at me without blinking.
“Go on, pop,” she said, “you’re getting on fine, go on.…”
I tried to think. What had I been talking about just now? The impulse to touch her, to take her in my arms, became almost overwhelming. But I leaned back firmly in my wicker chair, I clung to its arms. Suddenly I heard myself speak again. I spoke quite slowly and very distinctly, and yet I was breathless with excitement. “I’m a wholesale merchant,” I said, “I had quite a good business, but now I’m faced with bankruptcy. They’ll all laugh at me, all of them, especially my wife.… I’ve made a lot of mistakes, and Magda will throw them all in my face. Magda’s my wife, you know.…”
She looked at me steadily, with that very white face of hers, that had about it something almost bloated. Above her nearly colourless eyes, stood her dark high-arching brows.
“But I can still draw money out of the business, a few thousand marks. I’d do it anyway, just to annoy Magda. Magda wants to save the business. Does she think she’s better than I am? I could sell the business. I know already to whom, it’s quite a new firm. He would give me ten, perhaps twelve thousand marks for it, we could go travelling.… Have you ever been to Paris?”
She looked at me. Neither affirmation nor dissent were to be read in her face. I went on talking, quicker, more breathlessly. “I’ve not been there either,” I continued, “but I’ve read about it. It’s a town of tree-lined boulevards, wide squares, leafy parks.… When I was a boy I learned a bit of French, but I left school too soon, my parents hadn’t enough money. Do you know what this means:
Not a sign from her, neither yes or no.
“It means, ‘give me a kiss, mademoiselle.’ But one would have to say to you,
She filled my glass.
“There, drink this up, then you’re going home. It’s enough—you’ve had enough to drink, and I’ve had enough of you. You can take that bottle of brandy with you. You’ll have to pay for the whole bottle, saloon price. It’s no swindle. Don’t you come in here tomorrow saying I swindled you. You poured I don’t know how many out for yourself.”
“Don’t say that, Elsabe,” I said, half-blustering, half-whining. “I’d never do such a thing! What do I care about money—!”
“Don’t teach me about men! When they’re drunk and randy it’s all ‘What do I care about money!’ and next morning they turn up with the police, shouting about being swindled. The brandy, and the champagne, and my cigarettes … that comes to.…”
She named a sum.
“Is that all?” I said boastfully and pulled out my wallet. “Here you are!”
I put down the money.
“And here …,” I took out a hundred-mark note and laid it beside the other. “This is for you because I hate you and because you’re ruining me. Take it, take it. I don’t want anything from you, anything at all! Go away! I’ve got you in my blood already, I couldn’t possess you more than I do. You’re very likely dull and boring. You’re not from hereabouts, you’re from some city, of course, where you left everything behind—this is just the remains!”
We stood facing each other, the money lay on the table, the light was gloomy. I swayed gently on my feet. I was holding the half-empty brandy bottle by the neck. She looked at me.
“Put your money away,” she whispered. “Take your money off the table. I don’t want your money … you’d better go!”
“You can’t force me to take the money back. I’m leaving it here … I present you with it, my queen of bright brandy called Elsabe. I’m going.…”
Laboriously I made my way to the door. The key was on the inside and I struggled to turn it in the lock.
“Hey, you,” she said behind me. “You.…”
I turned round. Her voice had become low but full and soft. All the impudence had gone out of it.
“You …” she repeated, and now in her eyes there was colour and light. “You—do you want to?”
Now it was I who looked at her silently.
“Take your shoes off, be quiet on the stairs, the landlady mustn’t hear you. Come on, be quick.…”
Silently, I did as she told me. I don’t know why I did. I didn’t desire her now. I didn’t desire her in that way, at all.
“Give me your hand.”
She switched off the light and led me by the hand. In the other hand I still held the brandy bottle. It was completely dark in the bar-room. I crept after her. Moonlight through a little dusty window fell on the narrow angular staircase. I swayed, I was very tired. I thought of my own bed, of Magda, of my long way home.
It was all too much for me. The only consolation was the bottle of brandy in my hand, that would give me strength. I would have preferred to stop already and take a pull out of the bottle, I was so tired. The stairs creaked, the bedroom door groaned softly as it was opened. There was moonlight in the room, too. A rumpled bed, an iron wash-stand, a chair, a row of hangers on the wall.…
“Get undressed,” I said softly, “I’ll be with you in a moment.” And more to myself, “Are there any stars here?”
I went to the window, which looked out over an orchard. I opened it a little; the spring air with its soft breeze and its perfumes entered, mild as a tender caress. Under the window lay the sloping tar-papered roof of a shed.
“That’s good,” I said, softly again. “That sloping roof is very good.”
I couldn’t see the moon, it was behind the house-roof above my head. But its glow filled the sky with a whitish light; only the brightest stars were to be seen, and even they looked dim. I was uneasy and irritable.
“Come on,” she cried angrily from the bed. “Hurry up! Do you think I don’t need any sleep?”
I turned, and bent over the bed. She lay on her back, covered to the chin. I stripped the cover back and laid my face for a moment against her naked breast. Cool and firm. Breathing gently. It smelt good—of hair and flesh.
“Hurry up!” she whispered impatiently. “Get undressed—stop that nonsense. You’re not a schoolboy any more!”
I straightened up with a deep sigh. I went to the window, took the bottle and swung myself out on to the
