loveliness. “What are you talking about?” He took her, embracing and rocking her like a child, and said laughingly: “We haven’t got the money for registrar’s fees, and you talk about one’s deepest feelings.”
“And am I not to talk about them?” she murmured, lowering her voice, nestling her head on his breast. “Am I not to talk about such things because you don’t talk about them? Always, every moment, every day, I think, even when you hold me in your arms and kiss me, as you are doing now, that you’re very far away from me—from everything.”
“Now you’re talking about gambling,” he said, and his embrace relaxed.
“No, I’m not talking about gambling,” she denied hurriedly, and leaned closer to him. “Or perhaps I am. You must know that I don’t know where you are or what you are thinking about. Gamble as much as you like—but when you don’t, couldn’t you be with me a little? Oh, Wolf,” she cried, and now she had moved away, holding him above the elbows and looking firmly at him, “you always think you ought to apologize about the money or explain something. There’s nothing to explain and there’s nothing to be sorry for. If we belong to each other, everything’s all right; and if we don’t, then everything is wrong—with or without money, marriage or no marriage.”
She looked hopefully toward him, she yearned for a word; if only he had held her in his arms in the right way, she would have understood him.
What does she really want of me? he had been thinking. But he knew. She had given herself to him entirely, right from the start, from that first morning when she had asked whether she could come with him. Now she begged him to open for once his dark, remote heart. But how can I do that? he asked himself. How am I to do it? He felt a sudden relief. That I don’t know how shows she is right: I don’t love her, he thought. I merely want to marry her. If I hadn’t staked on zero there would have been money for the registry office; there wouldn’t have been this discussion. Of course, now I know it, it would be better if we didn’t marry. But how am I to tell her? I can’t retreat. She’s still looking at me. What am I to tell her?
The silence had become heavy and oppressive. She still held his arms, but loosely, as if she had forgotten she was holding them. “Peter!” He cleared his throat.
The outer door creaked, and the shuffling of Frau Thumann was heard.
“Quick, Wolf, shut the door,” said Peter hurriedly. “Frau Thumann’s coming and we don’t want her now.”
She had let go of him. But before he could reach the door of their room the landlady came in sight.
“Are you still waiting?” she asked. “I’ve told you: no money, no coffee.”
“Listen, Frau Thumann,” said Wolfgang hurriedly. “I don’t want any coffee. I’m going immediately with our things to Uncle’s. In the meantime give Petra rolls and coffee. She’s half dead with hunger.” Not a sound from Petra. “And with the money I’ll come at once and pay you everything, keeping only what I need for my fare to Grunewald. I’ve an old army friend there, Zecke is his name, von Zecke, who’ll certainly lend me some money.”
He risked a glance into the room. Petra had sat down quietly on the bed, sat there with bent head; he couldn’t see her face.
“Is that so?” the Thumann woman replied, half a question, half a threat. “The girl shan’t lack for breakfast, not today nor tomorrow—what about the wedding, though?” She stood, an overflowing form in shapeless garments, the chamber pot in her hand—the sight of her was enough to destroy anybody’s desire for weddings and respectability forever.
“Oh,” said Wolfgang lightly, and recovered himself. “If Petra’s breakfast comes along, the wedding will come along as well.” He glanced at the girl, who did not move.
“You’ll have to stand in line at the pawnshop and Grunewald’s a long way,” said the Thumann woman. “I’m always hearing about the wedding, but I’d prefer to see it.”
“It’s all right,” cried Petra and got up. “You can be sure about the money and about the wedding, too. Come, Wolf, I’ll help you pack the things. We’ll take the small suitcase; then the man will only have to glance at it to see everything is there as usual. He ought to know it well by now.” And she smiled at him.
Frau Thumann looked keenly from the one to the other, like a wise old bird. Immensely relieved, Wolfgang cried: “Peter, you’re splendid. Perhaps I can really get it through by half-past twelve. If I find Zecke at home, he’ll certainly lend me enough to take a taxi.…”
“Certainly,” replied the Thumann woman for Petra. “An’ then she gets out of bed and into the registry office with a man’s overcoat on and nothing beneath. We’re very clever, aren’t we?” she flashed out. “I’m tired of hearing about it, and what’s worse, there’s no end to the silly little geese who believe you fellers when you tell such yarns. And I know the girl. She’ll sit about the kitchen pretending to help me, but she won’t want to help me, not a scrap; only wants to keep an eye on the kitchen clock, and when half-past twelve comes she’ll say: ‘I feel he’s coming, Frau Thumann.’ But he won’t turn up; he’ll probably be with his high-born pal, and they’ll be having a quiet drink an’ smoke. If he’s got it in his head at all, it’ll be: ‘They marry people every day, anyhow.’ And what don’t happen today needn’t happen tomorrow by a long chalk!”
And thereupon the Thumann woman shot a devastating look at Wolfgang and a contemptuous, pitying one at Petra, made a flourish with the chamber pot which was period, exclamation and question mark combined, and closed the door. The two stood there, hardly daring to look at each other, for, however one might regard the landlady’s outburst, it was not pleasant.
Finally Petra said: “Never mind, Wolfgang. She and all the others can say what they like; it doesn’t affect the issue. And if I was in a tearful mood a moment ago, forget it. Sometimes one feels quite alone, and then one is afraid and would like to be reassured.”
“And now you don’t feel alone, Peter?” asked Wolfgang, oddly moved. “Now you don’t need reassurance?”
She looked at him, forlorn and confused. “Oh, you are with me.…”
“But,” he urged, “perhaps Madam Po is right. At half-past twelve I’ll be sitting and thinking: ‘One can be married any day.’ What do you think?”
“That I trust you,” she cried and lifted her head and looked at him confidently. “And even if I didn’t, what difference would that make? I can’t tie you down. Marriage or no marriage—if you want me everything is all right, and if you don’t …” She broke off, smiled at him. “Now you’ve got to hurry, Wolf. Uncle closes at twelve for lunch, and perhaps there’s really a line.” She handed him the suitcase, she gave him a kiss. “Good luck, Wolf.”
He would have liked to say something, but could not think what.
So he took the case and went.
Chapter Three
I
At Neulohe Manor the little bailiff Meier, nicknamed Black Meier, was so tired out by eleven or twelve in the morning that he could have fallen into bed as he was, in coat and leggings, and have slept till next day. He sat, however, and nodded drowsily in the long dry grass at the edge of a rye field, well hidden from view by a group of pine trees.
He had been up since three o’clock that morning, handing out the fodder in the steaming stables, supervising the feeding, watching the milking, looking to the cleaning of the cattle. At four o’clock he had got in the rapeseed, which must be carted in the morning dew, so that it does not droop. At a quarter to seven, standing, he had swallowed a cup of coffee and some food. And from seven onward the usual routine. Then a message had come from the rye field that both reaping and binding machines had broken down. He had hurried thither with the smith, had tinkered with the machines; now they were rattling again; still rattling—how tired he was! He was tired not only because of yesterday: now he was also tired from today. How he would like to drop asleep, bask in the sun! But before twelve he had to be in the sugar-beet field to see whether the overseer, Kowalewski, and his gang were doing the hoeing properly and not scamping the work.
Meier’s bicycle lay in the ditch a few yards away. But he was too lazy to get on it; he simply couldn’t. His limbs and especially his throat felt as if they were smothered by a thick layer of fatigue. When he lay quite still this
