circumstances, he could still give Eva an inkling of his new knowledge, by delicate hints.
But no Eva was there. Instead, the gun he had fired stood in his study by the window, reminding him of the silly, irritating incident. His wife had been in the Manor for five or six hours on account of an affair in which he had been clearly in the right, and his efficient friend Studmann was bound to be with her, too. It was ridiculous, it was childish, it was intolerable. The Rittmeister rang for his manservant and inquired whether his wife had left any instructions regarding supper. In a reproachful, annoyed tone he said he was hungry. Madam had left no instructions, reported Rader. Should he lay supper for the Rittmeister and the young Fraulein?
The Rittmeister decided to become a martyr and said no, he would wait. But, as the servant was going out of the door, he blurted out the question he had wanted to suppress—had the geese been delivered at the Manor?
“No, Herr Studmann would not allow me to.” The servant went.
Herr von Prackwitz found his life gray. He had been in the forest, seen interesting things, become cheerful. But hardly had he returned home when a gray pall fell over everything again. There was no escape. It was like a powerful, merciless bog which sucked him down deeper every day. He rested his head in his hands. He longed for another world in which not everything, even wife and friend, made difficulties for him. He would gladly have left Neulohe. Like all weak people, he accused an imaginary Fate: Why must all this happen to me? I don’t hurt anyone. I’m a little quick-tempered, but I don’t mean it badly, I always recover at once. I don’t make any really great demands of life; I am quite modest. Others have big cars, go to Berlin every week, have affairs with women! I live decently and am always in difficulties.…
He groaned. He was very sorry for himself. He was also very hungry. But no one bothered. No one cared what happened to him. He might be dying; no one would pay any attention, not even his wife. Supposing, in his utter desperation, he put a bullet through his head—a weaker man than he would be quite capable of doing so in this situation. Then she would come home and find him lying there. She would pull a pretty face; then, when it was too late, she would be sorry. She would realize too late what he meant to her.
The picture of his lonely death, the thought of his despairing widow, affected the Rittmeister so much that he got up, put on the light and poured himself out a vodka. Then he lit a cigarette and extinguished the light again. Huddled in a chair, his long legs stretched in front of him, he tried once again to imagine his death. But to his regret he had to admit that the picture did not have such a strong effect the second time.
Rader, this wily diplomat of the servants’ quarters, whose conduct was guided by no understandable motive, yet who had a very definite object which he pursued by thousands of stratagems and artifices—this man ascended quietly to the young Fraulein’s room, after firing the arrow designed for Herr von Studmann into the heart of his employer. She sat at the table, writing furiously.
“Well, what did Papa want?” she asked.
“The Rittmeister did not know what was happening about supper.”
“And what is happening?”
“The Rittmeister will wait.”
“If Mamma should still be at the Manor, I could take the letter myself,” she said hesitatingly.
“As the young Fraulein wishes,” said Rader coldly.
Vi folded the letter and surveyed him. That morning she had planned to hand him over to young Pagel for a good thrashing, but one couldn’t free oneself so easily from a fellow conspirator and confidant—she kept finding that she needed him. She was convinced that the Lieutenant would come to the village this evening, after burying the weapons. He hadn’t shown his face in the village for a fortnight. He’d never been away so long. Unlike the others, he hadn’t been wearing a steel helmet. Proof that he still intended to go somewhere. He would look into the tree for her message, but it would be still safer to hand him the letter personally. But she could not get away, Rader was the best messenger … and at present he was not at all impudent.…
Poor little misguided Vi! She had forgotten she had sworn to her Fritz never again to write a letter. She had forgotten she had sworn to Pagel that this affair was over. She had forgotten she had sworn to herself never again to get mixed up with Rader, who was becoming more and more uncanny. She had forgotten that she would endanger her father and her Fritz if she mentioned the buried weapons in a letter of this sort. Her heart made her forget everything, her heart prevailed over her common sense and understanding. All she thought was that she loved him, that she must justify herself to him, that she wanted to see him again at all costs, that he ought not to put her aside so coldly, that she could not wait any longer, that she needed him.
She handed the letter to the servant. “See that he gets it safely, Hubert.”
Rader’s leaden eyelids, almost violet at the corners, were lowered as he observed the young girl. He took the letter. “ ‘I can’t promise that I will find the Lieutenant.”
“Oh, you will find him, Hubert!”
“I can’t run around the whole night, Fraulein. Perhaps he won’t come. When shall I put it in the tree?”
“If you haven’t found him by twelve or one o’clock.”
“But I can’t run around as long as that, Fraulein. I have to get some sleep. I shall put it in the tree at ten.”
“No, Hubert, that’s much too early. It’s nine now already and we haven’t yet had supper. You won’t get out of the house before ten.”
“The doctors say, Fraulein, that the sleep before midnight is the healthiest sleep.”
“Hubert, don’t be so silly. You just want to annoy me again.”
“I don’t want to annoy the young Fraulein.… It’s true about the sleep. And I’d like to know, anyway, what I’m to get for this. If your parents find out I shall be dismissed, and then I won’t get a testimonial or reference.”
“How should they find out, Hubert? And what can I give you? I never get any money.”
“It needn’t be money, Fraulein.”
Hubert spoke in a low voice, and involuntarily Violet did the same. Between each quiet sentence the summer evening could be heard gliding into night with a cry from the village, with the clattering of a pail, with the buzzing amorous dance of the midges over the garden bushes.
“What do you want, then, Hubert? I really don’t know …” She avoided looking into his face. She glanced round the room as if looking for something that she could give him.… He, however, watched her more and more intently. His dead eyes came to life, a red spot appeared on his cheekbones.… “Since I am risking my reputation and my job for the young Fraulein, there’s something I should like to ask of her.”
She cast a swift glance at him and instantly looked away. Something of the fear of him she had once felt again arose in her. She strove against it, she tried to laugh, she said provokingly: “I suppose it isn’t a kiss you want from me, Hubert?”
He looked at her unmoved. Her laugh had already died away, it sounded so ugly and false. I don’t feel like laughing, she thought.
“No, not a kiss,” he said almost contemptuously. “I don’t believe in cuddling.”
“What then, Hubert? Go on, tell me.” She was burning with impatience. He had achieved what he wanted: she preferred the most fantastic request to this painful uncertainty.
“It is nothing unfitting that I ask of the young Fraulein,” he said in his cold, didactic tone. “Nor is it anything indecent.… I should just like to be allowed to place my left hand for a while on the young Fraulein’s heart.”
She said nothing. She moved her lips, she wanted to say something.
He made no movement to approach closer. He stood at the door in an attitude appropriate to a servant; he was wearing a kind of livery-jacket with gray armorial buttons; on his glistening oily head every hair was in its proper place.
“Now I have told the young Fraulein,” he said in his lifeless tone, “may I say that I intend nothing unchaste? It isn’t that I want to touch her breast.…”
She was still struck dumb. They were separated almost by the width of the room.
Hubert Rader made something like a very slight bow. She hadn’t moved and was quite still. He walked slowly across the room toward her; rigid, she saw him coming closer; no differently does the horrified victim await the murderer’s death blow.
He placed the letter on the table, turned round and walked toward the door.
She waited, waited an eternity. He had already grasped the doorknob when she moved. She cleared her throat—and Hubert Rader looked round at her.… She wanted to say something, but a spell lay over her. With a vague, unsteady movement she pointed at the letter—no longer thinking at all of letter or recipient.…
The man raised his hand to the switch near the door, and the room was in darkness.
