differ each night, you understand. Sometimes I am concerned with the kitchen, sometimes with the livestock, sometimes with the draining of a field. We grow wheat, principally, it seems, but there is a vineyard too, and a kitchen garden. And of course the house itself must be cleaned and swept and kept in repair. There is no wife; the owner’s mother lives with us, I think, but she does not much concern herself with the housekeeping—that is up to me. To tell the truth, I have never actually seen her, though I have the feeling that she is there.”
“Does this house resemble the one you bought for your own mother in Lindau?”
“Only as one large house must resemble another.”
“I see. Proceed.”
“For a long time each night I continue like that, giving orders, and sometimes going over the accounts. Then a servant, usually it is a maid, arrives to tell me that the owner wishes to speak to me. I stand before a mirror—I can see myself there as plainly as I see you now—and arrange my clothing. The maid brings rosescented water and a cloth, and I wipe my face; then I go in to him.
“He is always in one of the upper rooms, seated at a table with his own account book spread before him. There is an open window behind him, and through it I can see the top of a cherry tree in bloom. For a long time—oh, I suppose ten minutes—I stand before him while he turns over the pages of his ledger.”
“You appear somewhat at a loss, Herr R——, not a common condition for you, I believe. What happens then?”
“He says, ‘You owe . . . ’” Herr R——paused. “That is the problem, monsieur, I can never recall the amount. But it is a large sum. He says, ‘And I must require that you make payment at once.’
“I do not have the amount, and I tell him so. He says, ‘Then you must leave my employment.’ I fall to my knees at this and beg that he will retain me, pointing out that if he dismisses me I will have lost my source of income and will never be able to make payment. I do not enjoy telling you this, but I weep. Sometimes I beat the floor with my fists.”
“Continue. Is the Dream-Master moved by your pleading?”
“No. He again demands that I pay the entire sum. Several times I have told him that I am a wealthy man in this world, and that if only he would permit me to make payment in its currency, I would do so immediately.”
“That is interesting—most of us lack your presence of mind in our nightmares. What does he say then?”
“Usually he tells me not to be a fool. But once he said, ‘That is a dream—you must know it by now. You cannot expect to pay a real debt with the currency of sleep.’ He holds out his hand for the money as he speaks to me. It is then that I see the blood in his palm.”
“You are afraid of him?”
“Oh, very much so. I understand that he has the most complete power over me. I weep, and at last I throw myself at his feet—with my head under the table, if you can credit it, crying like an infant.
“Then he stands and pulls me erect, and says, ‘You would never be able to pay all you owe, and you are a false and dishonest servant. But your debt is forgiven, forever.’ And as I watch, he tears a leaf from his account book and hands it to me.”
“Your dream has a happy conclusion, then.”
“No. It is not yet over. I thrust the paper into the front of my shirt and go out, wiping my face on my sleeve. I am conscious that if any of the other servants should see me, they will know at once what has happened. I hurry to reach my own counting room; there is a brazier there, and I wish to burn the page from the owner’s book.”
“I see.”
“But just outside the door of my own room, I meet another servant—an upper servant like myself, I think, since he is well dressed. As it happens, this man owes me a considerable sum of money, and to conceal from him what I have just endured, I demand that he pay at once.” Herr R——rose from his chair and began to pace the room, looking sometimes at the painted scenes on the walls, sometimes at the Turkish carpet at his feet. “I have had reason to demand money like that often, you understand. Here in this room.
“The man falls to his knees, weeping and begging for additional time, but I reach down, like this, and seize him by the throat.”
“And then?”
“And then the door of my counting room opens. But it is not my counting room with my desk and the charcoal brazier, but the owner’s own room. He is standing in the doorway, and behind him I can see the open window, and the blossoms of the cherry tree.”
“What does he say to you?”
“Nothing. He says nothing to me. I release the other man’s throat, and he slinks away.”
“You awaken then?”
“How can I explain it? Yes, I wake up. But first we stand there, and while we do I am conscious of . . . certain sounds.”
“If it is too painful for you, you need not say more.”
Herr R——drew a silk handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his face. “How can I explain?” he said again. “When I hear those sounds, I am aware that the owner possesses certain other servants, who have never been under my direction. It is as though I have always known this, but had no reason to think of it before.”
“I understand.”
“They are quartered in another part of the house—in the vaults beneath the wine cellar, I think sometimes. I have never seen them, but I know—then—that they are hideous, vile, and cruel; I know too that he thinks me but little better than they, and that as he permits me to serve him, so he allows them to serve him also. I stand—we stand—and listen to them coming through the house. At last a door at the end of the hall begins to swing open. There is a hand like the paw of some filthy reptile on the latch.”
“Is that the end of the dream?”
