“And where is that written?”
“If it were not so, the world would not endure.”
“What do I care about the world! Am I not Lord of the Spear?”
“Anyone who withholds the Spear spurns half the world. Half of the world, dear sir, but the problem is that half is always the whole world, grasped half-heartedly.”
“What do you know of my heart?!”
“Much; much indeed. – Did you not see the Thracian Isaïs?”
My cheeks burnt under Lipotin’s mocking glance. I had no defence against his biting scorn. I knew for certain that the Russian could read my thoughts. Had he not read what was in my mind at the Princess’ house and on the drive to Elsbethstein? I blushed like a schoolboy.
“There we are!” said Lipotin in his best bedside manner. I looked away in shame.
“No-one has ever avoided it, my friend”, Lipotin continued in a murmur, “and no-one is ever likely to. Only mysteries should be veiled. Woman is all-pervading, profane reality; naked she burns in our blood, and when we do battle with her our best tactic is to strip her naked, in the mind or in fact. Otherwise no hero has ever defeated Dame World.
I tried to wriggle off the hook: “You know much, Lipotin.”
“Much indeed. Much, much,” he replied like a robot nodding off to sleep.
I could feel anxiety beginning to claw at my throat and felt the need to hear the sound of my own voice:
“You imagine I spurn the Princess, Lipotin. That is not true. I do not spurn her; I want to know her. To know her – do you understand? If necessary in the straightforward physical sense it is used in the Bible. I want to settle with her once and for all.”
“My dear sir!” Lipotin gripped his cigarette in his teeth as he croaked; his eyelids popped open like those of an old parrot. “You underestimate the power of women. And when it appears in the form of a Circassian princess ... I – I would rather not be in your shoes!” With an expression worthy of Chidher, the eternal Wanderer, wiping the scum of the earth from his lips, Lipotin removed a few strands of tobacco from his mouth. Abruptly he went on: “And even if you could kill her, that would only transfer the battle to another field – and to one that would be much more dangerous for you, since there your view would be even more restricted than here and you could very easily find yourself on a slippery slope. Woe to you if you slip on the ‘other side’.”
“Lipotin!” – I shouted; I was almost beside myself with impatience, sensing that my nerves were about to give way. “Lipotin, if you really are ready to help me: what is the true way to victory?”
“There is only one way.”
Again I noticed that Lipotin’s voice had the monotonous tone that had already struck me several times. Did I really control him? Was he really the instrument of my commands? Was he a medium compelled to obey me like ... like? Jane, too, had once shut her eyes and answered me in the same way when this unaccountable power within me began to ask its questions. I pulled myself together and concentrated my gaze on a point between the old Russian’s eyebrows:
“How do I find the Way? How?”
Pale, leaning back in his chair, Lipotin answered:
“The Way is prepared by ... a woman. Only a woman can overcome our Lady Isaïs.”
“A woman?” The disappointment deflated me.
“A woman that has the virtue of ... the dagger.”
His words were so delphic that I went numb. Distraught, eyes flickering to and fro, mumbling incomprehensibly to himself like a senile old man, features haggard, Lipotin began the struggle to regain consciousness. He had regained control of himself remarkably quickly when the doorbell rang and a second later Jane appeared in the doorway with a gigantic figure towering behind her – my cousin, John Roger! ... I mean, of course, the Princess’ chauffeur. I was puzzled to see that Jane was dressed ready to go out. She came in and made way for the tall chauffeur. The Princess had sent him to collect us all for the second trip to Elsbethstein that we had arranged. The car was at the door. The Princess was sitting below, waiting.
Jane expressed her thanks. She was ready; one could not reject the Princess’ charming offer and the weather was so beautiful. What objection could I have raised?
The uncanny chauffeur had sent a chill through my veins; vague, dark forebodings weighed on my chest. Without quite knowing why, I took Jane by the hand. Enunciating slowly, with difficulty, I said:
“If ... you do not ... genuinely want to go, Jane...”
She interrupted with a firm squeeze of the hand and a remarkably radiant look on her face:
“I genuinely do want to go.”
It sounded like some secret accord; about what I had no idea.
Briskly, Jane walked over to the desk and picked up the dagger. Without a word, she put it in her handbag. I watched her in silence. Finally I forced myself to ask the question:
“The dagger, Jane? What are you going to do with the dagger?”
“Give it to the Princess. I’ve made up my mind.”
“To the ... Princess?”
Jane gave her childlike laugh: “I think we have kept our charming hostess waiting long enough.”
Lipotin stood, silent, behind his chair. With a tired air, he looked from one to the other of us, undecided, now and then gently shaking his head, as if sunk in mute astonishment.
Not much was said. We collected our hats and coats and put them on with a feeling of dismay which numbed both body and soul.
We went down; the tall chauffeur darted on ahead, silent and supple.
The Princess waved to us from the back of the car. It was a strangely wooden gesture.
We climbed in.
My skin prickled and every cell in my body seemed to whisper: Don’t go! Don’t go!
Paralysed in heart and voice, we
