“My dear sir, I believe you, I believe you with all my heart; there is no need for further explanation. I have no wish to pry into the secret of your little enthusiasms. I am sure Lipotin has made a mistake. I can make a mistake. Such things happen. But I do ask you one last time, in all humility, but in hope – perhaps a vain hope – that you will think again; the spearhead which Lipotin – – –”
I fell down on my knees before her. Looking back, it was somewhat over-dramatic, but at the time it seemed to be the only way of emphasizing my fury that my fervent impatience to serve her should be thwarted. I tried to gather my thoughts. I had just about managed to concoct a convincing little speech when, with a quick, gentle and – yes, I must write it: bewitching – smile, she slipped past me to the door, turned round and said:
“I see what a struggle it is. Believe me, my dear sir, I do understand; I feel for you. Think it over. You will come to the right decision! I will return another time and you shall grant me my wish. You shall give me the spearhead.”
And with that the Princess disappeared.
Her presence has left the room around me filled with a subtle fragrance. It is a perfume I have not encountered before: sweet, evanescent, like exotic blooms, and yet with a trace of something stronger, something strangely exhilarating, something, I can’t help it – something animal. That visit: I confess it has left me excited – confused – happy – apprehensive – chasing a will-o’-the-wisp – full of disquiet and ... fear.
I feel incapable of doing any more work today. I think I’ll pop over to Werrengasse to see Lipotin.
There are two quick notes I must make of things that have just come back to me: when Princess Shotokalungin came into the room, the door was in deep shadow from the heavy curtain behind my desk that was already half drawn. Why do I now have the impression that for a second the Princess’ eyes glowed in the darkness with a phosphorescent light, like an animal’s eyes? I know that it wasn’t like that! And then: the Princess was wearing a dress of black silk. I felt it must have had a silver underskirt, there were matt, metallic waves constantly rippling through the weave. As I picture it in my mind, my eye is suddenly drawn towards the Tula box on the desk in front of me. Black inlaid with silver – I think that is what the dress must have been like.
It was already quite late in the evening when I left my flat to visit Lipotin in his shop in Werrengasse. It was a wasted walk: Lipotin’s shop was shut. Stuck to the drawn blinds I found a tiny piece of card with “Closed” written on it.
I did not turn round and go back home. Nearby there was an entrance which led into a dark courtyard; from there one could see the one room at the back of the shop which served Lipotin as his living, sleeping and cooking quarters. I went into the close and found the curtains of Lipotin’s grimy window drawn, but my repeated knocking did bring a woman to the neighbouring door who asked what I wanted. She told me the Russian had gone away that very morning; she did not know when he expected to be back; he had mentioned that someone had died, some half-starved Russian Baron, and Lipotin was going to settle his affairs. It was obvious what had happened: Baron Stroganoff had smoked his last cigarette and Lipotin had to go away to clear up his will. How annoying! It was only now, standing there outside the darkened window, that I realised how urgently I needed to see Lipotin and talk to him about the Princess. I also wanted an explanation about the matter of the mysterious spearhead – and advice as to where I might find it. The most likely explanation still seems to me to be that Lipotin has either confused me with another client, or that he still has it himself but, in his habitual absentmindedness, just imagined he sold it to me. In either case it should be possible to obtain the spearhead, and I must admit that I am prepared to part with a considerable sum to be able to present it to Princess Shotokalungin. The events of today keep going round and round in my mind; there is something afoot which involves me, but I cannot work out what it is. Why is it that I keep thinking that Lipotin has not gone away at all, that I spoke to him in his shop and asked him about the spearhead, and that he told me something about the spearhead which I have completely forgotten? Or did I really go into the shop and discuss the whole matter with him, but have no recollection of it? It suddenly seems to me like something that might have happened to me a hundred – yes, a hundred years ago, if I had been alive then.
My way back home took me along the old ramparts with their splendid view across the fields and hills to the mountains. It was a pleasant evening, and the landscape stretched out below me was clear and distinct
