Annie suddenly drew herself up with an unnatural movement. “Ah! girl, you haven’t realized anything!”
“Good night,” said Annie quietly, her face pale and indistinct, and rather stiffly she gave him her hand. He stretched out his own faintly, as if it were broken, and stared fixedly in another direction. Didn’t she really wish to linger a little? No, she was already going. She hesitated; no, she stood still and pulled at the edges of some leaves. What more was there to be said? Good night, Annie, and sleep better than I shall.
For there was certainly no question of going to bed now. Prokop threw himself down on the seat and put his head in his hands. Nothing, nothing had succeeded. Annie was pure and unconscious as a young doe, but enough of that; he was not a raw lad. Then a light showed in a window on the first floor. It was Annie in her bedroom.
Prokop’s heart beat wildly. He knew that it was shameful to watch her secretly; certainly as a guest he should not do such a thing. Finally he attempted to cough so that she should hear him; but somehow he found this to be false, and sat motionless like a statue, unable to take his eyes from the golden window. Annie moved to and fro, bent down, took a long time to do something or other. Aha! she was making her bed. Then she stood at the window, looking into the darkness, her hands behind her head exactly as he saw her in his dream. Now, now he would so gladly have liked to call to her; why did he not do so? But it was too late. Annie turned away and began to move about again. She was still there; no, she was sitting with her back to the window and slowly and reflectively taking her shoes off. Now, at least, he might depart, but instead he climbed up on to the seat, so as to see better. Annie turned round, already half undressed; she raised her bare arms and began to comb her hair. She moved her head and it all fell over her shoulder, gave it a shake and all this wealth of hair tumbled over her face and she set to work with the comb and brush until her head was as smooth as an onion.
Annie, a white virgin, stood motionless, with bent head, and braided her hair into two plaits. Her eyes were lowered and she whispered something to herself, smiled, and became ashamed. The strap of her chemise threatened to slip down. Plunged in reflection, she rubbed her white shoulder with a sort of delight, trembling with the cold.
The shoulder strap slipped still more dangerously, and the light was extinguished.
Never had he seen anything more white, more beautiful than that lighted window.
XII
Early in the morning he found her scouring Honzik in a trough full of soapsuds. The little dog struggled desperately; but Annie, inexorable, laughing and splashed with water, soaped him energetically. “Look out!” she cried when Prokop was still some way off, “he will splash you!”
She looked like a young, enthusiastic mother. Oh God, how simple and beautiful everything is in this sunny world!
Even Prokop was unable to bear continued idleness. He remembered that the bell was out of order, and went off to repair the battery. He was just scraping some zinc when she softly approached him. Her sleeves were turned up above the elbows and her hands were wet from washing. “It won’t explode?” she asked with anxiety. Prokop was obliged to smile. She also smiled and splashed him with soapsuds; then with a serious face she came over to him and rubbed the splashes of soap off his hair. The night before she would not have ventured to do such a thing.
At midday she and Nanda carried a basket of washing into the garden to be bleached. Prokop shut his book with relief; he would not allow her to carry the heavy watering-can. He possessed himself of it and began to sprinkle the linen. The thick stream bubbled joyously on to the folds of tablecloths, white coverlets and the widely spread arms of shirts; the water hissed, guttered and formed little fjords and lakes. Prokop began to water white petticoats and other interesting things; but Annie took the can out of his hands and did it herself. Meanwhile Prokop sat down on the grass, inhaling with delight the damp smell and watching Annie’s beautiful and active hands.
Σοὶ δὲ Θεοὶ τόσα δοῖεν, he remembered piously, σέβας μ’ ἔχει εἰσορόωντα.
Annie sat down on the grass next to him. “What were you thinking about?” She blinked her eyes happily, dazzled by the brightness of the sun, blushed, and for some reason was inordinately happy. Plucking a full handful of fresh grass, she tried exuberantly to throw it on to his hair; but for some reason or other she suddenly felt a sort of shyness before this shaggy hero. “Have you ever been in love?” she asked inconsequently and quickly looked in another direction.
Prokop laughed. “I have. And you surely have already loved somebody?”
“I was silly once,” said Annie, and against her will grew red.
“A student?”
Annie only nodded and sucked a blade of grass. “It was nothing,” she said quickly. “And you?”
“I once met a girl who had the same sort of eyelashes that you have. Perhaps she was rather like you. She sold gloves or something of the sort.”
“And what else?”
“Nothing. When I went there again to buy some gloves, she was gone.”
“And … were you fond of her?”
“I was.”
“And … did you ever … ?”
“Never. Now my gloves are made by someone else.”
Annie concentrated her attention on the ground. “Why do you always hide your hands from me?”
“Because … because they are so knocked about,”
