Part 20 (1/2)
”I do not. Russia is a big country. Our family estate was about as large as your Saxony. And all has been lost, all has been burnt down. The glow of the fire could be seen at a distance of seventy kilometers. My parents were butchered in my presence. I owe my life to a faithful retainer, a veteran of the Turkish campaign.”
”How terrible,” she said, ”how very terrible!”
”Yes, but it inures one. I escaped, disguised as a country girl. In those days I made a very cute little maiden. Soldiers pestered me. Especially one beastly fellow ... And thereby hangs a most comic tale.”
He told his tale. ”Pfui!” she uttered, smiling.
”Well, after that came the era of wanderings, and a mult.i.tude of trades. At one time I even used to s.h.i.+ne shoes-and would see in my dreams the precise spot in the garden where the old butler, by torchlight, had buried our ancestral jewels. There was, I remember, a sword, studded with diamonds-”
”I'll be back in a minute,” said the lady.
The resilient cus.h.i.+on had not yet had time to cool when she again sat down upon it and with mellow grace recrossed her legs.
”-and moreover two rubies, that big, then stocks in a golden casket, my father's epaulets, a string of black pearls-”
”Yes, many people are ruined at present,” she remarked with a sigh, and continued, again raising that left eyebrow: ”I too have experienced all sorts of hards.h.i.+ps. I had a husband, it was a dreadful marriage, and I said to myself: enough! I'm going to live my own way. For almost a year now I'm not on speaking terms with my parents-old people, you know, don't understand the young-and it affects me deeply. Sometimes I pa.s.s by their house and sort of dream of dropping in-and my second husband is now, thank goodness, in Argentina, he writes me absolutely marvelous letters, but I will never return to him. There was another man, the director of a factory, a very sedate gentleman, he adored me, wanted me to bear him a child, and his wife was also such a dear, so warmhearted-much older than he-oh, we three were such friends, went boating on the lake in summer, but then they moved to Frankfurt. Or take actors-such good, gay people-and affairs with them are so kameradschaftlich, there's no pouncing upon you, at once, at once, at once....”
In the meantime Kostya reflected: We know all those parents and directors. She's making up everything. Very attractive, though. b.r.e.a.s.t.s like a pair of piggies, slim hips. Likes to tipple, apparently. Let's order some beer from the diner.
”Well, some time later, there was a lucky break, brought me heaps of money. I had four apartment houses in Berlin. But the man whom I trusted, my friend, my partner, deceived me.... Painful recollections. I lost a fortune but not my optimism, and now, again, thank G.o.d, despite the depression.... Apropos, let me show you something, madam.”
The suitcase with the sw.a.n.ky stickers contained (among other meretricious articles) samples of a highly fas.h.i.+onable kind of vanity-bag looking gla.s.s; little things neither round, nor square, but Phantasie-shaped, say, like a daisy or a b.u.t.terfly or a heart. Meanwhile came the beer. She examined the little mirrors and looked in them at herself; blinks of light shot across the compartment. She downed the beer like a trooper, and with the back of her hand removed the foam from her orange-red lips. Kostenka fondly replaced the samples in the valise and put it back on the shelf. All right, let's begin.
”Do you know-I keep looking at you, and imagining that we met once years ago. You resemble to an absurd degree a girl-she died of consumption-whom I loved so much that I almost shot myself. Yes, we Russians are sentimental eccentrics, but believe me we can love with the pa.s.sion of a Rasputin and the naivete of a child. You are lonely, and I am lonely. You are free, and I am free. Who, then, can forbid us to spend several pleasant hours in a sheltered love nest?”
Her silence was enticing. He left his seat and sat next to her. He leered, and rolled his eyes, and knocked his knees together, and rubbed his hands, as he gaped at her profile.
”What is your destination?” she asked.
Kostenka told her.
”And I am returning to-”
She named a city famous for its cheese production.
”All right, I'll accompany you, and tomorrow continue my journey. Though I dare not predict anything, madam, I have all grounds to believe that neither you nor I will regret it.”
The smile, the eyebrow.
”You don't even know my name yet.”
”Oh, who cares, who cares? Why should one have a name?”
”Here's mine,” she said, and produced a visiting card: Sonja Bergmann.
”And I'm just Kostya. Kostya, and no nonsense. Call me Kostya, right?”
An enchanting woman! A nervous, supple, interesting woman! We'll be there in half an hour. Long live Life, Happiness, Ruddy Health! A long night of double-edged pleasures. See our complete collection of caresses! Amorous Hercules!
The person we nicknamed the recluse returned from the diner, and flirtation had to be suspended. She took several snapshots out of her handbag and proceeded to show them: ”This girl's just a friend. Here's a very sweet boy, his brother works for the radio station. In this one I came out appallingly. That's my leg. And here-do you recognize this person? I've put spectacles on and a bowler-cute, isn't it?”
We are on the point of arriving. The little cus.h.i.+on has been returned with many thanks. Kostya deflated it and slipped it into his valise. The train began braking.
”Well, so long,” said the lady.
Energetically and gaily he carried out both suitcases-hers, a small fiber one, and his, of a n.o.bler make. The gla.s.s-topped station was shot through by three beams of dusty sunlight. The sleepy recluse and the forgotten forget-me-nots rode away.
”You're completely mad,” she said with a laugh.
Before checking his bag, he extracted from it a pair of flat folding slippers. At the taxi stand there still remained one cab.
”Where are we going?” she asked. ”To a restaurant?
”We'll fix something to eat at your place,” said terribly impatient Kostya. ”That will be much cozier. Get in. It's a better idea. I suppose he'll be able to change fifty marks? I've got only big bills. No, wait a sec, here's some small cash. Come on, come on, tell him where to go.”
The inside of the cab smelt of kerosene. We must not spoil our fun with the small fry of osculatory contacts. Shall we get there soon? What a dreary town. Soon? Urge becoming intolerable. That firm I know. Ah, we've arrived.
The taxi pulled up in front of an old, coal-black house with green shutters. They climbed to the fourth landing and there she stopped and said, ”And what if there's somebody else there? How do you know that I'll let you in? What's that on your lip?”
”A cold sore,” said Kostya, ”just a cold sore. Hurry up. Open. Let's dismiss the whole world and its troubles. Quick. Open.”
They entered. A hallway with a large wardrobe, a kitchen, and a small bedroom.
”No, please wait. I'm hungry. We shall first have supper. Give me that fifty-mark note, I'll take the occasion to change it for you.”
”All right, but for G.o.d's sake, hurry,” said Kostya, rummaging in his wallet. ”There's no need to change anything. Here's a nice tenner.”
”What would you like me to buy?”
”Oh, anything you want. I only beseech you to make haste.”
She left. She locked him in, using both keys. Taking no chances. But what loot could one have found here? None. In the middle of the kitchen floor a dead c.o.c.kroach lay on its back, brown legs stretched out. The bedroom contained one chair and a lace-covered wooden bed. Above it, the photograph of a man with fat cheeks and waved hair was nailed to the spotty wall. Kostya sat down on the chair and in a twinkle subst.i.tuted the morocco slippers for his mahogany-red street shoes. Then he shed his Norfolk jacket, unb.u.t.toned his lilac braces, and took off his starched collar. There was no toilet, so he quickly used the kitchen sink, then washed his hands and examined his lip. The doorbell rang.
He tiptoed fast to the door, placed his eye to the peephole, but could see nothing. The person behind the door rang again, and the copper ring was heard to knock. No matter-we can't let him in even if we wished to.
”Who's that?” asked Kostya insinuatingly through the door.
A cracked voice inquired, ”Please, is Frau Bergmann back?”
”Not yet,” replied Kostya. ”Why?”
”Misfortune,” said the voice and paused. Kostya waited.
The voice continued, ”You don't know when she will be back in town? I was told she was expected to return today. You are Herr Seidler, I believe?”
”What's happened? I'll pa.s.s her the message.”