Part 15 (1/2)
Inexorable, motionless, the past is endowed with the attributes of divinity, because, for believers as well as for unbelievers, the great attribute of G.o.d is that of being prayed to.
The pregnant woman had gone out. I saw her go to the door, softly with maternal carefulness of herself.
Anna and the sick man were left alone. The evening had a gripping reality. It seemed to live, to be firmly rooted, and to hold its place. Never before had the room been so full of it.
”One more day coming to an end,” he said, and went on as if pursuing his train of thought:
”We must get everything ready for our marriage.”
”Michel!” cried the young woman instinctively, as if she could not hold the name back.
”Michel will not be angry at us,” the man replied. ”He knows you love him, Anna. He will not be frightened by a formality, pure and simple-- by a marriage /in extremis,”/ he added emphatically, smiling as though to console himself.
They looked at each other. He was dry, feverish. His words came from deep down in his being. She trembled.
With his eyes on her, so white and tall and radiant, he made a visible effort to hold himself in, as if not daring to reach her with a single word. Then he let himself go.
”I love you so much,” he said simply.
”Ah,” she answered, ”you will not die!”
”How good you were,” he replied, ”to have been willing to be my sister for so long!”
”Think of all you have done for me!” she exclaimed, clasping her hands and bending her magnificent body toward him, as if prostrating herself before him.
You could tell that they were speaking open-heartedly. What a good thing it is to be frank and speak without reticence, without the shame and guilt of not knowing what one is saying and for each to go straight to the other. It is almost a miracle.
They were silent. He closed his eyes, though continuing to see her, then opened them again and looked at her.
”You are my angel who do not love me.”
His face clouded. This simple sight overwhelmed me. It was the infiniteness of a heart partaking of nature--this clouding of his face.
I saw with what love he lifted himself up to her. She knew it. There was a great gentleness in her words, in her att.i.tude toward him, which in every little detail showed that she knew his love. She did not encourage him, or lie to him, but whenever she could, by a word, by a gesture, or by some beautiful silence, she would try to console him a little for the harm she did him by her presence and by her absence.
After studying her face again, while the shadow drew him still nearer to her in spite of himself, he said:
”You are the sad confidante of my love of you.”
He spoke of their marriage again. Since all preparations had been made, why not marry at once?
”My fortune, my name, Anna, the chaste love that will be left to you from me when--when I shall be gone.”
He wanted to transform his caress--too light, alas--into a lasting benefit for the vague future. For the present all he aspired to was the feeble and fict.i.tious union implied in the word marriage.
”Why speak of it?” she said, instead of giving a direct answer, feeling an almost insurmountable repugnance, doubtless because of her love for Michel, which the sick man had declared in her stead. While she had consented in principle to marrying him and had allowed the preliminary steps to be taken, she had never replied definitely to his urgings.