Not until late that afternoon did Carsten again sit at his work table. But it was not the usual matters that he worked at today; a trusteeship accounting, even though it was to be turned in at a bankruptcy hearing the next day, had been pushed aside and instead a little book taken out of his desk which contained the information about his own financial situation; his big dark eyes wandered restlessly across the open pages. The old man sighed: the best items were crossed out in red. Nevertheless he began carefully to figure out his status: what assets were still on hand and what he could expect in the future. As there was not enough, he calculated besides the value of his little marsh fen, which he had continued to hold up to now, but land values at that time were inconsequential. He thought of accepting, in addition to his other duties, another city position that had recently been offered him, but which he had not ventured to accept because of his weakened health; now he thought he had been too timid; he would apply for the post, still vacant, the very next day. And he started afresh to figure out his assets, but the hoped-for result refused to appear. He laid down his pen and wiped the perspiration from his grey hair.
Then Mr Jaspers’s advice sounded in his ears, and his thoughts began to wander about in the well-to-do homes of the town. Yes indeed, there were girls to be found there, and a few of them, so he thought, probably firm enough to sustain a weak husband, but would he dare to knock on their doors for his Heinrich?
While he was answering this question himself with a slow shake of the head, Anna stepped into the room in all the cheerful resoluteness of her character; his eyes lit up, and involuntarily he reached out both arms to her.
Anna looked at him in surprise. “Did you want something, Uncle Carsten?” she asked, him in a friendly tone.
Carsten dropped his arms. “No, child,” he said almost embarrassed, “I didn’t want anything. Don’t let me disturb you, I suppose you were going to get supper ready.”
He took up his pen again, as if to continue with the calculations lying before him, but his eyes remained fixed on the girl, while she moved the folding table from the wall into the room and then, almost noiselessly, with her sure hand set the things on the table for their usual evening meal. A vision of the future arose in his soul, before which he laid down all his worries. But no, no; he had always faithfully cared for this child! Ah, if that last affair had not happened!
He got up and stepped before his simple family picture. As he gazed at it, the painted sunset seemed to glow, and the silhouettes began to take on bodies. He nodded to them; yes, indeed, that was his father, his grandmother; these were honest people who were strolling there. When the family soon afterwards was sitting together at supper, Brigitta’s sisterly eyes searched deeper and deeper in her brother’s face, which could not conceal a troubled expression. “Get rid of it, Carsten!” she finally said, grasping his hand. “What burden of disaster did that miserable man load off on you this time?”
“Not exactly a disaster, Brigitta,” replied Carsten, “only a hope that cannot be fulfilled.” And then he reported to the women the offer of the little business, his wishes, and finally, that it could not be done after all.
Silence followed these words. Anna looked at the tea leaves in her empty cup: but she found no oracle there, as old women claim to do. Her small fortune was again oppressing her; finally she summoned her courage and, raising her eyes to her foster father, she said softly, “Uncle!”
“What is it, child?”
“Don’t be angry at me, Uncle. But you did not calculate well.”
“Not calculate well? Anna, do you claim to do it better?”
“Yes, Uncle,” she said firmly, and bright tears welled from her blue eyes, “aren’t my stupid talers to be of any use this time either?”
Carsten looked over at her silently for a while. “I might have expected that of you,” he said then, “but no, Anna, not this time either.”
“Why not? Tell me, why not?”
“Because such an investment of your money offers no security.”
“Security?” She had jumped up, and grasping both his hands she knelt before him; her young face, now raised up to him, was flooded with tears. “Oh, Uncle, you are old now; you can’t stand this; you should not have so many worries!”
But Carsten pushed her from him. “Child, child, you want to lead me into temptation; neither I nor Heinrich may accept such an offer.”
Appealing for help, Anna turned her head towards Aunt Brigitta; she however sat like a statue, her hands folded in front of her on the table. “Well, Uncle,” she said, “if you refuse me, then I’ll write to Heinrich myself.”
Carsten gently laid his hand on her head. “Against my will, Anna? That you will not do.”
The girl was silent a moment, then she lightly shook her head under his hand. “No, Uncle, that’s true, not against your will. But don’t be so hard; after all, his happiness is at stake.”
Carsten raised up her face from his knees and said, “Yes, Anna, I am thinking that too, but only one may set the stake: the one who also gave him life. And now, my dear child, no more of this matter!” He gently pushed her from him; then he pushed back his chair and went out.
Anna’s gaze followed him; soon however she jumped up and threw herself into Aunt Brigitta’s arms.
“We’ll leave it to God,” said the old lady, “this time I understand my brother very well.” Then she held the big child in her arms for a long while.
Carsten had gone into the yard. It was dark as he sat under the old family tree, which was long since bare of fruits and from whose crown he heard the leaves dropping to the ground one by one. He thought back to the past, and soon visions appeared and disappeared of themselves. The form of his beautiful wife passed by him, and he reached his arms into space; he himself did not know whether towards her or towards his distant son, who bound him still more indissolubly to her shade. Then again he saw himself sitting on the bench where he was now sitting, but as a boy, with a book in his hand; the voice of his father came to him from the house, and little Peter came riding his hobbyhorse into the yard. Soon however he had to ask himself why this peaceful scene now filled him with such pain. Then it suddenly came over him: “Then, yes, then he had lived his life himself; now another was doing that; he had nothing more that belonged to him alone – no thoughts – no sleep…”
He let his weary body sink against the tree trunk; the gentle falling of the leaves struck his ears almost soothingly.
But something more was to happen before this day came to an end. Inside, Brigitta had finally sat down in her accustomed manner before the spinning wheel, and Anna began to clear the table. As she stepped into the hall with the dishes, the mail carrier was just passing. “For the Mademoiselle,” he said and handed her a letter through the half-opened front door. By the candle burning on the store counter Anna recognized with astonishment Heinrich’s writing on the envelope; he had never before written to her like this. Deep in thought she took the candle, and as she entered the kitchen, she pulled the door shut.
It was a long time before she came into the living room again, but Brigitta had noticed nothing, her spinning wheel purred on evenly, while Anna now as on all days folded the table together and placed it against the wall again. Only it was done somewhat more noisily and uncertainly today; she mentioned the letter neither to the old lady nor to her foster father, when he came into the room after a while and sat down to his books.
Finally the women went upstairs to their joint bedroom, which faced the yard. The windows had stood open and let in the fresh evening air, but Anna could find no sleep; the wind carried the sound of the church clock at long measured intervals into the rustling of the pear tree, and she counted one hour after the other.
Nor did Brigitta find her rightful sleep today; for she sat up and looked towards the girl’s bed that stood against the wall opposite her own. “Child, haven’t you slept yet?” she
asked.
“No, Aunt Brigitta.”
“You’re worrying about my old brother, aren’t you? But I know him, don’t ask him about it again; he would never have peace of mind again if you’d been able to persuade him.”
Anna did not answer.
“Are you sleeping, child?” Brigitta asked again.
“I will try to sleep, Auntie.”
Brigitta did not ask again; Anna soon heard her breathing in quiet slumber.
It was almost forenoon when the young girl awoke from a deep sleep, which had finally overtaken her and from which her good aunt had not wanted to wake her. She dressed quickly and went downstairs, where through the open door of the front room she saw Brigitta busy at one of the large cupboards; yet she did not go to her, but into the kitchen, where she sat down on the wooden chair near the stove. After she had poured herself a cup of the coffee that had been kept warm for her, sitting idly before it and then drinking half of it, she got up with a determined movement and at once stepped into the living room.
Carsten was standing at the window, idly gazing out at the harbour. Now he slowly turned to the entering girl. “You weren’t able to sleep,” he said, giving her his hand.
“Oh, but I was, Uncle; I made up for it.”
“But you are pale, Anna. You are too young to lose sleep over others’ worries.”
“Others’, Uncle?” She looked calmly into his eyes a while. Then she said, “I had much to think about for myself as well.”
“Then tell me about it, if you think I can advise you.”
“Just tell me,” she hastily replied, “is that shop in South Street still to be had? I didn’t sleep too long? Mr Jaspers hasn’t been here again?”
Carsten said almost harshly, “What does this mean, Anna? You know that I shall not buy it.”
“I know that, Uncle, but—”
“Well, Anna, what do you mean: but?”
She had stepped close to him. “You said yesterday that I might not furnish the stake for Heinrich’s happiness, but – even if you were right yesterday, now overnight things have changed.”
“Stop that, child!” said Carsten. “You will not persuade me.”
“Uncle, Uncle,” cried Anna, and a joyful tenderness rang from her voice, “there’s no help for you now, for your Heinrich has asked me to be his wife, and I shall say yes.”
Carsten stared at her as if struck by lightning. He sank down on the leather armchair beside him, and waving his arms as if he must push away invisible foes he cried out vehemently, “You want to sacrifice yourself! Because I would not take your money alone, now you give yourself into the bargain!”
But Anna shook her head. “You are mistaken, Uncle. Although you are all very dear to me, I could never do that; I am not that kind of person.”
Timidly, as if his words could destroy the approaching happiness, Carsten replied, “How is this? You two were always only like brother and sister.”
“Yes, Uncle,” and an almost roguish smile passed over her pretty face. “I thought that too, but all at once it was no longer like that.” Then suddenly growing serious, she pulled a letter from her pocket. “Here, read it yourself,” she said, “I received it yesterday before going to bed.”
His hands reached for it, but they were trembling so that his eyes could hardly take in the lines.
What she had given him was the letter of a homesick man. “I’m no good here,” wrote Heinrich, “I must go home, and if you’ll stay with me, you, Anna, for my whole life, then I’ll be good, then everything will turn out well.”
The letter had fallen on the table; Carsten had drawn the girl down to him with both arms. “My child, my dear child,” he whispered to her, while tears welled incessantly from his eyes, “yes, stay with him, do not leave him; he was such a good little boy.”
But suddenly, as if driven by an inner fear, he forced her away from him again. “Have you thought it over, Anna?” he said. “I could not advise you to become my son’s wife.”
A slight tremor sped across the girl’s face, while the old man sat before her with tight lips. She nodded to him several times: “Yes, Uncle,” she said then, “I know that he is not the most responsible person, otherwise you would not have such worries, but what happened here that time, years ago, you once said yourself, Uncle, it was partly a boy’s prank, and even if he has not yet made up for it, still nothing like that has ever occurred again.”
Carsten made no reply. His glance went involuntarily towards the stove, in which the scraps of those letters were lying. If he were to get them out now! If he were to fit them together piece by piece before her eyes! Neither Anna nor Brigitta knew of these affairs.
His tears had dried, but he took out his handkerchief to wipe beads of perspiration from his brow. He tried to speak, but the words would not pass his lips.
The lovely blonde girl again stood erect before him; with growing fear she tried to read the thoughts from his silent countenance.
“Uncle, Uncle!” she cried. “What has happened? You’ve been so quiet and worried recently.” But as he looked up at her beseechingly, she stroked his furrowed cheek with her hand. “No, don’t worry so much; accept me with confidence as your daughter; you shall see what a good wife can do.”
And as he now looked into her courageous young eyes, he was no longer able to utter the words which could destroy his child’s happiness at one stroke.
Suddenly Anna, who had just looked out of the window, grasped his hands. “There’s Mr Jaspers!” she said. “Now you’ll arrange everything between you, won’t you?” And without waiting for an answer she quickly went out the door.
Now his tongue was released. “Anna, Anna!” he called; like a cry for help the name rushed from his mouth. But she did not hear it any more; instead, Mr Jaspers’s fox-red wig showed itself through the door to the living room, and with him visions of a flattering future forced themselves into the room, and, unconcerned about the darkness behind them, helped to close the deal.
Kramer Street begins with the corner house of the alley, running east from the harbour, and the row of houses opposite, past the market place, continues as South Street. There in a roomy house lived Heinrich and Anna. On market days the spacious hall of the house, in front of the store, again teemed with shopping farmers, and Anna had more than enough to do to urge the more important ones into the good room for refreshments and conversation; for the easy and sociable manner of her husband had not only brought back customers but increased their number.
Carsten could not refrain from looking in on his children every day. He could be seen walking at a definite hour of each and every forenoon along the charming path that led behind the backyards of those streets from the harbour, where the sluice makes a break towards the east in the row of houses. But he took his time; leaning on his faithful cane he would often stand in the shade of the high hedges and look across to the meadows through which the tide flow pushes out into the green land; held back now by the sluice, to be sure, yet in autumn or winter perhaps rushing over it, flooding the meadows and ruining the gardens. Such reflections set the old man’s cane and legs in motion again: he must warn Anna at once that in October she should take her fine celery from the ground betimes. When he had reached the lattice gate to Anna’s garden, the tall womanly figure usually approached him on the long sidewalk; indeed, when summer came around for the second time, she did not come alone; she carried a boy in her arms, who was her very own and had been christened after his father. And how becoming the maternal conduct was, when, laying her shining cheek against that of her child, she would walk down the garden, singing softly. Even Carsten now had company on these walks; for Brigitta too, in spite of her advanced decrepitude, had been set in motion by the child. Hardly had the young woman stepped out from among the trees with her child when the aged siblings at the gate were calling to them affectionately. Brigitta would no
d and Carsten would wave his cane in greeting, and when they finally had come close, Brigitta could hardly get her fill of looking at the child, still less Carsten of eyeing its mother.
This happiness passed, and indeed it was already gone while Carsten and Brigitta still believed themselves to be basking in its light; their eyes were no longer sharp enough to notice the fine lines that were beginning to engrave themselves gradually between the mouth and cheeks of Anna’s clear countenance.
Heinrich, who had at first taken hold of the business with his fiery zeal, so prone to fade rapidly, soon tired of the retail trade and the personal contact with country people which this entailed. An added misfortune at that time was the arrival of a boastful speculator only slightly older than Heinrich and related to him on his mother’s side; he had been in England most recently and had brought back from there very little money, to be sure, but a head filled with half-ripe plans, for which he soon managed to kindle Heinrich’s lively interest.
At first they tried to launch a cattle export trade to England, which up to then had been in the hands of a favourably situated neighbouring town. After this had failed, they had an oyster tank constructed below the dike, planning to have English native oysters outdo those of the local leaseholders; this undertaking however, hopeless in itself, also lacked the hand of an expert, and Carsten, whose previous warning had been disdained, had to cover one debt after another and take up one mortgage after another on his properties.
Immensee and Other Stories Page 12
