by Leo Perutz
Georg Vit¬torin looked up sharply.
"I don't recall asking for your advice, Herr Ebenseder," he snapped. "How we manage from now on is our business. I'm here too, after all."
"Delighted to hear it," Ebenseder retorted. "Up to now,
I've always had to help out when your father couldn't make ends meet at the end of the month."
Vit¬torin flinched as if Ebenseder had struck him in the face. He looked at his sisters. Vally had flushed and was staring at the patterned wallpaper. Lola, without looking up from her embroidery, gave an almost imperceptible nod.
"It won't happen again, Herr Ebenseder," Vit¬torin said bitterly, "you can depend on that. How much does my father owe you?"
He pulled out his wallet. In it, wrapped in tissue paper, was the money he had amassed for his journey to Russia. Herr Ebenseder glanced nervously at the door and tried to dodge the question.
"No, honestly, it doesn't matter," he said. "There's plenty of time. I didn't mean it like that. I'm in no hurry, I assure you."
"I asked how much my father owes you," Vit¬torin repeated.
As if the scales had suddenly fallen from his eyes, it dawned on him that the little world which formed a part of his existence - his home - was in danger of collapsing under the onset of dreary, dismal everyday life. He forgot all about Selyukov and his adventurous journey into the blue. With the profound sense of relief that stems from the knowledge of a duty fulfilled, he mentally shouldered the burden of care to which his father and his sisters had proved unequal.
But he bore that burden for a moment only.
His father reappeared, quite unaware of the significance of the message which fate had destined him to transmit.
"Georg," he said, "there's a Herr Ferdinand Kohout outside. He'd like a word with you."
Kohout was sitting on the hall bench, pale and agitated in the extreme. He was so nervous that he had kneaded his white felt hat completely out of shape, and his lips were in constant, silent motion. He rose, took a step toward Vit¬torin, and drew a hand across his brow.
"Thank God I've found you," he said. "I thought you mightn't be at home - I was in despair. I phoned your office innumerable times, but there was no reply, so I went there. No one around, just the janitor and the cleaning women."
"The office shuts at two on Saturdays, surely you knew that? What's up?"
"What's up? You're joking! Here's your passport, your visa, your ticket and reservation. Quite a job, I can tell you! Anyone else would have given up days ago. I've jotted down what you owe me on this piece of paper. Better hurry up and get ready, our train leaves at half-past eleven."
"Half-past eleven?" Vit¬torin repeated mechanically. Kohout thrust, the various items into his hand. He took them, striving to collect his thoughts.
"Yes, this is it at last," Kohout said. "We leave at half-past eleven, but you'd be wise to get there an hour before. We've got reserved seats, well and good, but I wouldn't depend on them. Better safe than sorry."
"Not tonight, though, surely?" Vit¬torin protested in dismay. "You can't be serious!"
Kohout stepped back and looked him up and down with a mixture of anger and contempt.
"What's this?" he demanded. "Changed your mind after all, have you? Lost your nerve? Of course, I should have known! First you talk big, and then, when it comes to the pinch -"
"Nonsense!" Vit¬torin exclaimed. "Of course I'll go, but not tonight. For God's sake, I can't just breeze in there and say, 'So long, folks, take care of yourselves, I'm off to Russia tonight.' I simply can't, surely you can see that?"
Kohout dismissed this objection with a scornful, supercilious gesture.
"A typically bourgeois attitude," he said, shifting from foot to foot and wringing his hands. "You should have thought of that sooner. I only got the visas at ten this morning. The trains are chock-a-block — there were only two seats left, so I had to decide on the spot. Now it's your turn to decide. Are you coming or not?"
"It's no use," Vit¬torin replied. "I can't leave before Monday."
"Very well," said Kohout, "stay if you must, but in that case you can kiss the whole idea goodbye. There are only two trains a week, and you can't board them without a reservation. Even if you managed to wangle a reservation - I say 'if because it isn't easy, believe me; it takes some doing - your visa would have run out. No, get this straight: either you go tonight or you'll never go at all."
Vit¬torin stared at the floor in silence.
"Well," said Kohout, turning to go, "suit yourself, I'm off anyway. You won't mind if I give Selyukov your regards, will you?
Vit¬torin straightened up with a jerk. Selyukov! He hadn't heard the name uttered for so long that it overwhelmed him and shook his resolve. Family ties meant nothing compared to that one word. He couldn't understand why he'd wavered in the first place.
"You're right," he said, "there's no time to lose. We've waited far too long as it is - we don't even know if Selyukov's still in Moscow. Of course I'm coming. I'll be at the station at ten-thirty sharp. Have you let Emperger know?"
Kohout frowned. He seemed taken aback.
"Emperger? Why on earth? What's he got to do with it?"
"Emperger must be told," Vit¬torin said. "I insist. He's the only one of our former comrades who's behaved with a modicum of decency."
"Like hell he has," Kohout protested angrily. "You're dead wrong there. He's always poking fun at you behind your back."
"So now he'll see I'm serious. I'm going to telephone him."
Kohout saw that further resistance would be futile.
"All right, if it means so much to you, but kindly leave me out of it. Promise you won't let him know I'm going too, word of honour? I don't want anything to do with the man -I've got my reasons. That's settled, then: ten-thirty sharp at the Nordbahnhof."
They shook hands.
Vit¬torin lingered in the hall for a full minute after Kohout had gone, thinking hard. Then he switched off the light and returned to the living-room.
His father, his sisters and Herr Ebenseder had already started supper. He went slowly over to his father, searching for the first, all-important turn of phrase. Lola, seeing her brother's distraught expression, could tell at a glance that he had come to say goodbye.
Vit¬torin knocked on the door very quietly, as arranged. He heard her approaching footsteps. Then the door opened. She took his hand and drew him into the darkened hall.
"So late!" she hissed. "Why so late? The neighbours didn't spot you, did they? Shut the door and I'll put the light on. No, let's stand here in the dark a moment longer, like this. Your hands are frozen, sweetheart, are you cold? It's nice and warm inside. I've got the stove going a treat - it's red-hot. I've been waiting so long."
He shivered a little at the thought of what lay ahead. He'd meant to tell her at once that he couldn't stay - that he had to go away, far away, this very night, and that time and life had come between them. Now, however, as he stood there with her body so close to his, he couldn't get a word out. He kissed her - her lips were as cool as a spring breeze - and while he kissed her he let his knapsack slide to the floor and thrust it silently into a corner with his foot. Franzi noticed nothing. She tilted her head back and laid his hand on her brow.
"We've never been really alone before, Georg. There's always been someone around, watching us. No, there was one time, but it's so long ago you won't remember. Do you ever think of that summer at Dürnstein? I can still see the room I slept in. We played hide-and-seek in the woods once, and the two of us had to hide while the rest came looking for us. One of the girls kept calling, 'Come out, come out, wherever you are!' Her name was Berta, and she was tall and fair-haired and freckled and wore glasses - I still see her sometimes in the street, but she doesn't recognize me. Anyway, she kept calling us and we let her call, and we sat there in the middle of the blackberry bushes and watched the ants. We were silly little kids then - no, you were a big boy already. You wanted to be a swimming champion - at l
east, that's what you told me while we were hiding in the brambles, remember?"
Vit¬torin remembered nothing of the kind.
"Yes, and we've never been alone again since. But today we're well and truly hidden - no one'll ever find us. Berta wears pince-nez these days, but they don't suit her any better. Tell me, wouldn't your family let you go out? I mean, you're so late. Those sisters of yours . . . Vally's nice, but I'm a bit scared of Lola, she looks so stern. You haven't said a word -have I offended you? You're cold, poor darling. Fancy me keeping you standing out here in the freezing hall! The trouble is, this is the only place where we can be really alone. There are two gentlemen inside. I've got visitors, you see. You'll be disappointed, I expect. I didn't invite them, but what can I do now they're here? Don't pull a face. Take your coat off and come in. They're a nice couple - I'll introduce you to them."
Two motionless figures were seated on the sofa in the overheated living-room. Ingeniously constructed of cushions and cast-off clothes, they were dummies got up to look like visitors engaged in an animated conversation. One of them, which looked almost lifelike at a distance, was leaning forward with its arms resting on an old umbrella.
Franzi was hugely delighted.
"You nodded to them," she cried. "You actually nodded to them when you walked in - I saw you, so don't deny it! You fell for it, you silly boy! Did you really think I'd let anyone in tonight? I made them to pass the time - I was bored, you kept me waiting so long. Allow me to introduce them. The one with the umbrella is Herr Milosh Pavisish, the medical student from Agram in person. The other is His Excellency the Baron."
It occurred to Franzi that her practical joke had shed a very questionable light on all her previous stories, and that Georg might be inclined to doubt the existence of the two men whose ludicrous effigies he now saw seated on the sofa. She hastened to rectify her blunder.
"The gentleman from Agram really did have the cheek to turn up today," she said. "Just imagine, the doorbell rang at half-past six. I didn't budge - I knew it couldn't be you because it was far too early, and besides, you'd have knocked, not rung - so I sat there and let him ring, two or three times. In the end he went away - he's probably down in the street at this very moment, cursing in Serbo-Croat. You didn't see him, I suppose?"
"I may have," Vit¬torin said. "There was a scrawny little fellow with a red moustache pacing up and down outside the door."
This description was far removed from Franzi's mental picture of the young man from Agram. She shook her head.
"No, it couldn't have been him. Short, skinny, red moustache? That sounds more like the Baron."
"Really?" said Vit¬torin. "Does the Baron know your parents are away too?"
"Oh no, he doesn't have a clue," Franzi said quickly. "Unless, of course, Herr Milosh told him. It's a possibility."
Vit¬torin raised his eyebrows. "You mean they know each other?"
The situation was getting out of hand.
"No," Franzi said, "- I mean, of course they do, but only slightly. They're both members of the High Life Club - that's the extent of their acquaintanceship. But believe me, if I'd known it was the Baron I'd have given him a piece of my mind. You should see the letters he writes me, the cheeky devil! Let him stand down there and freeze, it serves him right. I'm going to make some tea now, Georg. Coming to the kitchen with me, or will you wait in here? I'll only be a couple of minutes."
She hurried out. Vit¬torin remained standing beside the stove, his head in a whirl, his face convulsed with shame and anger. One half of him called the other a contemptible coward.
It was an insult he wouldn't have tolerated from anyone else, but he repeated it, masochistically hurling it at himself again and again as he stared glumly into the fire. Yes, he was a contemptible coward - he didn't retract a syllable of it. Where had his courage fled to while she was in the room with him? He hadn't got a word out, and time was going by - inexorably ticking away. He had only a few minutes left. He must tell her, he couldn't put it off any longer. The opening words would be terribly hard to say, but once they were said the worst would be over. He had to come out with it. Ten-thirty at the station, and she still knew nothing . . .
All at once he heard a delighted laugh from the hall: Franzi had spotted his knapsack. She flung the door open with an air of triumph.
"I almost tripped over it," she exclaimed. "Your knapsack! Of course, I never thought of that! You had to pretend you were going away, or your family would have been suspicious. Where are you supposed to be off to, Georg? Tell me."
"Russia," he replied, but his courage failed him, and he uttered the fateful word so quietly that she didn't hear. She put her arms around his neck.
"Did they believe you?" she asked. "I'll tell you something, Georg: I don't care if they know you're with me or not, I really don't. What's the point of playing hide-and-seek? Whatever I do, I'm prepared to take the consequences. I've never been a coward."
She looked up at him with her girlish mouth set in a determined line and a radiant smile in her eyes, ready to forget the whole world in his arms, but he was blind, deliberately blind, to her expression.
She picked up his knapsack and put it on the table.
"My goodness, it's heavy. Let's see what you've got in there."
She undid the draw-string, and the first thing that came to light was the red notebook containing Vit¬torin's Russian vocabulary lists. She peered at the unfamiliar script.
"What's that," she asked, "Greek?"
"No," he said curtly, harshly, "it's Russian."
"You mean you've brought some homework with you? What odd ideas you have, George. I doubt if you'll get much Russian learnt tonight or tomorrow!"
A photograph fell out of the notebook as she deposited it on the table. It showed a tall, stern-faced young woman stiffly posed in front of a painted backcloth - a tulip bed. Her narrow-waisted gown had puffed sleeves.
"Who's this?" Franzi asked.
"It's a photo of my mother as a young woman," said Vit¬torin. "You never knew her. I'm supposed to look like her. I always take it with me when I . . ."
The moment had come. He'd reached the point of no return.
". . . when I go away for any length of time," he went on. "Women used to wear puffed sleeves in those days, around 1900. It wasn't the prettiest of fashions, but that's the only picture of her I've got. I had it with me all the time, in the trenches and later in the prison camp."
Franzi stared at him in sudden alarm.
"You don't mean you're really going away, Georg? Answer me! Are you, seriously? You are, and you only tell me now? Where are you off to?"
Vit¬torin took his mother's picture from her and replaced it in the red notebook.
"Russia," he said. "Don't look so upset. I'll be back in a week or two."
"You once mentioned wanting to go back to Russia some time. So you really meant it," Franzi said in a low, dejected voice. "What do you plan to do there?"
"I can't tell you - it's not the kind of thing one discusses with a woman. There's something I've volunteered to do — unfinished business, if you like. Don't ask me any more. You needn't worry, I'm not going alone - there are two of us - and I'll be back in a few weeks' time. I've got a new job to come back to, too - personal assistant to a business tycoon. At least, I may have second thoughts. He's a rather shady character
in fact, to be quite honest, I suspect he's a bit of crook, but who isn't these days? He pays well, that's the main thing, and he's going to keep the job open till January ist - I fixed it with him."
"When are you leaving?" asked Franzi, thoroughly subdued by this torrent of words.
"My train goes at half-past eleven," he said swiftly, trying to sound off-hand, "but I'll have to be at the station by half-past ten. You'd better get ready quickly if you want to see me off. I can't stay much longer."
She gazed at him in silence, her eyes filling with tears. Stung by the sight because he knew he was in the wrong and wanted to forestall her r
eproaches, he adopted a harsh, hostile tone.
"If you want to make a scene go ahead, but it's pointless, I can tell you that right now. I don't have the time. I'm not going to miss that train on your account."
She made no reply, just went to fetch her hat and coat.
The last tram had gone, so they had to walk. Franzi didn't utter a word the whole way to the station.
Once in the booking hall they were accosted by Kohout, who was carrying a wooden army suitcase and sweating with excitement. All he spared Franzi, when introduced, was a cursory, uninterested glance, a clumsy little bow, and a swift, rather moist handshake.
He deposited his suitcase on the ground beside him.
"You might have turned up a bit sooner," he told Vit¬torin, peering nervously in all directions. "I was here on the dot. It really wasn't necessary to invite Emperger to see you off. I don't like that man - never did. You haven't told him I'm going too, have you?"
"Of course not," Vit¬torin assured him, "since you didn't want me to."
"I hope you haven't told anyone else," Kohout pursued with a wary glance at Franzi, who was standing a few feet away. "What about your girl-friend?"
"She only met you two minutes ago and she probably didn't even catch your name," Vit¬torin said soothingly. "I can't understand why you're so jumpy. What are you scared of? You're your own boss, after all. You're answerable to no one but yourself."
Kohout broke out in another sweat. He screwed up his eyes and wrung his hands.
"Another few minutes and the train'll be in," he said. "Do me a favour and go and claim the seats, will you? I'll leave my suitcase with you."
"Why," asked Vit¬torin, "are you off somewhere?"
"Of course. I was only waiting for you. You don't think I want to bump into Emperger, do you? I'll leave that pleasure to you. Me, I'm boarding the train at half-past eleven, not a minute before. Don't worry, I'll make it - and keep an eye on my case."
He waved his crumpled hat and strode briskly off.
