Nevertheless Josaphat had intercepted the movement of the pilot's head with his brain. Not immediately. Not soon. Yet the vision of this cautious, yet certain and vigilant movement remained in his memory until he at last comprehended it.
Then the petrified image seemed to become a human being again, whose breast rose in a long neglected breath, who raised his eyes upwards, looking into the empty greenish blue sky and down again to the earth which formed a flat, round carpet, deep down in infinity—and at the sun which was rolling westwards like a glowing ball.
Last of all, however, at the head of the pilot who sat before him, at the airman's cap which turned, neckless, into shoulders filled with a bull—Like strength and a forceful calm.
The powerful engine of the aeroplane worked in perfect silence. But the air through which the aeroplane tore was filled with a mysterious thunder, as though the dome of heaven were catching up the roaring in the globe and throwing it angrily back again.
The aeroplane hovered homelessly above a strange earth, like a bird not able to find its nest.
Suddenly, amid the thunder of the air, the pilot heard a voice at his left ear saying, almost softly: "Turn back… "
The head in the airman's cap was about to bend backwards. But at the first attempt to do so it came in contact with an object of resistance, which rested exactly on the top of his skull. This object of resistance was small, apparently angular and extraordinarily hard.
"Don't move!" said the voice at his left ear, which was so soft, yet making itself understood through the thunder of the air. "Don't look round, either! I have no revolver with me. Had I had one handy I should probably not be here. What I have in my hand is an implement the name and purpose of which are unknown to me. But it is made of solid steel and quite sufficient to smash in your skull with should you not obey me immediately… Turn back!"
The bull—Like shoulders under the airman's cap raised themselves in a short, impatient shrug. The glowing ball of the sun touched the horizon with an inexpressibly light hovering movement. For a few seconds it seemed to dance along it in soft, blazing rhythm. The nose of the aeroplane was turned towards it and did not alter its course by a hand's breadth.
"You do not seem to have understood me," said the voice behind the pilot. "Turn back! I wish to return to Metropolis, do you hear? I must be there before nightfall… well?" "Shut your mouth," said the pilot. "For the last time, will you obey or will you not—?" "Sit down and keep quiet, back there… damn it all, what do you mean by it—?" "You won't obey—?" "What the hell… "
A young girl, turning the hay in a wide, undulating field, by the last light of the setting sun, had sighted the rushing bird above her, in the evening sky and was watching it with eyes heated by work and tired by the summer.
How strangely the aeroplane was rising and falling! It was making jumps like a horse that wants to shake off its rider.
Now it was racing towards the sun, now it was turning its back upon it. The young girl had never seen so wild and unruly a creature in the air before. Now it had swung westwards and was dashing in long, spurting bounds along the sky. Something freed itself from it; a broad, silver-grey cloth, which swelled itself out.
Drifted hither and thither by the wind, the silver-grey cloth fluttered down to earth—In the webs of which a gigantic, black spider seemed to be hanging.
Screaming, the young girl began to run. The great, black spider spun itself lower and lower on the thin cords. Now it was already like a human being. A white, death—Like face bent earthwards. The earth curved itself gently towards the sinking creature. The man left go of the cord and leaped. And fell. Picked himself up again. And fell once more.
Like a snow-cloud, gentle and shimmering, the silver-grey cloth sank over him, quite covering him.
The young girl came running up.
She was still screaming, wordlessly, breathlessly, as though these primitive shrieks were her actual language. She bundled the silver silken cloth up before her young breast with both arms in order to bring the man who lay beneath it into the light again.
Yes, he lay there now, stretched out at his length on his back, and the silk which was so strong as to have borne him tore under the grip of his fingers. And where his fingers lost hold of the silk, to find another patch which they could tear, there remained moist, red marks upon the stuff, such as are left behind by an animal that had dipped its paws into the blood of its enemy.
The girl was silenced by the sight of these marks.
An expression of horror came into her face, but, at the same time, an expression such as mother-beasts have when they scent an enemy and do not want to betray themselves nor their offspring in any way.
She clenched her teeth together so forcibly that her young mouth became quite pale and thin. She knelt down beside the young man and lifted his head into her lap.
The eyes opened in the white face which she was holding. They stared into the eyes which were bending over them. They glanced sideways and searched across the sky.
A rushing black point in the scarlet of the westerly sky, from which the sun had sunk…
The aeroplane…
Now it had indeed carried out its will and was flying towards the sun, further and further westward. At its wheel sat the man who would not turn back, as dead as could be. The airman's cap hung down in shreds from the gaping skull, on to the bull—Like shoulders. But the fists had not lost hold of the wheel. They still held it fast…
Farewell, pilot…
The face which lay in the young girl's lap began to smile, began to ask.
Where was the nearest town?
There was no town, far and wide.
Where was the nearest railway?
There was no railway, far and wide.
Josaphat pushed himself up. He looked about him.
Stretching out far and wide were fields and meadows, hemmed in by forests, standing there in their evening stillness. The scarlet of the sky had faded away. The crickets chirped. The mist about the distant, solitary willows brewed milky white. From the hallowed purity of the great sky the first star appeared with still glimmer.
"I must go," said the man with the white, deathlike face.
"You must rest, first," said the young girl.
The man's eyes looked up at her in astonishment. Her clear face, with its low, unintelligent brow and its beautiful, foolish mouth stood out, as if under a dome of sapphire, against the sky which curved above her.
"Aren't you afraid of me?" asked the man.
"No," said the young girl.
The head of the man fell into her lap. She bent forward and covered up the shivering body with the billowing, silver silk.
"Rest… " said the man with a sigh.
She made no reply. She sat quite motionless.
"Will you awaken me," asked the man—and his voice quavered with weariness—"as soon as the sun comes?"
"Yes," said the young girl. "Keep quiet… "
He sighed deeply. Then he lay still.
It grew darker and darker.
In the far distance a voice was to be heard, calling a name, long drawn out, again and again…
The stars stood glorious above the world. The distant voice was silent. The young girl looked down upon the man whose head lay in her lap. In her eyes was the never sleeping watchfulness which one sees in the eyes of animals and of mothers.
Chapter 10
WHENEVER JOSAPHAT TRIED, during the days which followed, to break through the barrier which was drawn around Freder, there was always a strange person there, and always a different one, who said, with expressionless mien:
"Mr. Freder cannot receive anybody. Mr. Freder is ill." But Freder was not ill—at least not as illness generally manifests itself among mankind. From morning until evening, from evening until morning, Josaphat watched the house, the crown of the tower of which was Freder's flat. He never saw Freder leave the house. But for hours at a time he saw, during the night, behind the white-veiled windows, which
ran the breadth of the wall, a shadow wandering up and down—and saw at the hour of twilight, when the rooves of Metropolis still shone, bathed in the sun, and the darkness of the ravines of its streets was flooded out by streams of cold light, the same shadow, a motionless form, standing on the narrow balcony which ran around this, almost the highest house in Metropolis.
Yet what was expressed by the shadow's wandering up and down, by the motionless standing still of the shadow form, was not illness. It was uttermost helplessness. Lying on the roof of the house which was opposite Freder's flat, Josaphat watched the man who had chosen him as friend and brother, whom he had betrayed and to whom he had returned. He could not discern his face but he read from the pale patch which this face was in the setting sun, in the shower-bath of the searchlight, that the man over there, whose eyes were staring across Metropolis, did not see Metropolis.
Sometimes people would emerge beside him, would speak to him, expecting an answer. But the answer never came. Then the people would go, crushed.
Once Joh Fredersen came—came to his son, who stood on the narrow balcony, seeming not to know that his father was near. Joh Fredersen spoke to him for a long time. He laid his hand on his son's hand, which was resting on the railing. The mouth received no answer. The hand received no answer. Only once did Freder turn his head, then with difficulty, as though the joints of his neck were rusted. He looked at Joh Fredersen.
Joh Fredersen went.
And when his father had gone Freder turned his head back again on idle joints and stared out once more across Metropolis, which was dancing in a whirl of light, staring with blind eyes.
The railing of the narrow balcony on which he stood appeared as an insuperable wall of loneliness, of deep, inward consciousness of having been deserted. No calling, no signalling, not even the loudest of sounds penetrated this wall which was washed about by the strong, lustrous surf of the great Metropolis.
But Josaphat did not want to have ventured the leap from heaven to earth, to have sent a man, who was but performing his duty, into infinity, impotently to make a halt before this wall of loneliness.
There came a night which hung, glowing and vapourous over Metropolis. A thunder storm, which was still distant, burnt its warning fires in deep clouds. All the lights of the great Metropolis seemed more violently, seemed more wildly to lavish themselves on the darkness.
Freder stood by the railing of the narrow balcony his hot hands laid on the railing. A sultry, uneasy puff of wind tugged at him, making the white silk which covered his now much emaciated body to flutter.
Around the ridge of the roof of the house right opposite him there ran, in a shining border, a shining word, running in an everlasting circuit around, behind itself…
Phantasus… Phantasus… Phantasus…
Freder did not see this row of words. The retina received it—not the brain.
Eternal hammering similarity of the wandering word…
Phantasus… Phantasus… Phantasus…
Suddenly the word picture was extinguished and in its place numbers sparkled out of the darkness, disappearing again, again emerging, and this coming and disappearing, coming again and again disappearing, and coming anew had the effect in its unmistakability, of a penetrating, persistent call.
90… … … … … … ..7… … … … … … ..7… … … … … ..
90… … … … … … ..7… … … … … … ..7… … … … … … ..
90… … … … … … ..7… … … … … … ..7… … … … … … ..
Freder's eyes caught the numbers.
90… … … … … … ..7… … … … … … ..7… … … … … … ..
They turned around, they came back again.
90… … … … … … ..7… … … … … … ..7… … … … … … ..
Thoughts stumbled through his brain.
90- —? and 7- —? a second 7—?
What did that mean?… How obtrusive these numbers were.
90… … … … … … ..7… … … … … … ..7… … … … … … ..
90… … … … … … ..7… … … … … … ..7… … … … … … ..
90… … … … … … ..7… ..;… … … … ..7… … … … … … ..
Freder closed his eyes. But now the numbers were within him. He saw them flame up, sparkle, go out… flame up, sparkle, go out.
Was that—no… or yes?
Did not these numbers, some time ago, what seemed to him an immeasurably long period ago, also convey something to him?
90——90— -
Suddenly a voice in his head said:
Ninetieth Block… Ninetieth Block… House seven… seventh floor…
Freder opened his eyes. Over there, on the house just opposite, the numbers jerked up, asked and called…
90… … … … … … ..7… … … … … … ..7… … … … … … ..
Freder bent forward over the railing so that it seemed he must hurtle into space. The numbers dazzled him. He made a movement with his arm as though he wanted to cover them up or put them out.
They went out. The shining border went out. The house stood in gloom, only half its height washed around by the shimmer from the white street. The stormy sky, becoming suddenly visible, lay above its roof and—lightning seemed to be crackling.
In the faded light, over there, stood a man.
Freder stepped back from the railing. He raised both hands before his mouth. He looked to the right, to the left; he raised both arms. Then he turned away, as if removed by a natural power from the spot on which he stood, ran into the house, ran through the room, stopped still again…
Carefully… carefully now…
He reflected. He pressed his head between his fists. Was there among his servants, one single soul who could be trusted not to betray him to Slim?
What a miserable state—what a miserable state—!
But what alternative had he to the leap in the dark, the blind trust—the ultimate test of confidence?
He would have liked to extinguish the lights in his room, but he did not dare to, for up to this day he had not been able to bear darkness about him. He paced up and down. He felt the perspiration on his forehead and the trembling of his joints. He could not calculate the time which elapsed. The blood roared in his veins like a cataract. The first flash of lightning flickered over Metropolis, and, in the tardy responding rumble of thunder the rushing of the rain at last, mixed itself soothingly. It swallowed up the sound of the opening of the door. When Freder turned around Josaphat was standing in the middle of the room. He was dressed in workman's uniform.
They walked up to each other as though driven by an outward power. But, halfway, they both stopped and looked at each other, and each had for the other the same horrified question on his face. Where have you been since I saw you last? To what hell have you descended?
Freder with his feverish haste, was the first to collect himself. He seized his friend by the arm.
"Sit down!" he said in his toneless voice, which occasionally held the morbid dryness of things burnt. He sat down beside him, not taking his hand from the arm. "You waited for me—In vain and in vain… I could not send you a message, forgive me!"
"I have nothing to forgive you, Mr. Freder," said Josaphat, quietly. "I did not wait for you… On the evening on which I was to have waited for you, I was far, far away from Metropolis and from you… "
Freder's waiting eyes looked at him.
"I betrayed you, Mr. Freder," said Josaphat.
Freder smiled, but Josaphat's eyes extinguished his smile.
"I betrayed you, Mr. Freder," repeated the man. "Slim came to me… He offered me much money… But I only laughed… I threw it at his head. But then be laid on the tables slip with your father's signature… You must believe me, Mr. Freder; He would never have caught me with the money. There is no sum of money for which I would have sold you… But when I saw your father's hand-writing… I still put up a fight. I
would gladly have throttled him. But I had no more strength… JOH FREDERSEN was written on the slip… I had no more strength then… "
"I can understand that," said Joh Fredersen's son.
"Thank you… I was to go away from Metropolis—right far away… I flew… The pilot was a strange man. We kept flying straight towards the sun. The sun was setting. Then it occurred to my empty brain that now the hour would come in which I was to wait for you. And I should not be there when you came… I wanted to turn back. I asked the pilot. He wouldn't. He wanted to carry me away by force, farther and farther from Metropolis. He was as obstinate as only a man can be when he knows Slim's will to be behind him. I begged and I threatened. But nothing was of any use. So then, with one of his own tools, I smashed in his skull."
Freder's fingers, which were still resting on Josaphat's arm, tightened their hold a little; but they lay still again immediately.
"Then I jumped out, and I was so far away from Metropolis that a young girl who picked me up in the field did not know the great Metropolis even by name… I came here and found no message from you, and all that I found out was that you were ill… "
He hesitated and was silent, looking at Freder.
"I am not ill," said Freder, looking straight ahead. He loosened his fingers from Josaphat's arm and bent forward, laying the palms of both hands flat on his head. He spoke into space… "But do you believe, Josaphat, that I am mad?"
"No."
"But I must be," said Freder, and he shrank together, so narrow that it seemed as if a little boy, filled with a mighty fear, were sitting in his place. His voice sounded suddenly quite high and thin and something in it brought the water to Josaphat's eyes.
Josaphat stretched out his hand, fumbled, and found Freder's shoulder. His hand closed around his neck and drew him gently towards him, holding him still and fast.
"Just tell me about it, Mr. Freder!" he said. "I do not think there are many things which seem insuperable to me since I sprang, as though from heaven to earth, from the aeroplane which was steered by a dead man. Also," he continued in a soft voice, "I learnt in one single night that one can bear very much when one has some one near one who keeps watch, asks nothing and is simply there."
Metropolis Page 12
