CHAPTER X
YOUNG LOVE
The moment the doctor had said: 'To-morrow you can get up!' Kien felt well again. But he did not at once leap from his bed. It was evening, he intended to begin life as a healthy man in orderly fashion at six o'clock in the morning.
The following day he began it. For many years he had not felt so young and strong. While he was washing it seemed to him suddenly that he even had biceps. The enforced rest had suited him well. He closed the doors into the adjoining room and sat down bolt uptight at the writing desk. His papers had been disarranged, cautiously, but he did not fail to notice it. He rejoiced at putting them in order; the touch of the manuscripts was pleasant to him. An endless perspective of work stretched before him. The woman had searched here for his will, immediately after his fall, when fever had robbed him of his senses. Among the varying moods of his sick-bed, one principle had remained constant: he would not make a will since she set so much store upon it. He decided to attack her sharply as soon as he saw her; to order her back, swiftly and effectually, within her ancient limits.
She brought him his breakfast and wanted to say: 'The door must be kept open.' But she had planned a smiling campaign to win the will from him, and since she did not know his temper now that he was again on his feet, she mastered herself so as not to irritate him too soon. She merely stooped and pushed a small wedge under the door so that it could not simply be closed again. She was in a reconciling mood and willing to go roundabout to get her own way. He shot to his full height, looked her boldly in the face and declared with acid emphasis:
'Among my manuscripts I find an unholy disorder reigning. I cannot forbear to ask: how came the key into hands which had no right to it? I have found it again in my left trouser pocket. I am regretfully compelled to assume that it has been illegally removed, misused and subsequently replaced.'
'That would be a fine thing.'
'I demand for the first, and also for die last time; who has been tampering with my writing desk?'
'Think of that!'
'I insist on knowing!'
'I ask you, I haven't stolen anything!'
'I demand enlightenment.'
'Enlightenment, that's easy.'
'What is the meaning of this?'
'The things people do.'
'What people?'
'Time will tell.'
'The writing desk ..."
'I always say . ..'
'What?'
'You've made your own bed, now you must lie in it.'
'I am not interested.'
'He said they were good beds.'
'What beds?'
'The double beds are a picture.'
'Double beds?'
'That's what they say.'
'I am not interested in matrimony.'
'Maybe you think I married for love?'
'I need peace!'
'A respectable person goes to bed at nine ...'
'In future this door remains closed.'
'Man proposes, God disposes.'
'I have lost six full weeks owing to my illness.'
'Work, work, work, morning, noon and night.'
'This shall go no further.'
'And what has a husband done for his wife?'
'My time is valuable.'
'At the registry office both parties ought..."
'I shall make no will.'
'Who would think of poisoning?'
'A man of forty ... '
'A woman of thirty.'
'Fifty-seven.'
'Nobody ever called me that.'
'It can be plainly read on your birth certificate.'
'Reading! Anyone can read.'
'Well!'
'A woman must have it in writing. Where are the joys of life? Three rooms belong to the wife, one belongs to the husband, I've got that in black and white. A woman gives a man her everything and there she is — landed. Why was she such a fool? In black and white, that's the only way. Words don't count. One fine day the husband drops down in a fit. I don't even know which bank. A wife ought to know the name of the bank. If she doesn't know which bank, ' No", she says. I ask you, am I right or not? What's the use of a husband without a bank; Her husband won't tell her which bank. What a man, he won't even tell her the bank. That's not a man at all. A man ought to tell her which bank.'
'Get out!'
'Anyone can get out. What does a wife get out of that? A husband should make a will. A woman never knows. A man isn't the only person in the world. His wife's human too. In the street all the men stare at me. Wonderful hips make all the difference. Get out won't do at all. The room must be kept open. I have the keys. He's got to get the keys first of all, then he can lock up. He can whistle for the keys, the keys are here!' she tapped her skirt — 'You don't want to get there, do you? You do, but you daren't!'
'Get out!'
'First a wife saves her husband's life, then she's told to get out. The man was dead. Who fetched the caretaker? He did, didn't he? He was lying under the ladder. I ask you, why didn't he call the caretaker himself? He couldn't move a finger. First he was dead, and now he frudges his wife the least little bit. That new brother would never ave known. The bank must tell me. A woman wants to marry again. What did I get out of my husband? All of a sudden I may be forty and the men won't stare at me any more. A woman's human too. I ask you, a woman has a heart!'
From nagging she had fallen to sobbing. The heart, the heart a woman has, sounded on her lips like a broken one. There she stood propped up against the door jamb, her body for once as crooked as her head, presenting a piteous spectacle. She was determined not to move from her place, and quite expected a physical attack. Her left hand she held protectively over her skirt, in the very place where, in spite of its stiffness, it bulged with the keys and the catalogue of the books. The moment she had made sure of her property, she repeated: 'A heart! A heart!' and, overwhelmed by the strangeness and beauty of this word, fell once more to sobbing.
The scales fell from Kien's eyes; the hated will was forgotten. He saw her, wretched, begging for love; she wanted to seduce him, he had not seen her like this before. He had married her for the books, she loved him. Her sobs filled him with a great fear. I will leave her alone, he thought, alone it will be easier for her to calm herself. Hurriedly he left the room, the flat and the house.
So her touching solicitude for The Trousers of Herr von Bredow had been addressed to him, not to the book. She lay down on the divan only for love of him. Women are sensitive to the mood of their beloved. She had understood his embarrassment. His thoughts, as he left the registry office with her, she had read from his forehead as from an open book. She had wanted to help him. Women who love become weak. She had wanted to say: Come! but she had been ashamed and instead had swept the books to the floor. Translated into words this meant: As little as I care for books, so much do I care for you. This was love. Since then she had wooed him ceaselessly. She had forced her company on him at meals, she had forced the new furniture on him. She stroked him, as often as she possibly could, with the stiff skirt. Because she wanted the opportunity to talk about a bed, he had been given a bed instead of the divan. She had changed her bedroom and bought a new suite of furniture for two. Her harping on the will during his illness, was but a pretext for speaking to him, What was it she always said: Where there's a will there's a way. Poor, blinded creature! Months have passed since the wedding, and still she hopes for his love ! She is sixteen years older than he, she knows that she will die before him, yet she insists that both of them must make wills. Surely she must have some savings which she would like to give to him. So that he shouldn't refuse them, she demands a will from him. What advantage could she gain from it since she would die so much earlier than he? On the other hand he would benefit by hers. She proves her love with money. There are old maids who will part with the savings of a lifetime, the savings of long decades, the best fragments of those very days, which in order to save, they had never fully lived — they will part with it all, in one fell swoop, to a man. How could she rise above her domestic sphere? Among illiterates money is regarded as the measuring rod for all things: for friendship, goodness, education, power, love. With a woman this simple state of affairs is complicated by her weakness. Merely because she wanted to give him her savings, she had to torture him six long weeks with the same words. She could not tell him simply to his face: I love you, you can have my money. She hides the key of the communicating door. He cannot find it and she may breathe his air. More he cannot have to do with her, she must content herself with his breath alone. He might not have asked himself, whether the bank where he houses his money, is safe. She trembles fearing he may lose his money. Her own savings are too scanty to keep him above water for long. In a roundabout manner, as if she herself were anxious, she asks him ceaselessly the name of his bank. She longs to rescue him from a possible disaster. Women are anxious for the future of their beloved. She has only a few years left to her. Her last efforts are to ensure his safety after her death. In her despair during his illness she had searched through his writing desk hoping for more precise data. In order not to upset him, she had not left the key in the lock; she had put it back where she had found it. She had, uneducated as she was, no conception of his precision or his powers of memory. She was indeed so uneducated that at the mere recollection of her speech he felt a slight nausea. He could not however give her any help. A person was not born into the world for love. He had not married for love. He had wanted to safeguard the future of his books, and she had seemed a suitable person for this purpose.
For the first time in his life Kien felt as though he were in the open street. Among the people whom he met, he differentiated men and women. The book shops which he passed held him up it is true, but by the very windows he had once avoided. Mountains of unseemly books did not disturb him. He read their titles, and walked on without even shaking his head. Dogs trotted across the pavement, met their own kind and snuffed at each other joyfully. He slackened his pace and looked at them in surprise. Close against his feet, a little packet fell to the ground. A lad pounced upon it, picked it up, banged into him and made no apology. Kien followed the fingers which were unfastening the little packet; a key appeared, on the crumpled paper there was writing. The reader grinned and looked up at the house. At a window on the fourth floor a girl was leaning out across a couple of mattresses hung out to air, she waved vigorously and disappeared as quickly as the key into the lad's pocket. "What can he want with the key, a burglar, the maid throws him the key, she is his sweetheart.' At the next turning stood an important booksellers; he passed by on the other side. At the opposite corner a policeman was talking passionately to a woman. Their words, which Kien saw from afar, attracted him; he wanted to hear them. When he was close enough they separated. 'Good-bye!' croaked the policeman. His red face shone even in the broad daylight. 'Au revoir! Au revoir! Inspector!' sputtered the woman. He was fat, she was plump; Kien could not forget the pair. As he was passing by the cathedral, warm, uncanny sounds reached his ears. He would have sung in the same key, had his voice, like his mood, been at his command. Suddenly a spot of dirt fell on him. Curious and startled, he looked up at the buttresses. Pigeons preened themselves and cooed, none was to blame for the dirt. For twenty years he had not heard these sounds; every day on his morning walk he passed this spot. Yet cooing was well known to him out of books. 'Quite so !' he said softly, and nodded as he always did when he found reality bearing out the printed original. To-day he did not enjoy sober verification. On the head of a Christ, who grew out of a column, sickly and thin, his face drawn with suffering, a pigeon had perched itself. She was not happy alone, this was noticed by a second pigeon who joined her. This Christ's suffering is too much for people; they think he has toothache. That is not the case; he can't bear life amongst these pigeons; they probably carry on like this the whole day. Then he thinks how lonely he is. He mustn't think of this, or he will never achieve anything. For whom would Christ have died, if he had thought of his loneliness on the cross? — Yes, he was indeed very lonely, his brother never wrote to him now. For some years he had answered no letter from Paris until his brother grew tired of it and stopped writing. Quod licet Jovi, non licet bovi. Since women had become George's main interest he took himself for Jove. George was a lady's man, never alone; he could not bear to be alone, so he surrounded himself with women. A woman loved him too. Instead of staying with her, he had run away and was now complaining of his loneliness. Immediately he turned on his heel, and with long, hopeful steps walked through the same streets back to his home.
Compassion drove him along more swiftly than was good for his temper. He was the master of her fate. He could embitter and shorten the last years of this poor creature who had eaten her heart out in love for him. A compromise must be found. Her hopes are vain, he would never become a man of the world. His brother had fathered enough children, anyway. The posterity of the Kien family was already assured. Women are said to be uncritical, they cannot discriminate between people. For more than eight years she has lived with him in one flat. Christ would have been more easily seduced than he. Pigeons may betray the object of their lives, for they have none. A woman as well as his work — a crime against the nature of learning. He knows how to cherish her loyalty, within her limited powers she is quite useful. He hates thievery and embezzlement. Property is a matter not of greed but of order. He would never cry down anything in her favour. A woman, she had loved him in astonishing silence for eight long years. He had never noticed it. Only since her marriage her lips had overflowed with words. To escape her love, he will submit to her demands for his own sake. She fears the collapse of his bank; Good, he will tell her which it is, she knows it anyway, she cashed a cheque there once. She can then make inquiries whether the bank is a safe one. She wishes to give him her savings? Good, he will not object to this innocent pleasure; he will make a will, so that she may have a pretext for making hers. How little a human being needs to be happy. With this decision, he will satisfy her noisy and exaggerated love.
Yet to-day was one of his bad days. Secretly he hoped for failure. True love is never at rest and creates new cares even before the old ones are fully dead. He had never yet loved; he felt like a boy who knows nothing, but is about to know everything, and feels the same dark fear both of knowing and of not knowing. His head began to spin, he was chattering in his thoughts like a woman. Whatever thought occurred to him, he seized upon, without testing it, and then let go again without following it to its logical conclusion, because another, and not necessarily a better, thought had occurred to him. Two ideas dominated him, that of the loving, devoted woman, and that of the books, impatient for work. The nearer he was to his home, the more divided he was in himself. In his mind he knew what it was all about, and he was ashamed. He took love by the forelock and spoke harsh words to it, he seized on the ugliest of weapons: he brought Therese's skirt into the conflict. Her ignorance, her voice, her age, her phrases, her ears, all were effective, but the skirt tipped the halance. When Kien stood again before his door, the skirt lay shattered under the weight of the imminent books.
'How was its he said to himself. 'Lonely? I, lonely? And the books?' Every floor he climbed brought them nearer. From the entrance hall he called into the study: 'The National Bank!' Thérèse was standing before the writing desk. 'I will draw up my will !' he commanded and pushed her, more violently than had been his intention, aside. During his absence she had covered three beautiful clean sheets of paper with the word 'Will'. She pointed to them and tried to grin; out only a weak smile came. She wanted to say: 'I always say!' but her voice failed her. She all but fainted. The superior young man caught her in his arms and she came to herself again.