Part 126

Dorothea balked; she blinked a little. Then she said quite softly: “Those are terrible words, Daniel. But if you insist upon it, I am willing to abide by the curse you have made a possibility.”

Daniel breathed a breath of relief. He felt that a mighty load had been taken from his heart. And in grateful emotion he went up to his wife, and pressed her to his bosom.

But at the same time he was repelled by something. He felt that the creature he was pressing to his heart was without rhythm, or vibration, or law, or order. He began again to be gnawed at by torture, this time of a new species and coming from another direction.

As he opened the door to the hall, he heard a rustle; and he saw a dark figure hastening over to the room that opened on the court.

Left alone, Dorothea stared for a while into space, as motionless as a statue. Then she took her violin and bow from the case—she had bought a new bow to take the place of the one that had been broken—and began to play: a cadence, a trill, a waltz. Her face took on a hardened, resolute expression.

She soon let the instrument fall from her hands, and began to think. She laid the violin to one side, took off her slippers, sneaked out of the room in her stocking feet and across the hall, and listened at the door to Philippina’s room. She opened it cautiously and heard a sound snoring from Philippina’s bed, which stood next to the door.

The lamp had almost burned down; it gave so little light that the bed clothes could hardly be seen.

She stole up to Philippina’s couch of repose, step by step, without making the slightest noise, bent down, stretched out her arm, groped around over the body of the inexplicable creature who was sleeping there, and was on the point of raising the covers and reaching for Philippina’s breast. Philippina ceased snoring, woke up as if she had been struck in the face by the rays of a magic lantern, opened her eyes, and looked at Dorothea with a speechless threat. Not a muscle of her face moved.

Dorothea collected her thoughts instantly. With the expression on her face of one who has just succeeded in carrying out some good joke, she threw her whole body on Philippina and pressed her face to her cheek, nauseated though she was by the stench of her breath and the bed clothes.

“Listen, Philippina, the American wants to give you something,” she whispered.

“Jesus, you’re punching my belly in,” replied Philippina, and gasped for breath. When Dorothea had straightened up, she said: “Well, has he already given you something? That’s the main thing.”

“He gave me the feathers. Isn’t that something?” replied Dorothea, “and he is going to give me a set of rubies.”

“I wish you already had ’em. It seems to me that your American don’t exactly hail from Givetown. I’ve been told that he ain’t so damn rich after all. When are you goin’ to meet him again, your lover?”

“To-morrow evening, between six and seven. Oh, I am so glad, so glad, Philippina. He is so young.”

“Yes, young! That’s a lot, ain’t it?” murmured Philippina contemptuously.

“He has such a pretty mole on his neck, way down on his neck, down there,” she said, pointing to the same spot on Philippina’s neck. “Right there! Does it tickle you? Does it make you feel good?”

“Don’t laugh so loud, you’ll waken little Gottfried,” said Philippina in a testy, morose tone. “And get out of here! I’m sleepy.”

“Good-night, then, you pesky old dormouse,” said Dorothea, in seemingly good-natured banter, and left the room.

Hardly had she closed the door behind her when Philippina sprang like an enraged demon from her bed, clenched her fist, and hissed: “Damned thief and whore! She wanted to rob me, that’s what she did, the dirty wench! You wait! Your days in this place are numbered. Somebody’s going to squeal, believe me, and when they do, they’ll get you right.”

She drew her red petticoat over her legs, tied it tightly, and went to the door to lock it. The lock had been out of order for some time; she could not budge it. She carried a chair over to the door, placed it directly underneath the lock, folded her arms, sat down on it, and remained sitting there for an hour or so blinking her evil eyes.

When no longer able to keep from going to sleep, she got up, placed the folding table against the door, and got back into bed, murmuring imprecations such as were second nature to her.

The following day began with a heavy rain storm. Daniel had had a restless night; he went to his work quite early. But his head was so heavy that he had to stop every now and then, and rest it on his hand. There was no blood, no swing to his ideas.

Toward eight o’clock the postman came, and asked for Inspector Jordan. The old man had to sign a receipt in acknowledgment of a solemnly sealed money order.

In the letter the postman gave him were two hundred dollars in bills and a note from Benno. The letter had been mailed in Galveston. Benno wrote that he had made inquiries and found that his father was still living. He said he had been quite successful in the New World, and as a proof of his prosperity he was sending him the enclosed sum, with the best of greetings, in payment for the trouble he had cost his father.

It was a cold epistle. But the old man was beside himself with joy. He ran to Daniel and then to Philippina, held the crisp notes in the air, and stammered: “Look, people! He is rich. He has sent me two hundred dollars! He has become an honest man, he has. He remembers his old father, he does! Really this is a great day! A great day, Daniel, because of something else that has just been finished.” He added with a mysterious smile: “A blessed day in the history of a great cause!”

He dressed and went down town; he wanted to tell his friends the news.

Daniel called down to know if his breakfast was ready; nobody answered. Thereupon he went to the kitchen, and got himself a bottle of milk and a loaf of bread. Philippina came in a little later. Her hair looked as though a hurricane had struck it; she was in her worst humour. She snarled at Daniel, asking him why in the name of God he couldn’t wait till the coffee had been boiled.

“Leave me in peace, Philippina,” he said, “I need peace.”