Alone with him during those long terrible hours, my anguish and my
terror constantly increased. At last I could endure it no longer and I
telegraphed to Stahl:
"Come immediately."
At dusk the following day Stahl arrived.
I had hoped to derive courage and consolation from his presence. But as
soon as he stepped upon the threshold my heart turned faint within me.
Thinner and more spectral than ever, with hair dishevelled and eyes
sunken and dull, he looked dreamily at me, while a continual tremor
shook his hands.
I greeted him timorously, and the touch of his chill, flaccid fingers
made me shudder.
Bozevsky seemed glad to see him. Stretching out his wasted hand to him
he said at once:
"Stahl, I want to move my head."
Stahl seemed not to understand, and Bozevsky repeated: "I want to turn
my head from one side to another."
"Why not?" said Stahl, sitting down beside the bed and lighting a
cigarette. "Turn it by all means."
It was growing late; outside it was already dark. I drew the curtains
and turned on the lights. Bozevsky began very slowly to turn his head
from side to side; at first very timorously with frightened eyes, then
by degrees more daringly, from right to left and from left to right.
"Keep still, keep still, dearest," I entreated, bending over him.
"Stahl said it would not hurt," panted Bozevsky. "Did you not, Stahl?"
Stahl made no reply. He was smoking, with his heavy eyes half closed. At
the sight of him I was filled with loathing and fear.
"Have you dined?" I inquired of him after a long silence. He nodded and
went on smoking.
I tried to coax Bozevsky to take an egg beaten up in milk, but he
continued to turn his head from side to side and would touch nothing.
Little by little the sounds in the hotel died away. The gipsy music
which had been audible, faintly in the distance, ceased. Night crept
upon us sinister and silent.
Presently Stahl roused himself and opened his eyes. He looked at me and
then at Bozevsky, who lay in the circular shadow cast by the lamp shade,
dozing with his mouth slightly open; he looked pitiful and grotesque in
his collar of yellow gauze.
Stahl made a grimace; then his breath became short and hurried as on
that night of the ball when he sat beside me in the sleigh. He was
panting with a slight sibilant sound and with a quick nervous movement
of his head.
"Stahl," I whispered, leaning towards him and indicating Bozevsky, "tell
me--how do you think he is?"
Stahl did not answer. He seemed not to have heard me, but to be absorbed
in some mysterious physical suffering of his own.
"What is the matter, Stahl? What is the matter? You are frightening me."
With a nervous twist of his lips intended for a smile Stahl got up and
began to walk up and down the room. His breath was still short and
hurried. He drew the air through his teeth like one who is enduring
spasms of pain.
Then he began to talk to himself in a low voice. "I can wait," he said
under his breath. "I can wait a little longer. Yes--yes--yes, I can wait a
little longer."
Bozevsky had opened his eyes and was watching him.
Horror held me motionless and shivers ran like icy water down my spine.
"Stahl, Stahl, what is the matter?" I said, and began to cry.
Stahl seemed not to hear me. He continued to walk up and down muttering
to himself: "I can wait, I can wait. Just a little longer--a little
longer--"
Bozevsky groaned. "Tell him to keep still," he said, his gaze indicating
Stahl.
I seized Stahl by the arm. "You must keep quiet," I said. "Keep quiet at
once."
He turned to me a vacuous, bewildered face. I grasped his arm
convulsively, clutching it with all my strength: "Keep still!"