Ina lay awake all night. Yes, curiosity was her passion, had been
since her childhood. If she could only know now, now, now! Her husband
would give her no assistance, was afraid of complications which might
threaten, if they meddled with matters that did not concern them. She
herself was curious to the point of imprudence. She now wanted to talk
to Uncle Daan, whom she was sure to meet next day at Grandmamma's....
She went that afternoon to the Nassaulaan. Old Anna opened the door,
glad that the old lady was not neglected:
"Good-afternoon, ma'am.... Mr. Takma, Dr. Roelofsz and Mrs. Floor are
upstairs.... Yes, you can go up presently.... Thank you, the old lady
is very well indeed.... Yes, yes, she'll outlive us all yet.... Would
you mind waiting a minute, in the morning-room? We're keeping up a nice
fire here now, in the cold weather; for, though the mistress never
comes downstairs, as you know, there's usually somebody of the family
waiting...."
Old Anna gave Ina a chair. The servant had turned the morning-room into
a comfortable waiting-room. This secured that there was never too
much fuss around the old lady, which would not have done at all. The
closed stove burnt well. The chairs were arranged in a circle. And the
old servant, from politeness, to keep Ina company, stood by her for a
moment, talking, till Ina said:
"Sit down, Anna."
The old servant sat down respectfully on the edge of a chair. That was
a habit which visitors had adopted with her, because she was so old.
She asked politely after Mrs. Lily's little ones.
"The first really fine day, Mrs. van Wely will bring the babies to see
their great-great-grandmamma."
"Yes, the mistress will love that," said the old servant; but she
jumped up at the same time and exclaimed, "Well, I never! There's Miss
Stefanie too! Well, they're certainly not neglecting the old lady!"
She showed Aunt Stefanie de Laders in to Ina and withdrew to the
kitchen.
"Mr. Takma, the doctor and Aunt Floor are upstairs," said Ina. "We will
wait a little, Aunt.... Tell me, Aunt, do you know why Uncle Daan has
really come to Holland?"
"Business?" said Stefanie, interrogatively.
"I don't think so. I believe there's something the matter."
"Something the matter?" said Stefanie, with rising interest. "What sort
of thing? Something that's not quite proper?"
"I can't tell what it is exactly. As you know, Papa never lets anything
out."
"Is Uncle Daan ruined?"
"I thought he might be, but Papa says positively that there is no
question of money. As to _what_ it is ..."
"But what could it be?"
"There's _something_."
They looked into each other's eyes, both of them burning with curiosity.
"How do you know it, Ina?"
"Papa is very much depressed since he's seen Uncle Daan."
"Yes, but _how_ do you know that there's something the matter?"
The need to talk overcame Ina's prudence:
"Aunt Stefanie," she whispered, "I really couldn't help it ... but
yesterday, when I went to fetch Uncle Daan and Papa in Uncle's study, I
heard ... in the conservatory ..."
Aunt Stefanie, eager to learn, tremulously nodded her restless little
bird's-head.
"I heard ... Papa and Uncle Daan talking for a moment. Of course I
didn't listen; and they stopped speaking when I went in. But still I
heard Uncle Daan say to Papa, 'Have you known it all this time?' And
then Papa said, 'Yes, sixty years.'"
"Sixty years?" said Aunt Stefanie, in suspense. "That's ever since
Ottilie was born. Perhaps it had to do with Ottilie. You know, Ina,
Aunt Ottilie is ..."
"Takma's daughter?"
Aunt Stefanie nodded:
"People used to talk a lot about it at one time. They've forgotten it
now. It all happened so long ago. Mamma did not behave at all properly.
Yes, she has been very sinful."
"Could that be what they were talking about?"
"No, I don't think so. Uncle Daan knew all about it. And Papa would not
have said, 'I've known it for sixty years.'"
"No," said Ina, lost in conjecture.
And her usually weary eyes were bright and clear, in their effort to
penetrate the vagueness of the Thing which she saw.
"No," said Stefanie, "it can't be that."
"What then?"
"Something ... about Mamma."
"About Grandmamma?"
"Yes, it's sure to have been about Grandmamma.... Sixty years ago...."
"What a long time!" said Ina.
"I was a girl of ... seventeen," said Aunt Stefanie. "Yes, it was a
long time ago."
"And you were seventeen."
"Yes.... That's when Papa Dercksz died."
"Grandpapa?"
"Yes. He was drowned, you know."
"Yes, it dates back to that time."
"Yes.... What _can_ it be?"
"Do you remember Grandmamma's _baboe_?"
"I do. She was called Ma-Boeten."
"She's dead."
"How do you know?"
"I heard it."
"In the conservatory?"
"Yes, I heard it in the conservatory."
"What else did you hear?"
"Ma-Boeten's son is a _mantri_ in the Tegal rent-office."
"Well...?"
"Uncle Daan gives him money."
"Money?"
"Either to speak ... or to hold his tongue. I believe it's to hold his
tongue."
"Then can anything have happened?"
"Sixty years ago? Auntie, _can't_ you remember?"
"But, my dear, I was so young, I didn't notice things. I was a
girl of seventeen. Yes, yes, Auntie herself was young once. I was
seventeen.... I and the other children had remained in the town: a
sister of Grandmamma's was taking charge of us. Papa had gone to the
hills for his health. He and Mamma were staying at a _pasangrahan_
and--I remember _this_ now--they had taken Harold with them. Yes, I
remember, Harold was not with us. They had taken him: Harold was Papa's
favourite.... It was there that Papa was drowned. One night, in the
_kali_.[1] He was restless, could not sleep, walked into the jungle,
missed his way and slipped into the river. I remember all that."
"And Papa was in the _pasangrahan_ with them?"
"Yes, your father was with them. He was a little fellow of thirteen
then."
"And he has _known_, since then?"
"Is that what he says?"
"Then he must know something ... about the hills, about the
_pasangrahan_...."
"Ina, what _can_ it be?"
"I have no idea, Aunt, but it must be something ... about
Grandmamma...."
"Yes," said Aunt Stefanie, with sudden caution; "but, whatever it is,
dear ... it happened so long ago. If it's anything, it's probably
something ... improper. Don't let's rake it up. It is so long ago now,
sixty years ago. And Grandmamma is so old...."
She stopped; and her beady bird's-eyes stared and blinked. It was as if
she suddenly saw something looming, something that was coming nearer;
and she did not want to talk any more. She did not even want to know.
A shuddering anxiety, mingled with a mist of vaguest memories, swam in
front of her blinking eyes. She would enjoin silence upon it. It was
not wise to penetrate too deeply into the things of the past. Years
passed, things passed: it was best to let them pass quietly, to let
sin pass by.... The powers of Hell lurked in sinfulness. Hell lurked
in curiosity. Hell lurked as a devil's sabbath in Anton's books and
albums. It lurked in her mother's past. It lurked in Ina's devouring
curiosity. She, Aunt Stefanie, was afraid of Hell: she wanted to go to
Heaven. She no longer wanted to know what might have happened. And she
shut her blinking eyes before the mist of remembrance and kept them
closed:
"No, dear," she repeated, "_don't_ let us rake it up."
She would not say any more; and Ina was certain that Aunt knew, that
Aunt at any rate remembered something. But she knew Aunt Stefanie: she
would not speak now, any more than Papa would. Was she on her guard?
Oh, what was it, what could it be?
[1] River.