Fausch's ill temper that evening did not hinder Cain and Vincenza from
enjoying each other's company as before. They were too young and too
thoughtless to think very much about others, and Cain did not suspect
the feeling that his father was hiding. Their days grew only more
lovely and contented, as the season changed again, and autumn gave way
to winter. The cold weather drove those who lived at the hospice
together in a couple of little rooms. The troops of travelers
diminished. Only one regular post now passed over the mountain daily in
each direction. The trains of pack animals still came; but the work at
the smithy grew less. The apprentice was dismissed. Fausch was once
more alone in his shop. Everything lay deep under the snow, the
mountain meadows were one smooth sheet of white. The rocks were
invisible and the lakes lay buried. The mountains round about had lost
their gloomy shade, and now seemed to surround the valley with walls of
alabaster, and when the sun shone, the whole white world was radiant.
Where the road, which looked like a single furrow in a white field,
separated, running northward and southward, stood the hospice. The gray
walls were plastered with snow, and the buildings looked like an island
that is about to be submerged in some great flood. From without, the
few houses on the lonely mountain had a defenseless look. But inside
they were snug and warm, and there was need of warmth and comfort; for
the winter storms came rushing over the snow fields, and the thick,
cold clouds came, bringing night at noonday. Then the travel over the
mountain road would cease, for days or weeks, or if some foolhardy man,
or a daring troop came up from the valley, they would cross themselves,
if they got as far as the hospice, and would gasp out: "That was
tempting Providence: that road meant life or death."
The two men from Waltheim passed this first winter as contentedly as
the autumn, and the same contentment lasted into the spring, when the
avalanches came crashing down the mountain sides. When the danger of
snowslides was somewhat less, some travelers began to come through the
pass, and one of the first who came was Hallheimer, the trader. Two
things were especially noticeable in him, on his arrival, first that
his illness had gone hard with him, for he was still thinner and his
straggling beard looked still more scanty: second, that he had felt
very curious to make this mountain trip once more. He greeted the smith
first, for he had taken his wagon at once to the stables, and wanted to
know how Stephen liked the place, and gave him news about the smithy at
Waltheim, for which he had a purchaser in view. Fausch stood by his
workbench and let the words pass by him, muttered an answer now and
then and let the trader see that he did not regret the change. Then the
trader wanted to go over to the tavern. Simmen, with whom he was a
profitable and quite a favorite guest, because he always brought news,
greeted him with "Hullo," and Hallheimer soon had the conversation
precisely where he wanted it. "How goes it with the smith?" he asked.
"He's an odd stick," said Simmen. "But he can work!"
Hallheimer grew so eager that his little eyes flashed. "There is
something hidden in the fellow," said he. "For all that he is so
crabbed and crusty outside, like an everlasting workday, another man is
hidden in him, as fine as Sunday, whether you believe me or not. He
appreciates everything beautiful. Mean he may be, and thorny and
quarrelsome and quick with his fists. For instance, the token that he
marked the boy with for life!"
"How's that?" asked Simmen innocently. "His boy, Franz?"
The trader pricked up his ears. "Franz?--Does he call him Franz
now--the boy?" asked he.
The host begged him to tell what it all meant.
So then Hallheimer told Cain's story, all about his life and about his
name.
"So--so," said Simmen. "Base born is he then, the boy?" and the matter
seemed to make him thoughtful.
Hallheimer spent the night at the tavern, and seemed to be possessed to
talk about the smith. He listened to what one and another in the house
had to say about Stephen Fausch, and told the landlord's wife and the
maid, who brought him his supper, and the working men, with whom he
presently sat in the lower room, the story of Cain's name, and why such
a name was given him. He meant no harm by this, for every one knew all
about it where he came from. He simply kept telling it over again in
the excitement of the conversation, meaning to explain to his listeners
what a remarkable fellow the smith was, in spite of his uncouthness.
It happened by chance, that neither Cain nor Fausch came over to the
tavern that evening; but Vincenza heard the tale and afterward sat in
the corner of the room lost in thought with dreamy eyes and burning
cheeks.
The next morning Hallheimer had already started southward, when Cain
came out of the milk house and fell into the hands of three workingmen
belonging to the hospice, who were busy at the house. It came over him
that they all stared at him, and passed some word back and forth among
them and then laughed, as if they were laughing at him. He greeted
them, paused and said: "Already busy, so early?"
They looked stupidly at one another. But one, an impudent fellow, who
had a brandy flask behind him on the ground, even at this early hour,
said: "That's a fine name you have!"
Then they laughed again still louder.
"My name?--" stammered Cain. For a moment he did not know what they
meant; but suddenly the blood rushed to his face. The story of his
shame had made the long journey from Waltheim here! He could not say
another word, nor even look at the three men. With drooping head, he
slipped away.
Soon afterward he was standing in the workshop, where Fausch was busy
making a supply of horse shoes ready for the summer. The smith had not
heard him come in, but, turning around by chance, discovered him,
standing in a corner, with his arms hanging limply and his head on his
breast. "What is the matter then?" he asked.
Then Cain looked up. His features twitched convulsively. "They know it
here now--they know it all," said he slowly.
Fausch dropped his hammer. "What do they know?" he asked.
"About--my name."
A flash of anger rushed over the smith. "I would like to see who dares
to call you anything but Franz here!"
"I want to go away, Father," said Cain, "out into the world--down to
Italy, or somewhere--I want to go away."
"Nonsense!" Fausch burst out. "Get to work! Blow the bellows for me!"
The boy obeyed without remonstrance. "This evening we can talk about
it," was all he said. Then he did as his father had told him. He still
held to his decision to go away. But it seemed very hard to him. He
stifled a rising sob. The smith worked as if a hundred horses were
waiting at the door for the shoe he was making. Suddenly he
straightened up, laid down his tools and pointed out some more work for
Cain to do. He himself went out without saying where he was going. Once
outside, he went to the tavern, and drank a glass in the servants'
room, as he now and then did. As he sat there, he noticed exactly what
he had expected: every one looked at him differently since yesterday.
Simmen, whom he ran across, asked why the boy did not come over. Then
he added with a half sarcastic, half angry look: "I have found out all
about you and--and Franz. You weren't exactly gentle with him in those
days."
Fausch was going to ask who told him about it, but Hallheimer
immediately came into his head, and he began to wonder that the story
of Cain and his name had not found its way to the mountain long ago. He
did not answer the landlord, but gazed steadily into his glass, emptied
it at one draught, muttered something which Simmen did not understand,
and took himself off. A while afterward he went back to the shop, where
Cain was still at work. He said nothing, but wandered aimlessly back
and forth a moment, looking fixedly at his workbench, as if he were
searching for something. Then he said impatiently to Cain, as if he had
already sent him out: "Go along, then!"
"Where to?"
"Can't you pile the wood that was unloaded yesterday?" he growled. Cain
immediately turned and went out.
Stephen Fausch stood for a moment looking toward the back door, by
which the boy had gone out; then he sat down on his anvil, with his
elbows on his knees, and stared at the ground, with bowed head. A band
of light that came through the great doorway fell upon him and threw
the man and the anvil into striking relief against the surrounding
darkness. He sat there so motionless and was so dark a shape, from his
clumsy shoes to his black, woolly head, that it was not easy to
distinguish where the iron of the anvil ended and the living man began,
or whether the whole was not an iron statue. Moreover, no one could
have seen that within him all was turmoil and struggle and strife.
But Stephen Fausch was thinking. All the way over the long road from
Waltheim the slander had followed them, which they had come so far to
avoid. And this gossip and scandal could follow Cain through the whole
world just as easily as it had come here. There was no avoiding it! And
it is your fault, Stephen Fausch, that the boy must be pursued by
scandal his whole life long. But ha ha, it is fair, perfectly fair! No
one asked you how you liked it, when Maria was--ha ha! So he must bear
it too, the child of sin, the sinner's name! He must bear it!
It was the old struggle between defiance and obstinacy, and that other
feeling of pity for the boy, that arose once more in Fausch. Only the
battle had never been so fierce before. The two forces wrestled
together and shook the powerful man back and forth like a reed, even
although outwardly he sat so still. Then too, other thoughts came to
him. He wanted to go away, the boy! All alone! They must part! Yes,
yes, of course, if he were alone, the boy might more easily pass
unnoticed through the world. Yes, of course! But to part!
Fausch shuddered. No longer to have the boy with him, no longer to see
him--in whom--Maria still seemed to live!--He could not sit still any
longer. He got up and walked back and forth. To give him up--the
boy!--The thought awoke once more his strange hunger for Cain. It drove
him to the door, to see him.
Over by the stable door the boy was piling up heavy logs of wood, which
lay in a confused heap on the ground. He was working diligently and
without looking about him.
Just then Vincenza came across the open space from the tavern. The
smith involuntarily stepped behind the wall by the door, so that she
would not see him. From there he continued to watch Cain.
Vincenza timidly came near, looked about to see if anyone was by, then,
before he was aware of her approach, she stepped up behind the boy, who
was so absorbed in his work.
"You never came near me all the morning," said Vincenza to Cain. She
had quite forgotten to bid him good morning. She was not usually a very
thoughtful girl, or apt to hang her head. But now she looked quiet and
serious.
"You?" said Cain, turning toward her. Then he didn't know what more to
say, and went on piling up the wood.
"I know why, already," said Vincenza. Leaning against the woodpile, she
looked at Cain. After a short pause she continued. "They have told us
what a strange name you have. So--that is why you don't come over any
more, isn't it?"
"I am going away--I am going very far away now," said Cain, but even as
he spoke the words, it seemed wholly impossible to him, that they could
be true.
Vincenza thought a moment. Then she came closer to him. "If you go, I
shall go too," said she.
He could not laugh at what she said, for all that it seemed so
incredible. Since he could not find a word to say, he stroked her hand,
which was resting on the woodpile.
Just then Simmen came out of the tavern door, with his face flushed,
and called out angrily to Vincenza: "Are you there again with the
smith's boy, you?" It was the first time that he had had anything to
say against the friendship of the two.
The girl turned around. Her little brown face wore an angry expression.
"I shall tell my father," said she to Cain as she went away. The boy
scarcely knew what she meant. But she walked slowly up to Simmen.
"Franz wants to go away," said she when she was close to him.
"So he ought," answered the host, crossly.
"Then I shall go with him," said Vincenza.
At that, the blood rushed once more to Simmen's face. Cain heard him
railing loudly at Vincenza, as he walked into the house behind her. His
angry voice could be heard across the yard for some time. Cain stood
and listened, with a log of wood in his hand. Over at the workshop,
Fausch left the doorway where he had been watching and went out of the
back door. He had no peace of mind left for his work.