“Come on then, let’s see what you know!” Niels Heinrich said to his
mother, the fortune-teller Engelschall.
They were in her inner sanctum. Attached to the ceiling by a black cord
hung a stuffed bat with outstretched wings. Dark, glowing glass-beads
had been set in its head. On the table, which was covered with cards,
lay a death’s head.
It was Sunday night, and Niels Heinrich came from his favourite pub.
He only stopped here on his way to a suburban dancing-hall. He wore
a black suit and a blue and white linen waistcoat. He had pushed his
derby hat so far to the back of his head that one saw the whole parting
of his hair. In his left arm-pit he held a thin, little stick. He
see-sawed on the chair on which he had slouched himself down.
“Come on now, trot out your tricks,” and he flung a five-mark piece
on the table. In his dissipated eyes there was a shimmer as of some
mineral and an indeterminate lustfulness.
The widow Engelschall was always afraid of him. She shuffled her cards.
“You seem to be well fixed, my lad,” she fawned on him. “That’s right.
Cut! And now let’s see what you let yourself in for.”
Niels Heinrich see-sawed on his chair. For many days his throat had
been on fire. He was sick of his very teeth and hands. He wanted to
grasp something, and hold it and crush it in his fist--something smooth
and warm, something that had life and begged for life. He hated all
things else, all hours, all ways.
“A ten and a ace o’ diamonds,” he heard his mother say, “the king o’
clubs and the jack o’ spades--that don’t mean nothing good. Then
another ten and a grey woman”--consternation was on her face--“you
ain’t going to do nothing awful, boy?”
“Aw, don’t get crazy, ol’ woman,” Niels Heinrich snarled at her. “You’d
make a dog laugh.” He frowned, and said with assumed indifference,
“Look and see if the cards say something about a Jew wench.”
The widow Engelschall shook her head in astonishment. “No, my boy,
nothing like that.” She turned the cards again. “No. Another ten and
a queen o’ hearts--that might mean a money order. Lord love us--three
more queens. You always was a great one for the women. And that reminds
me that red Hetty asked after you to-day. She wanted to know if you’d
come to the Pit to-night.”
Niels Heinrich answered: “Gee, I just kicked her out a day or two ago.
Her memory must be frozen. Gee!” He leaned back and see-sawed again.
“Aw, well, if you can’t tell me nothing pleasant, I’ll take back my
fiver.”
“It’s coming, my boy, it’s coming,” the old woman said soothingly. She
shuffled the cards again. “Have patience. We’ll get that business with
the Jew wench yet.”
Niels Heinrich stared into emptiness. Wherever he looked he had seen
the same thing for days and days--a young, smooth neck, two young,
smooth shoulders, two young, smooth breasts; and all these were
strange, of a strange race, and filled with a strange sweet blood. And
he felt that if he could not grasp these, grasp them and smell and
taste, he would die the death of a dog. He got up and forced himself to
a careless gesture. “You can stop,” he said. “It’s all a damn’ swindle.
You can keep the tip too. I don’t give a damn.” He passed his stick
across the cards, jumbled them together, and went out.
The widow Engelschall, left alone, shook her head. The ambition of her
calling stirred in her. She shuffled and laid down the cards anew.
“We’ll get it yet,” she murmured, “we’ll get it yet....”