'Come with me, Johannes; I have to visit a sick man.'
Doctor Cypher was well known as a learned man, and many appealed to him
for help against disease and death. Johannes had already gone with him
on such errands now and then. Pluizer was unusually cheerful that
morning. He would at times stand on his head, dance and leap, and play
all sorts of impudent tricks. He wore a constant mysterious grin, as
though he had a surprise in store for some one. Johannes dreaded him
most in this mood.
Doctor Cypher was as grave as ever. They went a long way that morning,
in a train, and on foot. They went farther than Johannes had ever been
before outside the town.
It was a fine hot day. Johannes, looking out from the train, saw the
broad green fields fly past, with tall feathery grasses and grazing
kine. He saw white butterflies flitting over the flowery land where the
air quivered with the heat of the sun.
But suddenly he saw a gleam in the distance.--There lay the long
undulating stretch of sand-hills.
'Now, Johannes,' said Pluizer with a grin, 'now you have your wish, you
see.'
Johannes, half incredulous, sat gazing at the sand-hills. They came
nearer and nearer. The long ditches on each side of the railway seemed
to whirl round a distant centre, and the little houses flew swiftly past
and away down the road.
Then came some trees: thickly green horse-chestnut trees, covered with
thousands of spikes of pink and white blossoms--dark, blue-green
pines--tall, spreading lime-trees. It was true, then,--he was going to
see his sand-hills once more. The train stopped; they all three jumped
out, under verdurous shade.
Here was the deep, green moss, here were the flecks of sunshine on the
ground under the forest-trees--this was the fragrance of birch-buds and
pine-needles.
'Is it real--is it true?' thought Johannes. 'Can such happiness befall
me?'
His eyes sparkled and his heart beat high. He began to believe in his
happiness. He knew these trees and this soil. He had often trodden this
forest-path.
They were alone here. But Johannes could not help looking round, as
though some one were following him. And he fancied that between the oak
boughs he caught sight of a dark figure hiding itself, as they threaded
the last turns of the path.
Pluizer looked at him with mysterious cunning. Doctor Cypher hurried
forward, with long strides, keeping his eyes on the ground.
At each step the way was more familiar--he knew every stone and every
shrub--and suddenly Johannes started violently: he stood before his old
home.
The horse-chestnut in front of the house spread the shade of its large,
fingered leaves. Above him the beautiful white flowers, and thick, round
mass of foliage towered high overhead. He heard the sound of an opening
door which he knew well--and he smelt the peculiar smell of his own
home. He recognised the passage, the doors, everything, bit by bit--with
a keen pang of lost familiarity. It was all a part of his life--of his
lonely dreamy childhood. He had held council with all these things, had
lived with them his own life of thoughts--to which he had admitted no
human being. But now he felt himself dead, as it were, and cut off from
the old house, with its rooms and passages and doorways. The severance,
he knew, was irremediable, and he felt as melancholy and woeful as
though he had come to visit a graveyard. If only Presto had sprung out
to meet him, it would have been less dreary. But Presto, no doubt, was
gone or dead.
But where was his father?
He looked back through the open door out into the sunny garden, and saw
the man who, as he had fancied, was following them on the way, coming
towards the house. He came nearer and nearer, and seemed to grow in
stature as he approached. When he reached the door a vast cold shadow
filled the entrance. Then Johannes knew him.
There was perfect silence indoors, and they went up-stairs without
speaking. There was one step which always creaked under foot as Johannes
knew; and now he heard it creak three times with a sound like a groan of
pain. But under the fourth footstep it was like a deep sob.
Above stairs, Johannes heard moaning, as low and as regular as the slow
ticking of a clock. It was a heart-rending and doleful sound. The door
of his own little room stood open; he timidly glanced in. The strange
flowers on the curtains stared at him with unmeaning surprise. The clock
had stopped. They went on to the room whence the groaning came. It was
his father's bedroom. The sun shone in brightly, on the green
bed-curtains which were drawn close. Simon, the cat, sat on the
window-sill, in the sun. There was an oppressive smell of wine and
camphor; the low moaning now sounded close at hand.
Johannes heard whispering voices and carefully softened footsteps. Then
the green curtains were opened.
He saw his father's face, which had so often risen before him during the
last few weeks. But it was quite different. The kind, grave expression
had given way to a rigid look of suffering, and his face was ashy pale,
with brown shadows. The teeth showed through the parted lips, and the
white of the eyes under the half-closed lids. His head lay sunk in
pillows, and was lifted a little with every moaning breath, falling back
wearily after each effort.
Johannes stood by the bed without stirring, staring with wide fixed eyes
at the well-known features. He did not know what he thought; he dared
not move a finger, he dared not take the wan old hands, which lay limp
on the white linen sheet.
All about him was black, the sun and the bright room, the greenery
outside and the blue air he had come in from--all the past was
black--black, heavy and impenetrable. And that night he could see
nothing but that pale face. He could think of nothing but the poor head
which seemed so weary, and yet was lifted again and again with a groan
of anguish.
But there was a change in this regular movement. The moaning ceased, the
eyes slowly opened and stared about inquiringly, while the lips tried to
say something.
'Good-morning, father,' whispered Johannes, looking into the seeking
eyes and trembling with terror. The dim gaze rested on him, and a faint,
faint smile moved the hollow cheeks; the thin clenched hand was lifted
from the sheet and made a feeble movement towards Johannes, but it
dropped again, powerless.
'Come, come,' said Pluizer. 'No scenes here.'
'Get out of the way, Johannes,' said Doctor Cypher. 'We must see what
can be done.'
The Doctor began his examination, and Johannes went away from the
bed-side and stood by the window, looking out at the sunlit grass and
broad chestnut leaves on which large flies were sitting which shone
blue in the sun.
The groaning began again with the same regularity.
A blackbird was hopping among the tali grass, large red and black
butterflies fluttered over the flower-beds, and from the topmost boughs
of the highest trees a soft, tender cooing of wood-pigeons, fell on
Johannes's ear. In the room the moaning went on--without ceasing. He
could not help listening--and it came as regularly, as inevitably as the
falling drip which may drive a man mad. He watched anxiously at every
interval and it always came again--as awful as the approaching footsteps
of Death.
And outside, warm and rapturous delight in the sunshine reigned.
Everything was basking and happy. The blades of grass thrilled and the
leaves whispered for sheer gladness. High above the trees in the deep,
distant blue, a heron was soaring on lazy wing.
Johannes did not understand--it was all a mystery to him. Everything was
confused and dark in his soul--
'How can all this exist in me at the same time?' thought he. 'Am I
really myself? Is that my father--my own father? Mine--Johannes's?' And
it was as though a stranger spoke.
It was all a tale which he had heard. He had heard some one tell of
Johannes, and of the house where he dwelt with his father from whom he
had run away, and who was now dying. This was not himself--he had only
heard of it all; and indeed it was a sad story,--very sad. But it had
nothing to do with him.
And yet--and yet.--It was he himself, Johannes.
'I cannot understand the case,' said Doctor Cypher, pulling himself up.
'It is a very mysterious attack.'
Pluizer came up to Johannes.
'Come and look, Johannes; it is a very interesting case. The Doctor
knows nothing about it.'
'Leave me alone,' said Johannes, without turning round. 'I cannot
think.'
But Pluizer went close behind him and whispered sharply in his ear, as
was his wont--
'You cannot think? Did you fancy that you could not think? That is a
mistake. You must think. Staring out like this at the green grass and
the blue sky will do no good. Windekind will not come to you. And the
sick man is sinking fast; that you must have seen as clearly as we did.
But what is his disorder, do you think?'
'I do not know!--I do not want to know!'
Johannes said no more, but listened to the moaning; it sounded like a
gentle complaint and reproach. Doctor Cypher was taking notes in a book.
At the head of the bed sat the dark figure which had followed them in;
his head was bowed, his lean hand extended towards the sick man, and his
hollow eyes steadfastly gazing at the clock.
That sharp whisper in his ear began again.
'Why are you so unhappy, Johannes? You have got what you wished for.
There lie the sand-hills, there is the sunshine through the verdure,
there are the dancing butterflies, the singing birds. What more do you
want? Are you waiting for Windekind? If he exists anywhere, it must be
there. Why does he not come to you? He is frightened, no doubt, by our
dark friend by the bed. He always has been afraid of him. Don't you see,
Johannes, that it was all fancy? And listen to the moaning. It is weaker
than it was just now. You can hear that it will soon cease altogether.
Well, and what matter? Many folks must have groaned just so when you
were at play here among the wild roses. Why do you now sit here grieving
instead of going out to the sand-hills as you used to do? Look! Out
there everything is as flowery and fragrant as if nothing had happened.
Why do you care no more for all the gladness of that life?
'First you complained and longed to be here. Now I have brought you
where you yearned to be, and yet you are not content. See. I will let
you go--go out into the tall grass, lie in the cool shade, let the flies
hum about you, and breathe the perfume of growing herbs. You are free!
Go. Find Windekind once more. You will not? Then do you now believe in
me alone? Is all I have told you true? Am I or is Windekind the false
one?
'Listen to the moans! So short and feeble! They will soon be stilled.
But do not look so terrified, Johannes, the sooner it is ended, the
better. There could be no long walks now, no more seeking for violets
together. With whom has he wandered these two years, do you think, while
you were away? You can never ask him now. You can never know. If you
had known me a little earlier you would not look so wretched now. You
are a long way yet from being what you must become. Do you think that
Doctor Cypher in your place would look as you do? It would sadden him no
more than it does the cat blinking there in the sunshine. And it is best
so. Of what use is brooding sorrow? Have the flowers learnt to grieve?
They do not mourn if one of them is plucked. Is not that far happier?
They know nothing, and that is why they are thus content. You have begun
to know something; now you must learn everything to become happy. I
alone can teach you. All, or nothing.
'Listen to me. What is there remarkable in your father's case? It is the
death of a man--that is a common occurrence. Now do you hear the
gasping? Weaker still! It must be very near the end!'
Johannes looked at the bed in agonised fear.
Simon the cat jumped down from the window-sill, stretched himself, and
then, still purring, lay down on the bed by the dying man.
The poor weak head moved no longer; it lay still, sunk in the pillows,
but the short, dull panting still came through the half-open mouth.
It grew weaker and weaker till it was scarcely audible.
Then Death took his hollow eyes off the clock and looked at the weary
head; he raised his hand. Then all was still.
A grey shadow fell on the rigid features.
Silence, oppressive, unbroken silence!
Johannes sat and sat, waiting. But the regular sound was heard no more.
All was still--a great, murmuring stillness.
The tension of the last hours of listening was over, and to Johannes it
seemed that his soul had been let fall down into black and bottomless
space. Deeper and deeper he fell. All about him grew darker and more
silent.
Then he heard Pluizer's voice as if it were a long way off.
'There! That tale is told.'
'That is well,' said Doctor Cypher. 'Now you can see what was wrong with
him. I leave that to you. I must be off.'
Still, as if half-dreaming, Johannes saw the gleam of bright knives. The
cat set her back up. It was cold by the corpse, and she returned to the
sunshine.
Johannes saw Pluizer take a knife, which he examined carefully, and then
went up to the bed.
Then he shook off his lethargy. Before Pluizer could get to the bed he
stood in front of him.
'What do you want?' he asked. His eyes were wide open with horror.
'We must see what he died of,' said Pluizer.
'No,' said Johannes, and his voice was as deep as a man's.
'What is the meaning of this?' said Pluizer, with a glare of rage. 'Can
you hinder me? Do you not know how strong I am?'
'I will not have it,' said Johannes. He drew a deep breath and set his
teeth, staring firmly at Pluizer, and put out his hand against him.
But Pluizer came nearer. Then Johannes gripped him by the wrists and
struggled with him.
Pluizer was strong; he knew that; nothing had ever been able to resist
him. But he did not leave go, and his will was steadfast.
The knife gleamed before his eyes; he seemed to see sparks and red
flames, but he did not give in, and wrestled on. He knew what would
happen if he yielded. He knew--he had seen it before. But that which lay
behind him was his father, and he would not see it now.
And while he panted and struggled, the dead body lay stretched out
motionless, just as it was lying when the silence fell; the white of the
eyes visible through a narrow opening, the corners of the mouth curled
to a ghastly smile. Only as the two knocked against the bed in their
wrestling, the head gently moved a little.
Still Johannes held his own. His breath came hard and he could not see;
a blood-red mist was before his eyes--and still he stood firm.
Then gradually the resistance of those wrists grew weaker in his grasp,
his muscles relaxed, his arms fell limp by his sides and his clenched
hands were empty.
When he looked up Pluizer had vanished. Death sat alone by the bed and
nodded to him.
'That was well done, Johannes,' said he.
'Will he come back again?' whispered Johannes. Death shook his head.
'Never. Those who have once defied him, never see him again.'
'And Windekind? Shall I ever see Windekind again?'
The gloomy man gazed long at Johannes. His look was no longer terrible,
but gentle and grave. It seemed to allure Johannes like some great deep.
'I alone can take you to Windekind. Through me alone can you find the
Book.'
'Then take me too, there is no one left. Take me with you as you have
taken others. I want nothing more.'
But again Death shook his head.
'You love men, Johannes. You do not know it, but you have always loved
them. You must grow up to be a good man. It is a very fine thing to be a
good man.'
'I do not want that--take me with you.'
'You are mistaken; you do want it; you cannot help it.'
The tall dark figure became dim in Johannes' sight--it melted into a
vague shape--a formless grey mist filled its place and floated away on
the sunbeams.
Johannes bowed his head on the edge of the bed and mourned for the dead
man.