When the autumn days came on and it began to get cold, Daniel was a
frequent visitor at Jordan's. Although he had a warm stove now of his
own, he took pleasure in remembering the comfortable corner of a year
ago. He had a greater affection for things and rooms than he had for
human beings.
It was rare that he came in contact with Jordan, for now that he was no
longer with the Prudentia, it was hard to locate him: he was doing odd
jobs for a number of concerns, and this kept him more or less on the go.
Benno came home after office hours, only to betake himself to his room,
where he shaved and made himself as elegant-looking as possible for the
social engagements of the evening. He did not like to be alone with
Gertrude, so he never came until after six o'clock, when he knew that
Eleanore would be at home. Realising that Eleanore was diligently
pursuing the study of French and English, and that her evenings were
therefore of great value to her, he begged her not to be disturbed by
his visits. He said that he found nothing so agreeable as sitting still
and saying nothing. After an hour or two, however, he left, murmuring an
indistinct farewell as he did so.
At times he would bring a book with him and read. If he chanced to look
up, he saw Eleanore bending over the writing table, her hair, bathed in
a flood of golden light from the lamp, falling in fine silken threads
over her temples, while her mouth was firmly closed, her lips inclined
to droop at the corners, but in a lovely fashion. Then he saw Gertrude.
She did not wear her hair loose; she put it up in a tight knot above her
neck. Her dress was no longer the Nile green; it was made of brown
cloth, and on the front was a row of glistening black buttons.
At times Eleanore would make some remark to him, and he would reply. At
times the remarks between the two spun out into a verbal skirmish.
Eleanore teased, and he was gruff; or he mocked, and Eleanore delivered
a curtain lecture. Gertrude would sit with an expression of helpless
amazement on her face, and look at the window. She purposely remained
unoccupied; she purposely postponed her household duties. The thought
of leaving the two alone in the room was unbearable.
What Daniel did and said, how he walked or sat or stood, how he put his
hands in his pockets and smacked his lips, all this and more aroused a
sense of fear and shame in her. She regarded his candour as impudent
presumption; she looked upon his capriciousness as malevolent
irrationality; his indifferent manners and his disposition to slander
she felt certain were of a piece with the scorn of the devil.
On one occasion he dropped a caustic remark about the bigots who contend
that God is a moralising censor. Having this phase of ethics under
discussion, he also paid his respects to those people who look upon
every worm-eaten pastor as an archangel. Gertrude got up with a jerk,
and stared at him. He stood his ground; he merely shrugged his
shoulders. Gertrude whispered: "Men without faith are worse than
contagious diseases."
Daniel laughed. Then he became serious, and asked her what she
understood by faith. He wanted to know whether she felt that faith was a
matter of lip service. She replied, with bowed head, that she could not
discuss sacred matters with a man who had renounced all religion. Daniel
told her that her remark was slanderous. He wanted to know whether she
had ever taken the pains to find out precisely how he stood in matters
of religion, and if not, was this the reason she passed such final
judgment on him with such suddenness and conviction. He asked her point
blank whether she was quite certain that her so-called faith was better
than his so-called unfaith. Not content with this, he asked where she
got her authority, her courage, her feeling of security; whether she
felt she had evidence to prove that she had carefully examined his soul;
and whether she had at any time interviewed God.
He laughed again, whistled, and left.
Gertrude remained motionless for a while, her eyes fixed on the floor.
Eleanore supported her chin on her hand, and looked at her
compassionately. Gertrude began to tremble in her whole body, and,
without raising her head, she stretched out her arms to Eleanore. Though
quite unable to interpret this accusing gesture, Eleanore was terrified.
The next time Daniel came, he resumed his seat by the stove, and
remained silent for a while. Then, without the slightest warning or
apparent motivation, he began to discuss religion. And how? With the old
spirit of defiance, as if from an ambuscade from which he could send
out his poisoned arrows, with calculating maliciousness and cold
rebellion, with the air of a man who has been defeated, who is now being
pursued, and who is willing to concede more to the earthly order of
things than to the divine. Thus he sat, the incarnation of blasphemy,
and once more shuffled the features of his face until he looked like the
sedulous ape.
Eleanore felt that he was denying both himself and God, and that with
violence. She went over to him, and laid her hand on his shoulder.
Gertrude, a death-like pallor playing over her face, got up, passed by
her and Daniel, and did not appear again that evening. Nor did she
appear the following evening. From that time on she avoided his
presence.
For one remarkable second and no longer, Daniel fixed his eyes on the
shape of Gertrude's legs. He became suddenly conscious of the fact that
she was a woman and he was a man. During this second, one of the rarest
of his life, he perceived the outer surface of her body, but without the
enveloping clothes. He thought of her as a nude figure. It lasted only a
second, but he pictured her to himself as a nude. Everything she had
said and done fell from her like so much clothing.
He had a feeling that his eyes had been opened; that he had really seen
for the first time in his life; and that what he now saw was the body of
the world.
The nude picture followed him. He fought against his disquietude.
Nothing like this had ever happened to him before. He conjured up the
picture in order to destroy it with coolness and composure; but it would
not be destroyed, nor would it vanish. One day he chanced to meet
Gertrude by the beautiful fountain. He stopped, stood as if petrified,
and forgot to speak to her.