I
For the past fortnight, Philippina and Agnes had been living at Frau
Hadebusch's. A message came from Daniel telling Philippina that she and
Agnes should return, or, if she preferred to stay with Frau Hadebusch,
she should send Agnes home at once.
"There you have it," said Frau Hadebusch, "the master speaks."
"Ah, him--he's been speakin' to me for a long while. Much good it does
him," said Philippina. "The child stays with me, and I'm not going back.
That settles it! What, Agnes? Yes?"
Agnes was sitting on the bench by the stove with Henry the idiot,
reading the greasy pages of a cheap novel. When Philippina spoke to her,
she looked up in a distracted way and smiled. The twelve-year-old child
had a perfectly expressionless face; and as she never got out of the
house for any length of time, her skin was almost yellow.
"It ain't no use to try to buck him," continued Frau Hadebusch, who
looked as old as the mountains and resembled generally a crippled witch,
"he c'n demand the kid, and if he does he'll git her. If you ain't
careful, I'll get mixed up in the mess before long."
"Well, how do you feel about it, Agnes? Do you want to go back to your
daddy?" said Philippina, turning to the girl, and looking at Frau
Hadebusch in a knowing way.
Agnes's face clouded up. She hated her father. This was the point to
which Philippina had brought matters by her incessant whisperings and
ugly remarks behind Daniel's back. Agnes was convinced that she was a
burden to her father, and his marriage had merely confirmed what she
already felt she knew. Deep in her silent soul she carried the picture
of her prematurely deceased mother, as if it were that of a woman who
had been murdered, sacrificed. Philippina had told her how her mother
had committed suicide; it was a fearful tale in her language. It had
been the topic of conversation between her and her charge on many a
cold, dark winter evening. Agnes always said that when she was big and
could talk, she would take vengeance on her father.
When she could talk! That was her most ardent wish. For she was
silent-born. Her soul pined in a prison that was much harsher and harder
than that in which her mother's soul had been housed and harassed.
Gertrude had some bright moments; Agnes never. She was incapable of
enthusiasm; she could not look up. For her heart, her soul was not
merely asleep, torpid, lethargic; it was hopelessly dried up, withered.
Life was not in it.
"I am not going to those Doederleins," she said, crying.
But in the evening Daniel came over. He took Philippina to one side, and
had a serious talk with her. He explained the reasons for his getting
married a third time as well as he could without going too deeply into
the subject. "I needed a wife; I needed a woman to keep house for me; I
needed a companion. Philippina, I am very grateful to you for what you
have done, but there must also be a woman in my home who can cheer me
up, turn my thoughts to higher things. I have a heavy calling; that you
cannot appreciate. So don't get stubborn, Philippina. Pack up your
things, and come back home. How can we get along without you?"
For the first time in his life he spoke to her as though she were a
woman and a human being. Philippina stared at him. Then she burst out
into a loud, boisterous laugh, and began to show her whole supply of
scorn. "Jesus, Daniel, how you c'n flatter a person! Who'd a thought it!
You've always been such a sour dough. Very well. Say: 'Dear Philippina!'
Say it real slow: 'D-e-a-r Philippina,' and then I'll come."
Daniel looked into the face of the girl, who never did seem young and
who had aged fearfully in the last few months. "Nonsense!" he cried, and
turned away.
Philippina stamped the floor with her foot. Henry, the idiot, came out
into the hall, holding a lamp above his head.
"Does the sanctimonious clerk still live here?" asked Daniel, looking up
at the crooked old stairway, while a flood of memories came rushing over
him.
"Thank God, no!" snarled Philippina. "He'd be the last straw. I feel
sick at the stomach when I see a man."
Daniel again looked into her detestable, ugly, distorted, and wicked
face. He was accustomed to question everything, eyes and bodies, about
their existence in terms of tones, or their transformation into tones.
Here he suddenly felt the toneless; he had the feeling one might have on
looking at a deep-sea fish: it is lifeless, toneless. He thought of his
Eva; he longed for his Eva. Just then Agnes came out of the door to look
for Philippina.
He laid his hand on Agnes's hair, and said good-naturedly, looking at
Philippina: "Well, then--d-e-a-r Philippina, come back home!"
Agnes jerked herself away from him; he looked at the child amazed; he
was angry, too. Philippina folded her hands, bowed her head, and
murmured with much humility: "Very well, Daniel, we'll be back
to-morrow."