“Now I’ve blurted something out!” Prokop realized with the fragment
of his brain that was most clear; but otherwise he was completely
indifferent on the subject; all he wanted was to sleep, to sleep
inordinately. He saw in front of him a sort of Turkey carpet, the pattern
of which continually changed. It was nothing important and yet it somehow
agitated him. Even in sleep he yearned to meet Plinius again. He tried
to rid himself of his image; instead, he saw before him an abominable
grinning face, which ground its yellow, rotten teeth until they were
crushed, and then spat them out in pieces. He wanted to get away from
this picture. The word “fisherman” came into his head, and _presto_ there
appeared to him a fisherman sitting above some grey water with a net full
of fish. He said to himself “scaffolding,” and he actually perceived
scaffolding to the last hook and rope. For a long time he amused himself
by thinking of words and looking at the pictures which they called up;
but then not even by exerting all his powers could he recall a single
one. He made the most strenuous efforts to remember at least one word
or thing, but in vain; and then through the horror of impotence he came
out in a cold sweat. He decided that he must go to work methodically;
he must begin from the beginning or he was lost. Luckily he remembered
the word “fisherman”; but now there appeared before his eyes an empty
petroleum tin. It was horrible. He said to himself “chair,” and he saw
with astonishing clearness the tarred fence of a factory with a patch
of dreary, dusty grass and some rusty hoops. This is insanity, he said
to himself with cold clearness; this, gentleman, is typical madness,
hyperofabula ugongi dugongi Darwin. This technical term for some unknown
reason appeared to him to be excruciatingly funny. He positively gulped
with laughter and woke up.
He was covered with sweat and had kicked off his bedclothes. With
feverish eyes he watched Thomas, who was moving quickly about the room
and throwing a few things into a suitcase; but he did not recognize
him. “Listen, listen,” he began, “here’s a funny thing, listen, wait
a moment, you must listen——” He wanted to tell him as a great joke
this extraordinary technical designation, and was already smiling in
anticipation; but for the life of him he was unable to recall how exactly
it had run. He became annoyed and was silent.
Thomas put on an ulster and a cap; but when he had already picked up the
suitcase he hesitated and sat down on the end of Prokop’s bed. “Listen,
old chap,” he said with concern, “I’ve got to go away now. To my father,
in Tynice. If he doesn’t give me any money I shan’t come back, see? But
don’t be worried about that. The doorkeeper’s wife will come in the
morning and bring you a doctor, yes?”
“What’s the time?” asked Prokop indifferently.
“Four. Five past four. Perhaps ... there’s nothing you want, is there?”
Prokop closed his eyes, resolved to take no further interest in anything
in the world. Thomas covered him up carefully and all became quiet.
Suddenly he opened his eyes again fully. Above him he perceived an
unfamiliar ceiling round the edge of which there ran an ornament which
he had not seen before. He stretched out his hand for the table at his
bedside, but groped in the air. Frightened, he turned round and saw, in
the place of his laboratory desk, some sort of table with a small lamp.
Where there used to be a window there was a screen; in the place of the
wash-stand some door or other. This confused him enormously; he could
not understand what was happening to him, or where he was. Conquering
his giddiness, he sat up in bed. Slowly he realized that he was not at
home, but could not remember how he got to be where he was. “Who is
that?” he asked aloud on chance, controlling his tongue with difficulty.
“Drink,” he said, after a moment, “drink.” It was painfully quiet. He got
out of bed and, a little unsteadily, started to look for water. On the
wash-stand he found a carafe and drank from it greedily; but when he was
returning to the bed his legs gave way and he sank into a chair, unable
to do any more. He sat there for a good hour, perhaps; then he began to
shiver with cold, and became overwhelmed with self-pity, thinking that
he was in some strange place, that he was not capable of even reaching
the bed, and that he was alone, helpless, and without anyone to give him
counsel. Suddenly he began to cry convulsively like a child.
When he had cried in this way for a bit his head became clearer. At last
he was able to get to the bed and lie down with his teeth chattering; no
sooner had he got some warmth into his body than he went off into a deep,
swoon-like, dreamless sleep.
When he woke up the grey light of day was coming through the window;
someone had pulled up the blind and created a certain amount of order
in the room. He was unable to comprehend who had done this; but, on the
other hand, he remembered the explosion of the day before, Thomas, and
his departure. His head was splitting, he felt a weight on his chest,
and he was tortured by a tearing cough. That’s bad, he said to himself,
that’s really bad; I ought to have gone home and gone to bed there.
He got up and began to dress himself with long pauses. He felt as if
something was exercising a horrible pressure on his chest. Then he sat
down, indifferent to everything and breathing heavily.
Suddenly the bell rang briefly and lightly. With an effort he remembered
himself and went to open the door. Outside was standing a young girl with
a veil over her face.
“Does ... Mr. Thomas live here?” she asked rapidly and confusedly.
“Please,” said Prokop and made way for her. When, hesitating a little,
she had passed close by him into the room, he became conscious of a faint
and elegant perfume which he inhaled with delight.
He gave her a seat by the window and sat down opposite her, holding
himself as straight as he was able to. He felt that through this very
effort he must appear to be severe and frozen, which embarrassed both
the girl and himself exceedingly. Behind her veil she bit her lip and
cast down her eyes; oh, the delicious smoothness of her face, oh, what
small hands and how extraordinarily excited! Suddenly she raised her eyes
and Prokop held his breath with ecstasy, so beautiful did she seem to him.
“Mr. Thomas isn’t at home?” asked the girl.
“Thomas has gone away,” said Prokop, with some hesitation. “Last night.”
“Where?”
“To Tynice, to his father.”
“And he returns?”
Prokop shrugged his shoulders.
The girl bent her head down, her hands pulling at something. “And did he
tell you why ... why?”
“He did.”
“And you think that ... that he will do it?”
“What?”
“That he will shoot himself.”
In a flash Prokop remembered that he had seen Thomas put a revolver into
his suitcase. “To-morrow, perhaps, we’ll make an explosion,” he again
heard him mutter through his teeth. He did not wish to say anything. He
looked very serious.
“Oh my God!” said the girl, “but this is terrible. Tell me....”
“What?”
“If only somebody could follow him! If only somebody could say—could give
him—you understand, don’t you, that he mustn’t do it! If only somebody
could go after him to-day——”
Prokop looked at her hands which were twisting desperately.
“I will go there for you,” he said quietly. “As it happens I’ve got to go
somewhere in that direction. If you wish it I——”
The girl raised her head. “Could you really?” she cried joyfully, “could
you...?”
“I’m an old ... colleague of his, you see,” explained Prokop. “If you
would like to send him a message ... or send ... I would willingly....”
“You are really very good,” breathed the girl.
Prokop reddened a little. “That’s nothing,” he defended himself. “As it
happens ... I’ve some free time.... I should like to go away somewhere
and also, generally speaking——” He waved his hand in embarrassment. “It’s
not worth talking about. I will do anything that you wish.”
The girl blushed and looked quickly in another direction. “I really
don’t ... know how to thank you,” she said in confusion. “I am really
very sorry that ... you.... But it is so important—you’re his friend.
Don’t you think perhaps that I myself——” Then she got control of herself
and turned her clear eyes on Prokop. “I must send him something. From
somebody else. I cannot tell you.”
“There is no need to,” said Prokop quickly. “I shall give it him and
that’s all there is about it. I am so glad that I am able ... that I can
help him.... Is it raining then?” he asked suddenly, looking at the drops
of moisture on her fur.
“Yes, it is.”
“That’s good,” said Prokop. He was actually thinking how pleasantly cool
it would be if he could put his forehead against the fur.
“I haven’t got it with me,” she said, standing up. “It will only be a
small parcel. If you could wait ... I’ll bring it you in two hours’ time.”
Prokop bowed; and in doing so he was afraid of losing his equilibrium. In
the doorway she turned round and gave him a direct look. “_Au revoir._”
She was gone.
Prokop sat down and closed his eyes. The drops of rain on the fur; a
thick and bedewed veil; a curiously distant voice; scent; uneasy hands
in small tight gloves; a clear and disturbing glance from beneath firm,
elegant eyebrows; her hands on her lap; the soft folds of her dress
over her strong knees. Oh, little hands in tight gloves! Scent, a dark
and vibrant voice, a smooth, pale face. Prokop dug his teeth into his
quivering lips, sad, and confused and brave. Blue-grey eyes, eyes clean
and full of light. Oh God, how her veil pressed against her lips!
Prokop groaned and opened his eyes. “And she’s Thomas’s girl,” he said
to himself, with blind fury. “She knew the way; it wasn’t the first time
she had been there. Perhaps here ... here in this very room....” Prokop
dug his nails into his palms in intolerable agony. “And I, like a fool,
suggest that I shall go after him! I, idiot that I am, am to take him a
letter! What ... have I to do with her?”
Then he had a saving thought. I will dash off home to my laboratory at
the top of the house—and she—let her come here! Let her do what she
wants to! Let ... her go after him herself, if ... it’s so important to
her——
He looked round the room; he saw the tumbled bed and straightened it a
little as he was accustomed to at home. Then it seemed to him that it
was not tidy enough, so he did it again, smoothed it and then set about
cleaning up the whole place, even trying to arrange the curtains in nice
folds. After which he sat down with a dizzy head and a chest which was
thumping painfully, and waited.