Night Games: And Other Stories and Novellas (11 page)

"And-was she always that way?" asked Willi.

"What does it matter?" answered Robert Wilram impatiently. "Even
if I had foreseen everything, it wouldn't have helped me. I was doomed
from the moment I first laid eyes on her, or at least from our first night
on, and that was our wedding night!"

"Of course," said Willi, as if to himself.

Robert Wilram burst into laughter. "Oh, you imagine she was a respectable young woman from a good bourgeois family'? Far from it, my
dear Willi! She was a whore! And who knows if she isn't one still-for
others!"

Willi felt obliged to indicate doubt through some gesture, and he really did have doubts, because, after his uncle's story, he couldn't imagine
his uncle's wife as a young and charming creature. Throughout his
uncle's story he had had an image of a thin, yellowed, tastelessly dressed,
elderly person with a sharp nose, and he fleetingly wondered whether his
uncle wasn't trying to vent his anger at the humiliation he suffered at her
hands through a deliberately false and unjust portrayal. But Robert
Wilram cut his every word short and continued immediately, "Well,
maybe whore is a little too harsh-in those days she was really a flower
girl. I saw her for the first time at the Hornig four or five years ago. In
fact, you saw her there too. Yes, maybe you remember her." And at
Willi's questioning look, he explained, "We were there together at a large
party-it was a banquet for the folksinger Kriebaum. She wore a bright
red dress and had tousled blonde hair, and a blue ribbon around her
neck." And with a kind of embittered joy he added, "She looked pretty
vulgar then. Next year, at Ronacher's, she already looked quite different;
at that time she could have had her pick of men. Unfortunately I never
had any luck with her then. In other words, I wasn't wealthy enough for
her in relation to my years-well, then it happened, what sometimes happens when an old fool loses his head over some young female. Two and a
half years ago I married Fraulein Leopoldine Lehus."

So Lebus was her last name, thought Willi. That the girl in question could be none other than Leopoldine-even if he had long since forgotten her name-had become clear to him the moment his uncle mentioned
the Hornig, the red dress, and the tousled blonde hair. Of course he took
great care not to reveal that he knew her, because even though his uncle
did not seem to entertain any illusions about what kind of life Fraulein
Leopoldine Lebus had previously led, it undoubtedly would still have
pained him to surmise how that evening at the Hornig had continued, and
even more to learn that on that night at three in the morning, Willi, after
dropping his uncle at his house, had secretly met Leopoldine again and
had stayed with her until the next morning. So he pretended that he
didn't quite remember that evening, and, as though it were important to
console his uncle, he remarked that oftentimes it was exactly those kinds
of tousled blondes who became the best wives and housekeepers,
whereas girls from good families with spotless reputations gave their
husbands the most awful disappointments. He knew for example of a
baroness who had married one of his comrades, a young lady from the
best aristocratic family, who after just two years of marriage had been
presented to another comrade of his in a "salon" where "respectable
ladies" were to be had for a fixed price. The unmarried comrade had felt
obliged to report this to the husband, and the result had been a court of
honor, a duel, the severe wounding of the husband, and the suicide of the
wife-his uncle must have read about it in the newspapers! The affair
had aroused great publicity. Willi spoke very animatedly, as though this
whole affair suddenly interested him more than his own, and there came
a moment in which Robert Wilram looked at him rather strangely. Willi
collected himself, and even though he was sure that his uncle could not
in any way suspect the plan he had suddenly conceived and developed,
he thought it wiser to lower his voice and to abandon the subject, which
after all didn't really belong here. So abruptly he declared that now, after
the revelations that his uncle had made, he would certainly not importune
him any further, and he even allowed his uncle to think that he agreed
with the idea that an appeal to Consul Schnabel would be more likely to
be successful than an appeal to the former Fraulein Leopoldine Lebus.
He intimated further that it was not unthinkable that perhaps First Lieutenant Hochster, who had just received a small inheritance, or even a cer tain regiment doctor who had participated in the gambling yesterday,
would cooperate to help him out of his dreadful situation. Yes, he would
search out Hochster at once; he was on barracks duty today.

He was itching to leave, looked at his watch, suddenly acted as
though he were in even more of a rush than he actually was, shook hands
with his uncle, tightened his sword belt, and left.

XI

Now the most important thing was to find Leopoldine's address, and so
Willi went directly to the registry office. That she would refuse his request once he had convinced her that his life was at stake he could not at
the moment believe. Her image, which had not surfaced in his mind in all
these years, was suddenly newly vivid, together with the memory of that
evening. Once more he saw the tousled blonde head lying on the rough
linen pillowcase, tinged with the red of the pillow beneath, and the pale,
touchingly childlike face, on which the faint light of the summer morning had fallen through the cracks of the dilapidated wooden shutters on
the windows. He saw the little gold ring with the semi-precious stone on
the ring finger of her right hand, which was lying on top of the red bedspread, and the slender, silver bracelet that encircled the wrist of the left
hand that she had stretched out toward him in waving him farewell from
the bed as he was leaving. She had pleased him so much that when he left
he was firmly determined to see her again. It happened, however, that
just at this time another woman had prior claims on him, a woman who,
since she was being kept by a banker, didn't cost him a kreuzer-a consideration given his circumstances. And so it happened that he had never
gone to Hornig's again, and had never made use of her married sister's
address, with whom she lived, and where he could have written her. Thus
he had never seen her again after that one night. But however much
might have changed in her life since then, she herself couldn't have
changed so much that she would calmly stand by and let happen-that
which had to happen if she rejected his plea.

He had to wait an hour at the registry office before he held the slip
of paper with Leopoldine's address in his hand. Then he took a closed carriage to the corner of the street where Leopoldine lived, and climbed
down.

The house was fairly new, four stories high, not prepossessing to
look at, and situated opposite a fenced-in lumber yard. On the second
floor, a neatly dressed maid opened the door. At his question of whether
Frau Wilram was at home, she looked at him hesitatingly, whereupon he
handed her his visiting card-Wilhelm Kasda, Lieutenant of the 98th Infantry Regiment, Alser Barracks. The maid came back at once with the
answer that Frau Wilram was very busy-what did the lieutenant want?
And only then did it occur to him that Leopoldine probably didn't know
his last name. As he was pondering whether he should present himself
simply as an old friend or facetiously as a cousin of Herr von Hornig, the
door opened and an elderly, poorly dressed man with a black briefcase
emerged and walked toward the outer door. Then a female voice called,
"Herr Krassny," which the latter, already on the staircase, did not seem to
hear. Then the woman who had called out came into the reception room
herself and called to Herr Krassny again, so that this time he turned
around. But Leopoldine had already noticed the lieutenant and had immediately recognized him, as her glance and her smile disclosed. She did
not look at all like the creature he remembered. She was now stately and
fuller of figure; yes, she even seemed to have become taller, and she
wore her hair in a simple and flat, almost severe style. But the oddest
thing of all was that on her nose she wore a golden pince-nez whose cord
she had wound around her ear.

"How do you do, Lieutenant?" she said. And now he noticed that
her features were really quite unchanged. "Please go right in, I'll be
ready in a moment." She pointed to the door from which she had just
come, turned to Herr Krassny, and seemed to be admonishing him
sharply with regard to some commission, but in a voice so low that Willi
could not understand what she was saying. Meanwhile Willi entered a
large, light-filled room, in the middle of which stood a long table with
pens and ink, a ruler, pencils, and ledgers. On the walls to the right and
the left stood two tall filing cabinets, and on the rear wall, over a table
covered with newspapers and business prospectuses, hung a huge map of Europe. Willi was inadvertently reminded of the travel agency of a
provincial town in which he had once had some business. But a moment
later he saw the rundown hotel room with its dilapidated shutters and the
shabby pillowcase-and he felt very strange, almost as if he were in a
dream.

Leopoldine entered, closed the door behind her, and, playing with
the pince-nez that she had now removed, extended her hand to the lieutenant in a friendly manner but without any noticeable emotion. He bent
over the hand as though he were about to kiss it, but she withdrew it at
once.

"Do sit down, Lieutenant. To what do I owe this pleasure?" She offered him a comfortable chair while she herself took her apparently customary place on a straight-backed chair behind the long table with the
business ledgers opposite him. Willi felt as though he were in a lawyer's
or a doctor's office. "What can I do for you?" she asked now in an almost
impatient tone which did not sound very encouraging.

"Madame," Willi began, after slightly clearing his throat, "I must
begin by telling you that it was definitely not my uncle who gave me
your address."

She looked up at him in astonishment. "Your uncle?"

"My uncle Robert Wilram," Willi replied, with emphasis.

"Oh, of course," she smiled and looked down.

"He knows absolutely nothing of this visit," Willi continued more
rapidly. "I want to emphasize that." And at her astonished glance, he
added, "I really haven't seen him for a long time, but that wasn't my
fault. Only today, in the course of conversation, he told me that he-had
married in the meantime."

Leopoldine nodded her head in a friendly manner. "A cigarette,
Lieutenant?" She indicated an open box. He helped himself, and she lit it
for him and then lit one for herself as well. "Well! So may I finally know
to what I owe the pleasure of-"

"Madame, my visit to you has to do with the same circumstance
that led me-to my uncle. A rather-embarrassing matter, as I'm sorry to
have to admit at once"-and since her expression immediately darkened noticeably, he hastily added, "I don't want to take too much of your time,
madam. So, without further preliminaries: I would like to request that
you-advance me a certain sum for three months."

Strangely enough, her demeanor immediately became more amiable. "Your confidence in me is extremely flattering, Lieutenant," she
said as she tapped the ashes off the end of her cigarette, "though I really
don't know to what I owe this honor. But may I ask what the amount in
question is?" She drummed her pince-nez lightly on the table.

"Eleven thousand gulden, madam." He immediately regretted that
he hadn't said twelve. He was just about to correct himself when it occurred to him that the consul might be satisfied with ten thousand, and so
he left it at eleven.

"So," said Leopoldine, "eleven thousand. Hmm, that really is `a
certain sum.' " Her tongue played against her teeth. "And what security
can you offer me, Lieutenant?"

"I'm an officer, madam!"

She smiled-almost benevolently. "I beg your pardon, Lieutenant,
but in business matters that doesn't suffice as security. Who would be
willing to answer for you?"

Willi remained silent and looked at the floor. A curt refusal would
not have embarrassed him more than this cool politeness. "I beg your
pardon, madam," he said. "It's true that I haven't thought enough about
the formal aspect of the matter. As it happens, I find myself in a truly desperate position. It concerns a debt of honor, which has to be paid tomorrow by eight o'clock in the morning. Otherwise my honor is lost
and-everything that is lost along with that among us officers." And.
imagining that he now saw a glimmer of sympathy in her eyes, he told
her, just as he had told his uncle an hour before, though in more elegant
and moving phrases, the story of the previous night. She listened with
ever increasing evidence of sympathy, even of pity. And as he finished,
she asked with a promising lift of her eyes, "And I-I, Willi, am the only
person on earth to whom you can go in this emergency?"

These words, and even more her use of the intimate form of "you,"
encouraged him. He already believed himself saved. "Would I be here
otherwise?" he said. "I really have no one else!"

She shook her head sympathetically. "That makes it all the more
painful for me," she answered, slowly extinguishing her still glowing
cigarette, "that I am unfortunately not in a position to help you. My
money is invested in various enterprises. I never have access to large
sums of cash. I'm really very sorry!" And she rose from her chair, as
though the interview were at an end. Willi, deeply in shock, remained
seated. And hesitantly, clumsily, almost stuttering, he asked her to consider if it were not possible for her, given the evidently very advantageous condition of her enterprises, to secure a loan from some bank, or
perhaps a line of credit. Her lips curved upward ironically, and smiling
indulgently at his business naivete, she said, "You imagine these things
to be a little simpler than they are, and apparently you take it for granted
that I should enter into some sort of financial transaction on your account
which I would never undertake for myself. And that without any sort of
security!-How did I achieve this honor?" These last words again
sounded so friendly, even coquettish, as if she were really prepared to
yield and were only waiting for a last plea from him. Believing he had
found the right word, he said "Madame, Leopoldine-my existence-my
very life-is at stake!"