Night Games: And Other Stories and Novellas (35 page)

When he had finished filling out the death certificate, Fridolin returned to the room where the engaged couple sat hand in hand by the father's bed.

Again the doorbell rang. Dr. Roediger rose to answer it. When he
was gone, Marianne said, almost inaudibly, with her eyes on the floor, "I
love you." Fridolin answered only by speaking her name, not without
tenderness. Roediger returned with an elderly couple. It was Marianne's
uncle and aunt. A few words appropriate to the circumstances were exchanged, with the embarrassment that the presence of a dead person cre ates around him. The small room suddenly seemed crowded with mourners. Fridolin felt superfluous, made his regrets, and was escorted to the
door by Roediger, who felt himself obliged to express a few words of
gratitude and the hope that they would see each other again soon.

III

Once outdoors, Fridolin looked up at the window he had opened a short
while before; the windowpanes were trembling softly in the early spring
wind. The people he had left behind up there, the living as well as the
dead, seemed equally unreal and ghostlike. He felt as though he had escaped from something, not so much from an adventure but from a melancholy spell that he must not let overpower him. Its only remnant was a
strange unwillingness to go home. The snow in the streets had melted. To
the left and right there were small heaps of dirty white piled up; the gas
flames in the lanterns flickered and a nearby church bell struck eleven.
Fridolin decided that before going to bed he would spend another halfhour in a quiet cafe near his flat, and he took the path through the courthouse park. Here and there tightly clasped couples were sitting on shady
benches, as though spring had already arrived and the deceptive warm air
was not pregnant with dangers. A rather tattered-looking man was
stretched out full length on one of the benches. What if I woke him up
and gave him money for a shelter for the night? Fridolin thought. But
what good would that do, he reflected further. Then I would have to get
him shelter for tomorrow night too, otherwise there would really be no
point, and in the end I might be suspected of having criminal relations
with him. He quickened his steps so as to escape as rapidly as possible
from all responsibility and temptation. Why pick just this one? he asked
himself. There are thousands of such poor devils in Vienna alone. What if
one were to worry about all of them-about the fate of all the poor devils! And he remembered the dead man whom he had just left, and with a
shudder, indeed, not without disgust, he thought about how in that lean
body stretched out underneath the brown flannel blanket, decay and decomposition had already begun their work, in accordance with the laws
of nature. And he was glad that he was still alive, that in all probability he was still far from all these ugly things, that indeed he was still in the
prime of youth, had a charming and lovable wife, and could still have another woman or several other women in addition, should he choose to. To
be sure, such affairs required more leisure than he had-he remembered
that he had to be in the hospital ward tomorrow morning at eight, visit
private patients from eleven to one, hold office hours from three to five
in the afternoon, and still see a few patients in the evening. Well, he
hoped he wouldn't be called out again in the middle of the night, as he
had been today.

He crossed Courthouse Square, which gleamed dully like a brownish pond, and turned toward his home in the Josephstadt. In the distance
he heard the muffled sound of marching steps and then saw, still quite far
away, a small troop of fraternity students, six or eight in number, turning
a corner and coming toward him. As the young people came into the light
of a streetlamp. he thought he recognized a few members of the Alemannic fraternity, dressed in their blue, among them. He himself had never
belonged to a fraternity, but he had fought a few saber duels in his time.
The memories of his student days reminded him of the red dominoes
who had lured him into the loge at the ball last night and then had so despicably deserted him soon after. The students were quite near now; they
were talking and laughing loudly. Perhaps he knew one or two from the
hospital'? It was impossible to make out their faces accurately in this dim
light. He had to stay quite close to the wall in order not to collide with
them. Now they had passed by. Only the last one, a tall fellow with an
open overcoat and a bandage over his left eye, seemed deliberately to lag
behind, and bumped into him with a raised eyebrow. It couldn't have
been an accident. What was he thinking? thought Fridolin, and instinctively stopped. The other man took two more steps and also stopped.
They looked at each other for a moment with only a short distance separating them. But suddenly Fridolin turned back and went on. He heard a
short laugh behind him-he almost turned around again to confront the
fellow, but he felt his heart beating strangely just as it had on a previous occasion, twelve or fourteen years ago, when there had been an unusually loud knock on the door while he was with that charming young
creature who was always going on about a distant, probably nonexistent fiance. But in fact it had been only the postman who had knocked so
threateningly. He now felt his heart beat just as it had at that time. What
is this? he asked himself angrily, and now noticed that his knees were
shaking a little. Coward-? Nonsense! he answered himself. Should I go
and confront a drunken student, I, a man of thirty-five, a practicing
physician, married, and the father of a child! Formal challenge! Witnesses? Duel! And in the end get a cut on my arm and be unable to work
for a few weeks because of such a stupid affair? Or lose an eye? Or even
get blood poisoning-? And perhaps in a week end up in the same state
as the man in Schreyvogel Street under the brown flannel blanket! Coward-? He had fought three saber duels and had even been ready to fight
a duel with pistols; it wasn't his doing that the matter had been called off
amicably at the end. And his profession! There were dangers everywhere, anytime-one just usually forgot about them. Why, how long was
it since that child with diphtheria had coughed in his face? Only three or
four days, no more. That was a much more dangerous thing than a little
fencing match with sabers. And he hadn't given it a second thought.
Well, if he ever met that fellow again this affair could still be straightened out. He was by no means obligated to react to such a silly student
prank at midnight on his way to or from seeing a patient-he could just
as well have been going to a patient-no, he was not obligated at all. On
the other hand, if now, for example, he should meet that young Dane
with whom Albertine-oh, nonsense, what was he thinking? Well-well,
really, she might just as well really have been his mistress! It wasn't any
different. Even worse. Yes, just let him cross his path now! Oh, what joy
it would be to face him and somewhere in a forest clearing aim a pistol at
that forehead with the smoothly combed blonde hair!

Suddenly he found himself past his destination, in a narrow street in
which only a few pathetic hookers were strolling around in their nightly
attempt to bag masculine game. Like specters, he thought. All at once the
students with their blue caps also became unreal in his memory, as did
Marianne and her fiance, her uncle and her aunt, all of whom he now pictured standing hand in hand encircling the deathbed of the old councillor.
And Albertine, too, whose image, soundly sleeping with her arms folded
under her head, now floated up into his mind's eye, began to seem un real-even his daughter, who was at this moment lying rolled up in a
heap in the narrow white brass bed, and the apple-cheeked young governess with the mole on her left temple, too-all of them had now moved
into the realm of specters. And although it made him shudder a bit, there
was something calming in this feeling, as it appeared to free him from all
responsibility, to absolve him from all human connection.

One of the girls wandering about invited him to go with her. She
was a delicate, still very young creature, very pale, with red-painted lips.
That could also end in death, he thought, only not as fast! Cowardice
again? In essence, yes. He first heard her steps and soon after her voice
behind him. "Don't you want to go with me, doctor?"

Instinctively he turned around. "How do you know me?" he asked.

"I don't," she said, "but in this district they're all doctors, aren't
they?"

He had had nothing to do with women of this sort since his student
days in the Gymnasium. Did the fact that he was attracted to this creature
mean that he was suddenly regressing to adolescence? He recalled a casual acquaintance, an elegant young man who was rumored to be fabulously successful with women. Once, when he was a student, he had been
sitting with Fridolin in a nightclub after a ball. After leaving with one of
the regular girls who worked the place, he had answered Fridolin's questioning glance with "Well, it remains the most convenient way after alland they aren't the worst by any means."

"What's your name?" Fridolin asked her.

"Well, what do you think? Mizzi, of course." She had already
turned the key in the door of her house and unlocked it, stepped into the
hallway, and waited for Fridolin to follow her.

"Come on!" she urged as he hesitated. Suddenly he was standing
next to her, the door closed behind him; she locked it, lit a wax candle,
and lit the way for him. Am I crazy? he asked himself. Of course I won't
touch her.

In her room an oil lamp was burning. She turned it up. It was a
fairly comfortable room, nicely kept, and in any case it smelled a lot better than, for example, Marianne's place. Naturally-there was no old
man who had for months been lying sick there. The girl smiled and with out seeming forward approached Fridolin. who gently warded her off.
Then she pointed to a rocking chair, into which he was happy to drop.

"You must be very tired," she said. He nodded. And while she undressed without haste, she said:

"Well, no wonder, with all the things a man like you has to do all
day long. People like us have an easier time of it."

He noticed that her lips were not made up but colored by a natural
red, and he complimented her on that.

"But why should I use makeup? How old do you think I am?"

"Twenty," Fridolin guessed.

"Seventeen," she said and sat on his lap, putting her arms around
his neck like a child.

Who in the world would suspect that I'm here in this room at this
moment? Fridolin thought. Would even I have found it possible even an
hour, even ten minutes ago? And-why? Why? She sought his lips with
hers; he drew his head back; she looked at him wide-eyed, a little sad,
and slipped from his lap. He was almost sorry, for in her embrace there
had been much tender comfort.

She took a red dressing gown, which was hanging over the foot of
the unmade bed, slipped into it, and crossed her arms over her breasts so
that her entire body was wrapped up.

"Is this better now?" she said without mockery, almost shyly, as
though she was making an effort to understand him. He hardly knew
what to answer.

"You guessed right," he finally said. "I'm really tired, and I find it
very pleasant to sit here in the rocking chair and just listen to you. You
have such a lovely, gentle voice. Just talk, tell me something."

She sat on the bed and shook her head.

"You're just afraid," she said softly-and then, to herself, so that it
was barely audible, "Too bad!"

These last words made a hot wave race through his blood. He
walked over to her, wanted to embrace her, explained to her that he
trusted her completely and was speaking the truth. He pulled her to him
and wooed her like a sweetheart, like a beloved woman. She resisted, and
he felt ashamed and finally gave up.

She said, "You can never tell, some time or other it's got to happen.
You're completely right to be afraid. And if something were to happen,
you would curse me."

She refused his money with such vehemence that he could not insist. She put on a narrow, blue woolen shawl, lit a candle, lit his way, accompanied him down the stairs, and opened the door for him. "I'm going
to stay home tonight," she said. He took her hand and instinctively kissed
it. She looked up at him in surprise, almost in shock, and then laughed,
embarrassed and happy. "Just as though I were a lady," she said.

The door closed behind him, and Fridolin quickly made a mental
note of the house number, so as to be able to send the poor sweet thing
some wine and a few pastries tomorrow.

IV

Meanwhile it had become even warmer. The warm wind was bringing an
odor of wet meadows and intimations of spring from a distant mountain
into the narrow street. Now where? wondered Fridolin, as though it
wasn't obvious that he should go home and go to bed. But he couldn't
decide to do so. He felt homeless, like an outcast, since that repulsive
meeting with those students.... Or was it since Marianne's confession?
No. longer than that-it was ever since this evening's conversation with
Albertine that he felt himself moving farther and farther away from his
everyday existence into some other strange and alien world.

He wandered about aimlessly through the dark streets, letting the
soft breeze caress his forehead, and finally, as though arriving at a longsought destination, he turned resolutely into a dimly lit, third-rate cafe
which was comfortable in an old-fashioned Viennese sort of way, not
very large, and almost empty at this late hour.

In one corner there were three men playing cards. A waiter who had
been watching them helped Fridolin take off his fur coat, took his order,
and placed illustrated magazines and evening newspapers on his table.
Fridolin felt reassured and safe and began to look cursorily through the
newspapers. Here and there his eyes were arrested by some news item. In
a Bohemian city, street signs with German names had been torn down. In Constantinople there was a conference about the construction of a railroad in Asia Minor in which Lord Cranford took part. The firm of Benies
and Weingruber had gone bankrupt. A prostitute named Anna Tiger had
thrown acid on her friend Hermine Drobizky in a fit of jealousy. This
evening a fish dinner was to be held in Sophia Hall. A young girl, Marie
B, of Schonbrunner Street 28, had poisoned herself with mercuric
chloride. In their prosaic ordinariness, all these facts, the insignificant as
well as the tragic ones, somehow had a sobering and calming effect on
Fridolin. He felt sorry for the young girl, Marie B. Mercuric chloride,
how stupid! At this very moment, while he was sitting snugly in the cafe,
while Albertine was sleeping quietly with her head pillowed on her arms,
and the councillor had passed beyond all earthly suffering, Marie B.,
Schonbrunner Street 28, was writhing in meaningless pain.