Hanns Heinz Ewers Alraune (42 page)

“Stay here,” he whispered. “I will drive it
out to you. Only look there into those bushes and when you see it,
whistle so I will know. It will turn when you whistle–then
shoot!”

He went around in a wide arc, sneaking
through the bushes. Finally he discovered the animal on a low
acacia, drove it down, and chased it into a hazel thicket. He saw
that it was going in the right direction toward Alraune so he
backed up a little and waited for her whistle. But he didn’t hear
it. Then he went back in the same arc and came out on the wide path
behind her. There she stood, gun in hand, staring intently into the
bushes and a little off to her left–scarcely three meters away, the
squirrel merrily played in the hazel thicket.

“It’s over there,” he called out softly.
“Over there, up a little and to the left!”

She heard his voice, turned quickly around
toward him. He saw how her lips opened to speak, heard a shot at
the same time and felt a light pain in his side. Then he heard her
shrill despairing scream, saw how she threw the gun away and rushed
toward him. She tore open his kimono, grabbed at the wound with
both hands.

He bowed his head, looked down. It was a
long, but very light surface wound that was scarcely bleeding. The
skin was only burned, showing a broad black line.

“Get the hangman!” he laughed. “That was
close!–Right over the heart.”

She stood in front of him, trembling, all of
her limbs shaking, scarcely able to stand up. He supported her,
talked to her.

“It’s nothing, child. Nothing at all! We will
wash it out with something, then moisten it with oil–Think nothing
of it!”

He pulled the kimono still further back,
showed her his naked chest. With straying fingers she felt the
surface wound.

“Right over the heart,” she murmured. “Right
over the heart!”

Then suddenly she grabbed her head with both
hands. A sudden fear seized her, she looked at him with a horrified
gaze, tore herself out of his arms, ran to the house, sprang up the
stairs–

Proclaims how Alraune came to an end.

H
E
slowly went up to his room, washed his wound,
bandaged it and laughed at the girl’s shooting ability.

“She will learn soon enough,” he thought. “We
just need a little target practice.”

Then he remembered her look as she ran away.
She was all broken up, full of wild despair, as if she had
committed a crime. And it had only been an unlucky
coincidence–which fortunately had turned out all right–He
hesitated–A coincidence? Ah, that was it. She didn’t take it as a
coincidence–took it as–fate.

He considered–

That was certainly it. That was why she was
frightened–that was why she ran away–When she looked into his eyes
she saw her own image there. That’s what she was afraid of–death,
who scattered his flowers where ever her feet trod–

The little attorney had warned him, “Now it
is your turn.” Hadn’t Alraune herself told him the same thing when
she asked him to leave? Wasn’t the old magick working on him just
like it had on all the others? His uncle had left him worthless
paper–Now they were digging gold out of the rocks! Alraune brought
riches–and she brought death.

Suddenly he was frightened–now for the first
time. He bared his wound once again–Oh yes, there it was. His heart
beat right under the tear. It had only been the little movement of
his body as he turned, as he pointed to the squirrel with his arm
that had saved him. Otherwise–otherwise–

No, he didn’t want to die, especially right
now because of his mother, he thought. Yes, because of her–but even
if she wasn’t there, he wanted to live for himself as well. It had
taken many long years to learn how to live, but now he had mastered
that great art, which now gave him more than many thousands of
others. He lived fully and strongly, stood on the summit and really
enjoyed the world and all of its delights.

“Fate loves me,” he thought. “It’s pointing
with its finger–much more clearly than the words of the attorney.
There is still time.”

He pulled out his suitcase, tore the lid open
and began to pack–How had Uncle Jakob ended his leather bound
volume?

“Try your luck! It’s too bad that I won’t be
there when your turn comes. I would have dearly loved to see
it.”

He shook his head.

“No, Uncle Jakob,” he murmured. “You will get
no satisfaction out of me this time, not this time.”

He threw his boots together, grabbed a pair
of stockings, and laid out a shirt and suit that he wanted to wear.
His glance fell on the deep blue kimono that hung over the back of
a chair. He picked it up, contemplated the scorched hole that the
bullet had made.

“I should leave it here,” he said. “A momento
for Alraune. She can put it with the other momentos.”

A deep sigh sounded behind him. He turned
around–She stood in the middle of the room, in a thin silk
negligee, looking at him with large open eyes.

“You are packing?” she whispered. “You are
leaving–I thought so.”

A lump rose in his throat but he choked it
back down and pulled himself together.

“Yes, Alraune, I’m going on a journey,” he
said.

She threw herself down onto a chair, didn’t
answer, just looked at him quietly. He went to the wash basin, took
up one thing after another, comb, brush, soap and sponge. Finally
he threw the lid shut and locked the suitcase.

“Well,” he said forcefully. “Now I’m
ready.”

He stepped up to her, reached out his hand.
She didn’t move, didn’t raise her arm and her pale lips remained
shut. Only her eyes spoke.

“Don’t go,” they pleaded. “Don’t leave me.
Stay with me.”

“Alraune,” he murmured and it sounded like a
reproach, like a plea even, to let him go.

But she didn’t let him go, held him solidly
with her eyes, “Don’t leave me.”

It felt like his will was melting and he
forcefully turned his eyes away from her. But then her lips
moved.

“Don’t go,” she insisted. “Stay with me.”

“No,” he screamed. “I don’t want to. You will
put me in the ground like all the others!”

He turned his back on her, went to the table,
and tore a couple pieces of cotton from the bandage wadding that he
had brought for his wound. He moistened them with oil and plugged
them solidly into his ears.

“Now you can talk,” he cried. “If you like. I
can’t hear you. I can’t see you–I must go and you know it. Let me
go.”

She softly said, “Then you will feel me.”

She stepped up to him, lightly laid her hand
on his arm and her fingers trembled and spoke – “Stay with
me!–Don’t abandon me.”

The light kiss of her little hands was so
sweet, so sweet.

“I will tear myself loose,” he thought,
“soon, just one second longer.”

He closed his eyes, and with a deep breath
savored the caressing touch of her fingers. Then she raised her
hands and his cheeks trembled under their gentle touch. She slowly
brought her arms around his neck, bent his head down, raised
herself up and brought her moist lips to his mouth.

“How strange it is,” he thought. “Her nerves
speak and mine understand their language.”

She pulled him one step to the side, pressed
him down onto the bed, sat down on his knees and wrapped him in a
cloak of tender caresses. With slender fingers she pulled the
cotton out of his ears and whispered sultry, loving words to him.
He didn’t understand because she spoke so softly, but he sensed the
meaning, felt that she was no longer saying, “Stay!”–That now she
was saying, “I’m so glad that you are staying.”

He kept his eyelids tightly shut over his
eyes, yet now he only heard her lips whisper sweet nothings, only
felt the tips of her little fingers as they ran across his breast
and his face. She didn’t pull him, didn’t urge him–and yet he felt
the streaming of her nerves pulling him down onto the bed. Slowly,
slowly, he let himself sink.

Then suddenly she sprang up. He opened his
eyes, saw her run to the door and shut it, then to the window and
tightly close the heavy curtains. A dim twilight still flowed
through the room. He wanted to rise, to stand up, but she was back
before he could move a single limb. She threw off the black
negligee and came to him, shut his eyelids again with gentle
fingers and pressed her lips on his.

He felt her little breast in his hand, felt
her toe nails play against the flesh of his legs, felt her hair
falling over his cheeks–and he didn’t resist, gave himself to her,
just as she wanted–

“Are you staying?” she asked.

But he sensed it wasn’t a question any more,
she only wanted to hear it from his own lips.

“Yes,” he said softly.

Her kisses fell like the rain in May. Her
caresses dropped like a shower of almond blossoms in the evening
wind and her loving words sprang like the shimering pearls of the
cascade in the park pool.

“You taught me!” she breathed. “You–you
showed me what love is–Now you must stay for my love, which you
created!”

She lightly traced her fingers over his
wound, kissed it with her tongue, raised her head and looked at him
with crazy, confused eyes.

“I hurt you–”she whispered. “I struck
you–right over your heart–Do you want to beat me? Should I get the
whip? Do what you want!–Tear wounds in me with your teeth–take a
knife even. Drink my blood–Do whatever you want–Anything,
anything–I am your slave.”

He closed his eyes again and sighed
deeply.

“You are the Mistress,” he thought. “The
winner!”

Sometimes when he entered the library it
seemed as if a laugh came from out of the corners somewhere. The
first time he heard it he thought it was Alraune, even though it
didn’t sound like her voice. He searched around and found nothing.
When he heard it again he became frightened.

“That’s Uncle Jakob’s hoarse voice,” he
thought. “He is laughing at me.”

Then he took hold of himself, pulled himself
together.

“A hallucination,” he muttered. “And no
wonder–my nerves are over stimulated.”

He moved about as if in a dream, slouching
and staggering, with hanging, drooping movements and listless eyes.
But every nerve was taut and overloaded when he was with her–Then
his blood raced, where before it had been sickly and barely
crawled.

He had been her teacher, that was true. He
had opened her eyes, taught her every Persian mystery from the land
of the morning, every game of the ancients that had made love into
a fine art. But it was as if he said nothing strange to her at all,
only reawakened her long lost memories from some other time. Often
her swift desire flamed and broke out like a forest fire in the
summer time before he could even speak. He threw the torch and yet
shuddered at the rutting fire that scorched his flesh, engulfed him
in feverish passion, left him withered and curdled the blood in his
veins.

Once as he slunk over the courtyard he met
Froitsheim.

“You don’t ride any more, young Master?”
asked the old coachman.

He quickly said, “No, not any more.”

Then his gaze met the old man’s and he saw
how the dry lips opened.

“Don’t speak, old man!” he said quickly. “I
know what you want to say to me! But I can’t–I can’t.”

The coachman watched for a long time as Frank
Braun went into the garden, spit, thoughtfully shook his head, then
crossed himself.

One evening Frieda Gontram sat on the stone
bench under the copper beeches. He stepped up to her and offered
his hand.

“Back already Frieda?”

“The two months are gone,” she said.

He put his hand to his forehead.

“Gone,” he murmured. “It scarcely seems like
a week to me. How goes it with your brother?” he continued.

“He is dead,” she replied, “for a long time
now. Vicar Schrőder and I buried him up there, in Davos.”

“Dead,” he responded.

Then as if to chase the thought away he
quickly asked, “What else is new out there? We live like hermits,
never go out of the garden.”

“The princess died of a stroke,” she began.
“Countess Olga– ”

But he didn’t let her continue.

“No, no,” he cried. “Say nothing. I don’t
want to hear. Death, death and more death–Be quiet Frieda, be
quiet!”

Now he was happy that she was there. They
spoke very little to each other, but they sat together quietly,
secretly, when the Fräulein was in the house. Alraune resented that
Frieda Gontram was back.

“Why did she come? I won’t have it! I want no
one here except you.”

“Let her be,” he said. “She is not in the
way, hides herself whenever she can.”

Alraune said, “She is together with you when
I’m not there. I know it. She better be careful!”

“What will you do?” he asked.

She answered, “Do? Nothing! Have you
forgotten that I don’t need to do anything? It all happens by
itself.”