Night Games: And Other Stories and Novellas (16 page)

A beam of light came from the side. She suddenly saw the carriage,
which to her surprise had not turned over but was only leaning crookedly
against the ditch in the street, as though a wheel had broken. The horses
were standing completely still. The light was coming closer. She saw it
creep over the milestone and over the gravel heap; then it crawled over
Franz's feet, glided over his body, and lit up his face, where it remained.
The coachman had set the lantern on the ground next to the head of the
outstretched man. Emma sank to her knees, and when she saw his face
she felt as if her heart had stopped beating. He was pale, and his eyes
were half open so that she could only see the whites. A stream of blood
was slowly trickling down from his right temple over his cheek, losing itself under his collar. His teeth had bitten into his lower lip. "It's just not
possible," Emma murmured to herself.

The driver was also kneeling down and staring at the face. Then he
grabbed the head with both hands and lifted it up. "What are you doing?"
screamed Emma in a muffled voice, and recoiled from this head that
seemed to lift up of its own accord.

"Ma'am, I think an awful accident has happened."

"No, no," said Emma, "it can't be. It isn't true. Has anything happened to you? Or to me? ..."

The coachman let the head of the motionless man slowly sink-into Emma's lap. She was trembling. "If only somebody came ... if only
those peasants had come a quarter of an hour later...."

"What shall we do?" said Emma with trembling lips.

"Well, miss, if that there carriage weren't broke ... but as it looks
like now ... we've just got to wait till somebody comes." He continued
talking, though Emma didn't take in his words, but meanwhile she regained control of her senses and suddenly knew what to do.

"How far is it to the nearest houses?" she asked.

"Not very far, miss, we're almost in the Franz Josef Quarter....
We'd see the houses if it was light. It's only about five minutes away."

"You go there, then, and get help. I'll stay."

"Yes, miss, but I think it'd be better if I stayed with you-it won't
be long before somebody comes. It's the Reichstrasse after all, and-"

"Then it'll be too late. It might be too late. We need a doctor."

The driver looked at the face of the motionless man, and then at
Emma, shaking his head.

"You can't know that," cried Emma, "and I can't either."

"Yes, miss, ... but where do I find a doctor in the Franz Josef Quarter?"

"Someone should go into the city center from there and ..."

"Miss, d'ye know what? I think they'll have a telephone there. And
we could call an ambulance then."

"Yes, that's the best thing to do! Go already, hurry up, run fast, for
heaven's sake! And bring help.... And ... please, just go. What are you
still doing here?"

The driver was looking at the pale face now resting in Emma's lap.
"Ambulance-doctor-they can't help much any more."

"Oh please, go! For God's sake! Go!"

"I'm going just don't go getting scared here in the dark, miss."
And he hurried off down the street. "It's not my fault, by God," he was
murmuring to himself. "What an idea anyway, to go down the Reichstrasse in the middle of the night...."

Emma was left alone on the dark street with the motionless body.
"What now?" she wondered. "It just isn't possible". . . the thought kept
going through her head again and again ... it just isn't possible. Sud denly she thought she heard breathing next to her. She bent down to the
pale lips. No, there was not even the faintest breath coming from them.
The blood on the temple and the cheeks appeared to have dried. She
stared into the eyes, the broken eyes, and her whole body shook. Well,
why don't I believe it?-it's a certainty ... this is death! A horror seized
her whole body. Her only thought now was: there's a dead man here. Just
me and a dead man. There's a dead man in my lap! And with trembling
hands she moved the head away and placed it back on the ground. Only
then did a terrifying feeling of abandonment come over her. Why had she
sent the coachman away? What stupidity! What should she do with a
dead man on a main thoroughfare? If anyone came ... yes, what on earth
was she to do when someone came along? How long would she have to
wait here? And she looked at the dead man again. I'm not alone with him
after all, it suddenly occurred to her. The light is here. And it seemed to
her as if the light of the lamp was something kind and friendly, for which
she ought to be thankful. There was more life in this small flame than in
the entire immense darkness around her. Yes, it almost seemed to her as
if this light were a protection against this pale, horrifying man who lay
next to her on the ground.... And she gazed into the light for so long
that her eyes swam and everything began to dance. Suddenly she felt as
though she were waking up. She jumped up. I can't do this, this is impossible, I can't be found here with him! ... It seemed to her that she saw
herself standing on the street, the dead man and the light at her feet, and
that she loomed tremendously tall into the darkness. What am I waiting
for? she thought, and her thoughts raced on.... What am I waiting for?
Other people? What do they need me for? They'll come and ask ... and
I ... what am I doing here? They'll all ask who I am. What should I tell
them? Nothing. I won't say a word when they come; I'll say nothing. Not
a word ... they can't force me to, after all.

Voices came from afar.

Already'? she thought. She listened anxiously. The voices were
coming from the direction of the bridge. These couldn't be the people
that the coachman had gone to get. But whoever they were, they would
certainly notice the light-and that shouldn't happen, for then she would
be discovered.

She kicked the lantern over with her foot. It went out. Now she was
standing in total darkness. She saw nothing. Not even him. Only the
white gravel heap gleamed a little. The voices came closer. Her whole
body began to tremble. Only not to be discovered here! For God's sake,
that was the only important thing, the only thing that counted-she
would be lost if anyone discovered that she was the lover of ... Now she
folds her hands desperately. She prays that the people on the other side of
the street will pass by without noticing her. She listens. Yes, over
there.... What are they saying'?... It's two or three women. They've
discovered the carriage, because they're saying something about it; she
can distinguish the words. A carriage ... turned over ... what else are
they saying? She can't quite understand it. They're walking on ...
they're gone ... thank God! And now, what now? On, why isn't she dead
like him? He's to be envied; everything's over for him. For him there is
no more danger and no more fear. But she's afraid of many, many things.
She's afraid they will find her here, ask her who she is ... that she'll
have to go to the police, that everyone will find out that her husband ...
that her son ...

And she doesn't understand why she's standing here for so long as
though rooted to the spot.... She can leave, after all. She can't be of use
to anyone here anymore, and she's only courting tragedy. She takes a
step ... carefully ... she has to go over the ditch ... across ... one step
up-oh, it's so muddy!-and two more steps, to the middle of the
street ... and then she stands still for a moment, looks ahead, and can see
the dim outline of the road into the darkness. There-there is the city.
She can't see anything in front of her ... but she knows the right direction. Once more she turns around. It isn't so dark after all. She can now
see the carriage pretty well, and the horses, too ... and if she really tries
she can make out something like the outline of a human body lying on
the ground. She opens her eyes wide; she feels as if something is holding
her back ... the dead man wants to keep her there! She is terrified of his
power ... but she tears herself away with all her might, and now she notices what it is: the ground is muddy, she is standing on the slippery
street, and the wet mud will not let her go. But now she is walking ...
walking faster ... running ... away from there ... back ... into the light, into the noise, toward others! She runs along the street and holds
her dress up high in order not to fall. The wind is at her back; it's as if it
is pushing her forward. She no longer knows exactly why she's fleeing. It
seems to her that she has to flee from that pale man lying there far behind
her next to the ditch ... then she realizes that she is fleeing the living
ones who will soon be there looking for her. What will they think? Won't
they come after her? But they can't catch up with her anymore; she's almost at the bridge; she has a considerable head start, and now the danger
is over. No one can possibly guess who she is; no one can know who that
woman was who was driving over the Reichstrasse with that man. The
driver doesn't know her and won't recognize her even if he should
chance to see her someday. No one will bother about who she is, either.
Whose business is it anyway? It was very wise of her not to stay, and not
contemptible either. Franz himself would have said she was right to do
what she did. She has to get home, after all. She has a son, she has a husband, she would be lost if they had found her there with her dead lover.
There's the bridge; the street seems brighter ... yes, she already hears
the water rushing beneath her as it did before. She is now at the same
place where she walked with him arm in arm-when-when? How
many hours ago? It can't have been very long ago. Not long? Maybe it
was! Maybe she had been unconscious for a long time, maybe it's already after midnight, maybe it's near morning and she is being missed at
home. No, no, that just isn't possible; she knows that she wasn't unconscious at all. She remembers it now more clearly than she did at that first
moment when she fell out of the carriage and realized what had happened. She runs over the bridge and hears her steps echo. She looks neither left nor right. Now she notices a figure coming toward her. She
slows down. Who can be coming toward her? It's someone in uniform.
She walks very slowly. She mustn't attract attention. She believes the
man has his eyes fixed on her. What if he asks her? She's now near him
and recognizes the uniform; it's a policeman, and she passes him. She
hears him pausing behind her. With effort she stops herself from running
again; that would be suspicious. She walks on as slowly as she did before. She hears the jangle of the horse-drawn tram. It can't be anywhere
near midnight yet. She walks a little faster now; she hurries toward the city whose lights she can now see gleaming in the distance from where
she is under the railroad viaduct at the end of the street, toward the city
whose muted tumult she thinks she already hears. Just this one lonely
side street and then she's safe. Now she hears shrill whistles in the distance, coming ever louder and nearer. A carriage races past her. Instinctively she stands still and follows it with her gaze. It's the ambulance
carriage. She knows where it's going. How fast it's going! she thinks....
It's like magic. For a moment she feels as though she must call out to the
ambulance, as though she must go with it, go back to where she's just
come from-and for a moment the most enormous shame she has ever
experienced overcomes her, and she knows that she's been cowardly and
bad. But as she hears the sound of the wheels and the whistles receding
in the distance, a wild joy comes over her, and she hurries forward like
one saved. People are coming toward her; she is not afraid of them anymore-the worst is over. The tumult of the city becomes more audible;
there's more and more light around her. Already she sees the rows of
houses on the Praterstrasse, and she feels as though a flood of people into
which she could disappear without a trace awaits her. As she comes to a
street lantern she has the presence of mind to look at her watch. It's ten
minutes before nine. She holds the watch to her ear-it hasn't stopped.
And she thinks: I'm alive and healthy ... even my watch is still running ... and he ... he ... dead ... fate.... She feels as though everything is forgiven her ... as though she has never been guilty of any
wrongdoing. That's clear to her now, yes, that's clear. She hears herself
saying these words out loud. And what if fate had decreed otherwise?what if she were the one now lying in the ditch and he were still alive?
He would not have fled, no ... not he. Well, he's a man. She's a
woman-and has a child and a husband. She was right to act the way she
did-it was her duty-yes, her duty. But she knows very well that she
didn't act as she did out of a sense of duty.... But still she did the right
thing. Instinctively ... as ... decent people always do. By now she
would already have been discovered. Now the doctors would be asking
her: and your husband, madam? 0 God! ... and the newspaper tomorrow-and the family-she would have been destroyed for all time and
still she wouldn't have been able to bring him back to life. Yes, that was the main thing; she would have destroyed herself for nothing. Now she's
under the railroad bridge. Keep going ... keep going.... Here is the
Tegetthoff Monument, where many streets come together. Today, on this
rainy, windy autumn evening, there are few people outdoors at this hour,
but she feels as though the life of the city is surging around her, because
where she came from there was only the most awful silence. She still has
time. She knows that her husband won't get home today until around
ten-she can even still change her clothes. Now it occurs to her to look at
her dress. To her horror she notices that it's filthy. What will she tell the
chambermaid? It occurs to her that tomorrow the story of the accident
will be in all the newspapers. Everyone will read about a woman who
had been in the carriage but could not be found afterward. At this thought
she starts to tremble all over again-one careless move and all her cowardice will have been in vain. But she has her house key with her; she
will open the door herself-she'll be careful not to be heard. She quickly
catches a carriage. She is about to give the driver her address when it occurs to her that that might not be the best thing, and instead she gives him
the name of the first street that happens to occur to her. As she is driving
through the Praterstrasse, she wants to feel something, anything, but she
can't. She has only one wish: to be at home, to be safe. Nothing else matters. The moment she decided to leave the dead man lying on the street,
everything in her that wanted to mourn and lament him had to be suppressed. She can feel nothing but concern for herself. She's not
heartless ... oh no! ... she's sure that in days to come she will feel despair. Maybe it will destroy her in the end, but now there is nothing in her
except the desire to sit calmly, with dry eyes, at home at the table with
her husband and her son. She looks through the window. The carnage is
driving through the inner city; here everything is well lit. and quite a few
people are hurrying by. Then it suddenly seems to her that everything
that's happened in the last few hours could not be real. It was like a bad
dream ... completely incomprehensible. She bids the carriage to stop in
a side street off the Ring, climbs out, hurries around the corner, and then
gets into another one, giving the driver her address. She feels that she
can't think anymore. Where is he now? she wonders. She closes her eyes
and sees him in front of her, lying on a stretcher in the ambulance-and suddenly she feels as though she were sitting next to him and riding with
him. And the carriage begins to sway, and she fears that she'll be thrown
out as before-and she screams. The carriage stops. She's startled, she's
already in front of her house. Quickly she steps out and hurries through
the hallway with such light steps that the porter behind his window
doesn't even look up. She races up the stairs, opens the door so quietly
that no one hears ... through the hall into her bedroom-she's made it!
She turns on the light, tears off her clothes, and hides them in the armoire. They will dry overnight-tomorrow she'll brush and clean them
herself. Then she washes her face and hands and puts on a dressing
gown.