Night Games: And Other Stories and Novellas (37 page)

"I need a dark monk's cassock and a black mask, that's all."

At that moment the sound of glasses clinking rang out from the end
of the hallway, and Fridolin, startled, looked straight at the costume shop
owner, as though he owed Fridolin an immediate explanation. But
Gibiser himself stood rigidly still and groped for a switch hidden somewhere-and all at once a blinding light poured down to the end of the
hallway where a small table set with plates, glasses, and bottles was suddenly visible. Two men dressed as inquisitors in red robes arose from the
chairs to the left and to the right of the table, while at the same moment a
graceful little creature disappeared. Gibiser rushed forward with long
strides, reached across the table, and grabbed a white wig in his hand,
while at the same time a graceful, very young girl, still almost a child,
wearing a Pierrette costume with white silk stockings, wriggled out from
under the table and ran to Fridolin, who was forced to catch her in his
arms. Gibiser dropped the white wig on the table and was holding the inquisitors, one to the left and one to the right, by the folds of their robes.
At the same time he shouted to Fridolin, "Sir, hold on to that girl for
me!" The girl pressed herself against Fridolin as though he would protect
her. Her small narrow face was dusted with powder and covered with
several beauty spots; from her delicate breasts there arose an odor of
roses and powder-mischief and desire laughed in her eyes.

"Gentlemen," cried Gibiser, "You'll stay here until I've handed you
over to the police."

"What are you thinking of?" they exclaimed, and, as if with one
voice, "We're here at the young lady's invitation."

Gibiser released them both, and Fridolin heard him say to them, "You'll have to explain this later. Didn't you notice immediately that you
were dealing with a lunatic?" Then turning to Fridolin, he said, "Forgive
this interruption, my dear sir."

"Oh, it doesn't matter," said Fridolin. He would have preferred either to stay here or to take the girl with him-whatever the consequences. She was looking up at him seductively and childlike, as if
spellbound. The judges at the end of the hallway were arguing excitedly
with each other, and Gibiser turned matter-of-factly to Fridolin and
asked, "You wanted a cassock, sir, a pilgrim's hat, and a mask?"

"No," said the Pierrette with gleaming eyes, "you must give this
gentleman a cloak lined with ermine and a doublet of red silk."

"Don't you budge from my side," said Gibiser, and pointed to a
dark cassock that was hanging between a medieval soldier and a Venetian senator. "This one's your size, and here's the matching hat; take it
quick."

The two judges spoke up again. "You'll have to let us out at once,
Herr Chibisier"-to Fridolin's surprise, they pronounced the name
Gibiser as though it were French.

"That's out of the question," said the rental shop owner contemptuously. "You'll kindly wait here until I return."

Meanwhile Fridolin slipped into the cassock and tied the ends of the
hanging white cords into a knot. Gibiser, standing on a narrow ladder,
handed him the black, broad-brimmed pilgrim's hat, and Fridolin put it
on; but he did all this unwillingly, because more and more he felt it to be
his duty to remain and protect the Pierrette from the danger that threatened her. The mask that Gibiser now pressed into his hand, and that he
immediately tried on, reeked of a strange and rather disagreeable perfume.

"Walk in front of me," Gibiser said to the girl, and pointed commandingly to the stairs. Pierrette turned around, looked in the direction
of the end of the hallway, and waved a wistful yet gay farewell. Fridolin
followed her gaze. There were no longer two inquisitors there but two
slender young men in coat and tails and white ties, though both had red
masks covering their faces. Pierrette floated down the winding staircase,
Gibiser followed her, and Fridolin followed the two of them. In the hall way below, Gibiser opened the door that led to the inner rooms, and said
to Pierrette: "You're going straight to bed, you depraved creature, you.
We'll talk as soon as I've settled with the two upstairs."

She stood in the doorway, white and delicate, and with a glance at
Fridolin sadly shook her head. In the large wall mirror to the right,
Fridolin caught a glimpse of a haggard pilgrim-and this pilgrim seemed
to be him. He wondered how that was possible, even though he knew it
could not be anyone else.

Pierrette had disappeared, and the old costume shop owner locked
the door behind her. Then he opened the apartment door and pushed
Fridolin into the entrance hall.

"Excuse me," said Fridolin, "I owe you ..."

"Never mind, sir, you can pay when you return the things. I'll trust
you."

But Fridolin did not stir from the spot. "You swear that you won't
hurt that poor child?"

"What business is it of yours, sir?"

"I heard you describe the girl as mad-and now you called her a
'depraved creature.' Rather a contradiction, don't you think?"

"Well, sir," answered Gibiser in a theatrical tone of voice, "aren't
the insane and the depraved the same in the eyes of God?"

Fridolin shuddered in disgust.

"Whatever it is," he finally said, "I'm sure something can be done.
I'm a doctor. We'll talk about this more tomorrow."

Gibiser laughed mockingly without uttering a sound. A light suddenly flared up in the entranceway, and the door between Gibiser and
Fridolin closed and was immediately bolted. Fridolin took off the hat, the
cloak, and the mask while going down the stairs, and put everything
under his arm. The caretaker opened the outer door, and Fridolin saw that
the hearse with the motionless driver on the box stood opposite. Nightingale was just on the point of leaving the cafe and didn't seem very
pleased that Fridolin had appeared so promptly.

"So you managed to get yourself a costume?"

"As you can see. And the password?"

"So you're determined?"

"Absolutely."

"Well, then-the password is 'Denmark.'"

"Are you crazy, Nightingale?"

"Why crazy?"

"Oh, never mind, never mind. As it happens I was on the Danish
coast this summer. Well, get back in your carriage-but not right away,
so that I can have time to take one of those carriages over there."

Nightingale nodded and lit a cigarette in leisurely fashion while
Fridolin quickly crossed the street, hired a carriage, and. in an innocent
voice, as though he were playing a joke, told the driver to follow the
hearse that was just starting out in front of them.

They crossed Alser Street and then drove on under a viaduct
through dim and deserted side streets toward the outlying district.
Fridolin was afraid that the driver of his carriage would lose sight of the
carriage ahead, but whenever he stuck his head out of the open window
into the unnaturally warm air, he saw the other carriage and the coachman with the tall black silk hat sitting motionless on the box a little distance in front of him. This may end badly, too, thought Fridolin. At the
same time he remembered the odor of roses and perfume that had risen
from Pierrette's breast. What kind of strange story did I wander into
there? he asked himself. I shouldn't have left-maybe I was obliged not
to leave. Where am I now, I wonder?

The road rose slowly uphill between modest villas. Fridolin thought
he knew where he was. Years ago he had sometimes come here on walks:
this had to be the Galitzinberg that he was ascending. Down below on the
left he could see the city, indistinct in the mist but glimmering with a
thousand lights. He heard the rumble of wheels behind him and looked
back from his window. Two carriages were following his, and he was
glad of it, for now the driver of the hearse would not be suspicious of
him.

Suddenly, with a violent jolt, the carriage turned into a side street
and plummeted down as though into an abyss between iron fences, stone
walls, and terraces. It occurred to Fridolin that it was high time he put on
his costume. He took off his fur coat and slipped into the monk's cassock
in the same way he slipped into the sleeves of his surgical coat every morning in the hospital ward, and he was relieved to think that, if everything went well, in a few hours he would be walking between the beds of
his patients as he did every morning-a doctor ready to offer help.

The carriage stopped. What if I don't get out at all-but go back immediately? thought Fridolin. But go where? To little Pierrette? To the girl
in Buchfeld Strasse? To Marianne, the daughter of the dead man? Home?
And with a slight shudder he realized that he would rather go anywhere
but home. Or was that only because home was the farthest away? he
asked himself. No, I can't turn back, he thought. I'll go on, even if it
means death. And he laughed at the big word but didn't exactly feel
cheerful as he did.

A garden gate stood wide open. The hearse in front drove on,
deeper into the abyss, or into the darkness that seemed like one. Nightingale must already have gotten out. Fridolin quickly jumped out of the
carriage and told the driver to wait for his return up at the bend, no matter
how long he might be. To make sure he would wait, he paid him well in
advance and promised a similar amount for his return trip. The carriages
that had followed him arrived. Fridolin saw the veiled figure of a woman
climb out of the first one; he went into the garden and put on his mask. A
narrow path, lit by lamps from the house, led to the entrance door; two
wings opened, and Fridolin found himself in a narrow, white entryway.
He heard a harmonium playing, and two servants in dark livery, their
faces covered by grey masks, stood to the left and right of him.

"Password'?" two voices whispered in unison. And he answered,
"Denmark." One of the servants took his fur coat and disappeared with it
into an adjoining room; the other opened a door, and Fridolin stepped
into a dimly lit, almost dark room with high ceilings, hung on all sides
with black silk. Masked people in clerical costume were walking up and
down, sixteen to twenty persons all dressed as monks and nuns. The
strains of the organ music, an Italian church melody, gently swelled from
above. In a corner of the room stood a small group, three nuns and two
monks. They had turned to him for a second when he entered, but had
turned away again immediately, almost deliberately. Fridolin noticed that
he was the only one wearing a hat, took it off, and wandered up and
down as nonchalantly as possible. A monk brushed up against him and nodded a greeting, but from behind the mask a searching look, a full second long, bored deep into Fridolin's eyes. A strange and heavy perfume
reminiscent of a tropical garden enveloped him. Again an arm brushed
up against him. This time it was that of a nun. Like the others she too had
a black veil over her face, head, and neck, and under the black silk lace
of her mask a blood-red mouth glowed. Where am I? wondered Fridolin.
Among lunatics? Or conspirators? Have I gotten into the meeting of
some religious sect? Had Nightingale perhaps been ordered and paid to
bring some uninitiated stranger to be a target of their pranks? Yet everything seemed far too serious, too intense, too eerie to be just a carnival
prank. A woman's voice had joined the strains of the harmonium, and an
old sacred Italian aria resounded through the room. Everyone stood still
and seemed to listen, and even Fridolin surrendered for a moment to the
wonderfully swelling melody. Suddenly a female voice whispered behind him, "Don't turn around to look at me. There's still time for you to
leave. You don't belong here. If they discover you it will be very bad for
you."

Fridolin started in fright. For a second he considered obeying the
warning. But curiosity, desire, and above all pride were stronger than any
misgiving. Now that I've gone this far, he thought to himself, I don't care
what happens. And he shook his head no, without turning around.

Then the voice behind him whispered, "I would be sorry if something happened to you."

He turned around. He saw the blood-red mouth shimmer through
the black lace and felt dark eyes penetrate into his. "I'm staying," he said
in a heroic voice that he didn't recognize as his own, and he looked away
again. The song now swelled throughout the room, and the harmonium
had a new sound that was anything but sacred. It was worldly, voluptuous, and roared like an organ. Looking around, Fridolin noticed that all
the nuns had disappeared and only the monks were left in the room. In
the meantime, the voice had also changed from dark seriousness to a
bright and jubilant tone by way of an artistically rising trill, and in place
of the harmonium an earthy brazen piano had begun to play. Fridolin immediately recognized Nightingale's wild and inflammatory pounding,
and the previously noble woman's voice had, with a last piercing and voluptuous outcry, risen to the ceiling and lost itself in infinity. Doors to
the left and right had opened. On one side Fridolin recognized Nightingale's indistinct outline at the piano, but the room opposite was radiant
with a blaze of light. All the women stood there completely motionless,
with dark veils around their heads, face, and necks, and black lace masks
over their faces, but otherwise completely naked. Fridolin's eyes wandered thirstily from voluptuous bodies to slender ones, from delicate figures to luxuriously developed ones-and the fact that each of these
women remained a mystery despite her nakedness, and that the enigma
of the large eyes peering at him from under the black masks would remain unresolved, transformed the unutterable delight of gazing into an
almost unbearable agony of desire. The other men were probably feeling
what he felt. The first delighted gasps had changed into sighs that
sounded like deep anguish. Somewhere a cry broke out-and suddenly,
as though they were being pursued, all of them, no longer in their cassocks, but now dressed elegantly in white, yellow, blue, and red cavalier
costumes, rushed from the dim room to the women who received them
with wild, almost wicked laughter. Fridolin was the only one who remained in a monk's gown, and, nervously, he slunk back into the farthest
corner near Nightingale, whose back was turned to him. Fridolin saw that
Nightingale had a blindfold over his eyes, but thought he could see how
from behind it Nightingale's eyes were staring fixedly into the tall mirror
opposite him, which reflected the gaily colored cavaliers dancing with
their naked partners.