The Sleepwalkers (14 page)

If at first Joachim had postponed his visit to Lestow because he had a fixed picture of arriving there with Bertrand, so now the slight annoyance which he felt against Bertrand was perhaps to blame for the fact that he postponed it still further: a vague hope had risen in him that if Bertrand would only speak out now, everything would fall into its place so smoothly and easily that without further ado he would be able straightway to take him to Lestow. But as in spite of this inducement, of which besides he knew nothing, Bertrand in the most disappointing manner persevered in his silence, Joachim was finally driven to make a decision and went alone. One afternoon he drove over to Lestow in the
gig, his legs smoothly and decorously wrapped in the carriage rug, the whip held at the correct angle before him, and the reins running easily in his brown-gloved hand. When he left his father had said: “At last,” and now Joachim was filled with distaste for this fantastic marriage project.

In front arose the church spire of the neighbouring village; a Catholic church, and it reminded him of Ruzena’s Roman Catholic creed: Bertrand had told him about Ruzena. Wouldn’t the most honest thing be to break off his silly stay here, and simply go back to her? Everything here was beginning to disgust him: the dust on the road, the dusty, wilting leaves of the trees beside it announcing the approach of autumn; he loathed it all. Since Bertrand’s arrival he had been longing again for his uniform; two men in the same uniform, that was something impersonal, the King’s badge; two men in the same kind of civilian clothes, that was shameless, it was like two brothers; and he felt that the short civilian jacket which left visible one’s legs and the opening of one’s trousers was in some way shameless. Elisabeth, who was condemned to seeing men in short jackets and unconcealed trousers, was to be pitied—strange that he had never had such regrets where Ruzena was concerned—but at least for this visit he should have put on his uniform. The broad white cravat with the horseshoe tie-pin concealed the opening of his waistcoat; that was good. He put up his hand and made certain that it was properly in place. It was not for nothing that they laid a cloth over the lower parts of the dead lying on their biers. Helmuth too had driven along this road to Lestow, had called on Elisabeth and her mother, and dust like this had been poured on him in his grave. Had his brother really left Elisabeth to him as a legacy? Or Ruzena? Or perhaps even Bertrand? They should have given Bertrand Helmuth’s room, instead of putting him in the solitary guest-chamber; but that would not have been right either. It was all like a sort of inevitable clockwork which yet in some way depended on his own will and simply for that reason seemed inevitable and self-evident, certainly more inevitable than the clockwork routine of the service. But he could not follow out any further these thoughts, behind which lay probably something terrible, for now he was driving into the village and must keep a look-out for the children playing on the road; just beyond the village he turned into the park through the gate flanked right and left by the two lodges.

“I’m delighted to see you here again at last, Herr von Pasenow,” said the Baron, meeting him in the hall, and when Joachim mentioned the guest because of whom his visit had been postponed the Baron reproached him for not having brought Bertrand along with him. Joachim himself could not understand now why he had not done so; certainly it would have given no offence; but when Elisabeth entered he thought after all that it was better that he should have come alone. He found her very beautiful, even Bertrand would not be able to resist the charm of such beauty, that was certain, and as certainly he would never dare in her presence to maintain that far too unconstrained tone which was customary with him. Nevertheless Joachim could almost have wished to see him doing so, somewhat as one wishes to hear a coarse word spoken in a church or even to be present at an execution.

They had tea on the terrace, and Joachim, who sat beside Elisabeth, had the sensation that he had been in the same position not so very long ago. But when could it have been? Almost three years had passed since his last visit to Lestow, and then it had been late autumn and it would not have been possible to sit out on the terrace. But while he was still brooding over this, and it seemed to him that during that visit they had had to light the lights in the house, a fantastic association led his thoughts quite into the absurd, and the confusion became almost inextricable, for his accomplice Bertrand—it repelled him a little that the word accomplice should occur to him—for the accomplice and witness of his intimacy with Ruzena was evidently expected to keep him company beside Elisabeth too! How on earth could he have ever thought of introducing him to his parents? The fatalistic feeling that through Bertrand’s agency he had slipped from the straight path came back again, and suddenly the idea that after his tea he would have to stand up in his civilian clothes became painful to him; he would have liked to leave his serviette lying on his knees, but already they were proposing a walk through the park. When the farm buildings came in sight the Baron observed that now of course his guest would soon be coming back to live in the country; at least his father had hinted at it. Joachim, filled with renewed antagonism to his father’s attempt to determine his life, would have liked to reply that he had no intention of returning to his parents’ house; of course one could not say such things, it would not be quite in accordance with the truth nor with his newly found
attachment to his home and his property; and so he merely said that it wasn’t an easy matter to leave the service, all the more as he would soon be given a captaincy. And one could not give up a profession one had grown fond of so easily as all that, even on grounds of sentiment; he had seen that most clearly in the case of his friend, Herr von Bertrand, who in spite of his many striking successes in business still probably longed in secret to be back with his regiment. And as though against his will he began to speak of Bertrand’s world-wide business dealings and long journeys, and he surrounded him, almost with a boy’s fantasy, with the nimbus of the explorer, until the ladies could not help expressing their delight over their approaching acquaintance with such an interesting man. All the same Pasenow had the impression that they were all afraid, if not of Bertrand, yet of the life which he led, for Elisabeth became almost subdued and remarked that she was quite incapable of thinking of a brother, say, or some other near relation, being so far away that one could never tell with certainty what part of the world he was in. And the Baron agreed that only a man without a family could lead such a life. A sailor’s life, he added. But Joachim, not wishing to be outshone too much by his friend, and feeling, indeed, that here he was nothing less than his friend’s deputy, now related that Bertrand had encouraged him to report for the colonial service, and the Baroness said with severity: “You can’t do that and leave your parents alone.” “No,” said the Baron, “your place is in your father’s fields,” and Joachim was rather pleased to hear it. Then they turned back and, led by Elisabeth’s dog, reached again the wide clearing in front of the house. The moist and dewy fragrance of the grass was already rising, and the lights in the house were being lit, for the evenings were beginning to draw in.

When Joachim drove away darkness was falling. The last he saw of Elisabeth was her silhouette on the terrace; she had taken off her garden hat and in the twilight of the fading day she stood against the clear sky which was ribbed with reddish bars of cloud. Joachim could see distinctly the heavy knot of hair at the nape of her neck, and he asked himself why it was that he thought this girl so beautiful, so beautiful that Ruzena’s sweetness seemed to vanish from his memory when he saw her. And yet it was for Ruzena that he longed, and not for Elisabeth’s purity. Why was Elisabeth beautiful? The trees beside the road rose darkly and the dust smelt cool, as it would smell probably in a cave
or a cellar. But in the west a reddish strip still hung in the darkening sky over the rolling landscape.

On the same afternoon that Joachim paid his visit to Lestow, and just after he had driven away, Herr von Pasenow climbed the stairs to the first floor and knocked at Bertrand’s door: “I must pay you a visit too …” and then as if in secret understanding “I’ve got rid of him,… it wasn’t an easy business!” Bertrand murmured a few polite words: he would have been delighted to come down. “No,” said Herr von Pasenow, “good form must be preserved. But after tea we’ll go for a little walk. I’ve some things I want to talk to you about.” He sat down for a little to preserve the form of his visit, but with his accustomed restlessness presently left the room, to return before the door was closed after him and say: “I only want to see that you have everything you need. In this house you can’t depend on anybody.” He walked round the room, regarded
La Mêre des Gracches
, examined the floor, and then said genially: “Well then, till tea-time.”—

Having lighted their cigars they strolled through the park, crossed the kitchen gardens, on whose trees the fruit was already ripening, and at last reached the fields. Herr von Pasenow was obviously in a good humour. A group of women harvest workers came towards them. So as to make place for the gentlemen they formed up in single file at the side of the path, and one after another curtsied as they passed. Herr von Pasenow peered at each one under her head-cloth, and when the single file had passed he said: “Stalwart wenches.” “Poles?” asked Bertrand. “Of course, that is, the most of them … well, they’re an unreliable pack.” It was lovely here, Bertrand went on, and he sincerely envied the life of a country gentleman. Herr von Pasenow clapped him on the shoulder: “You could lead it if you liked.” Bertrand shook his head: that wasn’t such a simple matter, and besides one had to be brought up to it. “I’ll see to that,” Herr von Pasenow replied with a confidential smile. Then he became silent and Bertrand waited. But Herr von Pasenow seemed to have forgotten what he had wanted to say, for after a long pause he gave utterance to the outcome of his thoughts: “Of course you must write me … often, yes.” Then: “If you’ll come and live here we need have no more fears: both of us need have no more fears … what?” He had put his hand on Bertrand’s arm, and gazed at him anxiously. “But, Herr von Pasenow, why should we have
any fears?” Herr von Pasenow seemed astonished: “But you said …” he stared in front of him. “Well, it doesn’t matter …” He remained standing, then turned round, and it looked as though he were about to turn back again. But he recollected himself and went on. After a while he asked: “Have you been to see him yet?” “Him?” “Well, to see the grave.” Bertrand felt a little ashamed; but in the atmosphere of this house there had really been no fitting opportunity to express a wish to visit the grave. As he was preparing to answer the question as diplomatically as possible in the negative, Herr von Pasenow laughed and said with satisfaction: “Well, then we have still something to do,” and as another pleasant surprise for his guest pointed with his stick at the wall of the cemetery, which lay before them. “You go in, I’ll wait for you here,” he commanded, and when Bertrand hesitated for a little he added impatiently and sharply: “No, I’m not coming with you,” and he led Bertrand as far as the gate, over which in golden letters glittered the inscription: “Rest in Peace.” Bertrand entered and after he had remained for a due period by the grave returned again. Herr von Pasenow was marching backwards and forwards along the wall with visible impatience: “Were you with him? … well …?” Bertrand pressed his hand, but Herr von Pasenow apparently desired no sympathy and was waiting for him to say something; he even made a gesture as of encouragement, and when in spite of this nothing followed, he sighed: “He died for the honour of his name … yes, and meanwhile Joachim pays visits.” Once more he pointed with his stick, this time in the direction of Lestow. Later with a titter he supplemented his thought: “I’ve sent him a-courting,” and as though this reminded him that he had something he wished to discuss with Bertrand: “Right! I’m told you’re good at business matters.” Well, yes, but only in his special branch, replied Bertrand. “Well, for our business that will do well enough. You see, my dear fellow, I’m naturally in need of advice now that he’s dead.” He paused for a little and then said importantly: “Question of inheritance.” Bertrand replied that Herr von Pasenow must surely have a confidential legal adviser who would guide him, but Herr von Pasenow paid no attention: “Joachim will be provided for through his marriage; he could be disinherited”; and he laughed again. Bertrand tried to turn the conversation and pointed to a hare: “They’ll soon be out with the guns again, Herr von Pasenow.” “Yes, yes, he can come to the shooting if he likes; he’s all right for things like that.…
we’ll invite him, what? and of course he must write to us; we’ll soon bring him up to the scratch there, what?” As Herr von Pasenow laughed, Bertrand smiled too, though he felt very uncomfortable. He was a little annoyed at Joachim for delivering him up to this man; but how incapable the fellow showed himself even here to have allowed this old dotard to get into such a mood! Had the clumsy creature invited him here too, to straighten out his affairs? So he said: “Yes, yes, Herr von Pasenow, we’ll soon lick him into shape.” And this appeared to be the tone that the old man wished him to adopt. He leant on Bertrand’s arm, carefully suiting his step to that of his companion, and did not remove his arm again even when they reached the house. Though darkness had fallen they walked up and down the yard until Joachim drove up. When Joachim jumped down from the gig Herr von Pasenow said: “Let me introduce my friend, Herr von Bertrand,” and with a somewhat casual wave of the hand: “and this is my son … just back from his courting,” he added facetiously. The smell of the byres came across on the wind, and Herr von Pasenow felt in good spirits.

“She isn’t really beautiful,” Bertrand told himself as he regarded Elisabeth sitting at the piano; “her mouth is too large and her lips are of a curiously soft and almost evil sensuality. But when she smiles she’s charming.”