Wolf Among Wolves (69 page)

Sophie ate with relish everything that was brought her, and drank half a bottle of Rhine wine with it. There was some point in feeding well now—perhaps Hans would be coming to Neulohe. He must succeed! With her coffee she ordered a large glass of cognac, and leisurely smoked cigarette after cigarette. From the stream, which flowed below the terrace, came the dry wooden sound of oars in their rowlocks. The rowers could not be seen, but in the midday heat their voices were heard distinctly. “Pull a little quicker, Erna! We want to have a bathe.”

Suddenly Sophie realized that she also wanted to bathe, to bathe and lie in the sun, and roast herself. But not here! Here it was certain to be crowded with fellows. That wasn’t bathing! The ass at the next table had been goggling at her for the last half hour: strange that some men can never understand that one hasn’t been waiting precisely for them.

But she had no bathing suit with her—nor, for that matter, one at home—but a bathing suit was not a problem in Meienburg, even on Sunday. She paid, and as she went out accidentally knocked the goggling gentleman’s straw hat off his head into the cheese dish. “Oh, I’m so sorry!” she said graciously to the blushing man and hurried out.

The little needlework shop, of course, was still where it had been five years ago, ten years ago, where it had probably been ever since Meienburg was built; there where the needlework shop of Fräulein Otti Kujahn would forever be—in little Bergstrasse, directly opposite the Konditorei Köller (the Lover’s Nook). Sophie did not try the shop door. In things like that the little villages are punctilious; on a Sunday afternoon the shop door is locked. But if you go round the back there is not the slightest difficulty. Little humpy Fräulein Kujahn with the
same gray hair, the same languishing pigeon-glance of ten years ago, was very pleased. She stocked bathing suits. She was also ready to sell them on a Sunday afternoon.

They were not modern—they were not those aquatic garments which reveal a different part of the anatomy at every movement and seem to consist only of open-work—as Sophie discovered with a certain regret. They were costumes which covered the body, which clothed and did not unclothe. But perhaps it was better so. Sophie had no intention of offering a spectacle to the adolescents of Neulohe. She knew the habit these young gentlemen had of spying on the bathing places on their free afternoons, in order to get a glimpse of the village girls. Sophie selected therefore a completely decent black costume with white embroidery and a minimum of open-work. She also bought a bathing cap.

The price which Otti Kujahn asked for these two things, after long hesitation (“Yes, what shall I take for them? They cost me under three marks”), corresponded perhaps to the postage of a local letter. Sophie was now of the opinion that the Kujahn needlework shop would not exist forever. At these prices Fräulein Kujahn could not survive the inflation, but would soon be sold out and starving.

The bicycle sang gently, the chain grated softly, in the afternoon silence the woods lay as if sleeping; the birds were quiet, the heather brushing the toes of her shoes swept off the dust. Something like happiness filled Sophie, a peacefulness she had not felt for a long time. The sun stood still, the day proceeded no further—her happiness remained.

Deep within the forest lay the crayfish ponds, a chain of little pools, reedy and muddy. Only in the large one was it possible to bathe. For a while Sophie lay in the sun. But she had to go into the water, feel its coolness, experience its freshness.

The fine sandy bottom sloped away gently; cool and fresh, cooler and fresher than anything on this earth, the water rose round her. Once she shivered, when the coolness reached her waist, but even this shiver was pleasant. And it was gone immediately. She went deeper. In a long swimming stroke she glided into the coolness, became one with it, as cool!

Now she strove to maintain her balance lying on her back, gently paddling with her hands. Lying in one element, part of it, her eyes closed, she felt the other element on her face, a heavenly greeting, fire. The warmth of the sun penetrated her, warmth that had nothing withering in it like the artificial flames of mankind. A puff of wind seemed to waft it away, but it was back again, penetrating, something nourishing, a divine nectar. Yes, this gentle warmth had something of life, of eternal life—it dispensed happiness.

But the happiness Sophie Kowalewski now felt had nothing in common with the childish joy remembered that morning. The child had danced through the woods, blissful, unselfconscious, laughing, singing. The rapture of existence had seized her, as it seizes a bird or a calf in the meadow. The happiness Sophie now felt was conditioned by many experiences. After months of tormented longing, her body was again for the first time in harmony with itself; she was no longer aware of it, it made no demands on her, no longer tormented her soul. Resting quietly on the surface of the water, it also rested quietly in the eternal ocean of desire, longing, craving.

The child’s blissful unconscious happiness can never be attained again. The gate had closed, innocence had departed—but life has many possibilities of happiness! She had thought it was in the cell, with him, in his arms.

And now it was here in the water, wave upon wave of warmth, of happiness …

In a dream she came out of the water and lay down on the sand, propped on one arm, her chin in her hand. She looks closely at the confusion of grasses. They fold into each other, creating little hollows. But she sees nothing. Real happiness has no name, no word, no picture. It is a gentle hovering in some indeterminate place; not a tune for the song “I am here!”—but something like a gentle lament to the words “I am I.” For we know that we must grow old and ugly, and have to die.

When she heard steps Sophie scarcely looked up. Lazily she pulled her costume over her naked breasts, murmuring, “Good afternoon.” At another time she would have welcomed the accident which brought her together here with the two new gentlemen from the estate. But now they were of no moment to her. In a few syllables she answered their inquiries: yes, this was the only bathing place, everywhere else was reedy. No, the gentlemen were not disturbing her. No, the water was not dangerous, no water plants.… She relapsed into silence. She hardly knew that the two of them were there. She looked again at the grass hollows, which then immediately vanished as if by magic, so she couldn’t see anything anymore. The sun was wonderfully warm. She pushed her costume down from her breast again, the voices of the two men came distantly from the water—oh, heavenly!

With all the cunning in the world Sophie Kowalewski could not have behaved more shrewdly than she did in ignoring, however thoughtlessly, the two gentlemen. It is undeniable that both Studmann and Pagel had not received a too favorable impression of her in the train, although the easily enthusiastic Rittmeister had praised this jewel of a girl to the skies. Both had recognized only too well that affected manner of speaking put on by little adventuresses wanting to play the great lady. They were both disgusted by her simultaneously dried out and puffy facial skin, which still smelled of powder. They were not
leaving Berlin for the peace of the fields in order to burden themselves with such a companion. They had been very reserved. They thought a bit differently from the Rittmeister about the distance you should keep from your employees. When they saw Sophie, the thought didn’t go through their heads: in the end she’s only overseer’s daughter. That’s not how they wanted to see her. They had nothing against the girl, but they had strong objections to transplanting Berlin tart-shops to Neulohe.

When, therefore, Sophie did not exploit the present encounter, that yet offered so much incentive and possibility to an experienced girl; when she did not presume upon an acquaintanceship made in peculiar circumstances and did not seem minded to draw any inferences from it, Studmann said very cheerfully to Pagel as they went into the water: “As a matter of fact, the girl looks quite nice.”

“Yes, queer. She seemed quite different to me last time.”

“Did you see, Pagel?” Studmann asked after a while. “A perfectly decent bathing suit.”

“Yes,” agreed Pagel. “And no glad eye. I think I’ll never understand women.” With this light reference to the tragedy he had recently suffered, Pagel plunged into the water. Five or ten minutes, even a quarter of an hour, went by in swimming and diving and floating side by side and talking; minutes in which they both felt stronger, fresher, more conscious than for years. Until a noise from the bank caught their attention—a woman’s shrill voice, a man’s suppressed mumble.

“That’s Sophie,” said Studmann.

“Oh, forget her!” cried Pagel angrily. “It’s so nice here in the water. Probably some quarrel with a country lover. Ain’t love grand!”

“No, no!” said Studmann, the nursemaid who always had to intervene wherever anything threatened to go wrong. “She made a very nice impression on me just now.” And he swam rapidly toward the bank, followed by the reluctant Pagel.

Yes, there was Sophie shouting. “I say, you two! Here—he wants to take away your clothes!”

“Be quiet, Sophie, can’t you?” whispered the forester, trying to make off with his booty. “Nothing will happen to you. I only want the gentlemen’s clothes.”

“Herr von Studmann! Herr Pagel! Hurry up!” called Sophie all the more loudly.

“Now, what’s going on here?” asked von Studmann with extreme astonishment. And Pagel too looked more puzzled than was becoming to an intelligent face.

In the meadow stood the forester, whom they knew slightly, a worthy old dodderer, his gun over his shoulder, and under his arm the two men’s things in a bundle. Facing him Sophie Kowalewski, a charming sight in her rage, an Artemis. With one hand she held her bathing suit over her breast, with the other a trouser leg from the forester’s bundle—and von Studmann recognized that it was his.

“What’s this supposed to be?” he asked, still extremely astonished.

The forester was as red as a tomato, and became redder. Perhaps he wished to speak—all that was heard was a babbling in the depths of his beard. Yet he continued holding on to the clothes, and Sophie Kowalewski continued to tug at the trouser leg.

But
she
spoke, and what she said had certainly no ladylike affectation about it now.

“I’m lying here and thinking of nothing, and I hear something rustling and I think it’s a hedgehog or a fox and take no notice, and then I look over there and I’m flabbergasted. There’s Kniebusch creeping behind the reeds after the gentleman’s clothes, and sticks them under his arm. So I get up and say: ‘Kniebusch, what are you doing, those are the gentlemen’s clothes!’ But he says nothing, puts his finger on his lips and wants to slink away. So I make a grab and manage to get hold of the trousers. Will you let go of the trousers now! They’re not your trousers!” she screamed angrily at the forester.

“You seem fated to be our rescuer, Fräulein Sophie,” said Studmann, smiling. “Here you are again helping us out of an embarrassing situation. We are very grateful. But I think you can now let go of the trousers. Herr Kniebusch won’t run off with them under our eyes.” Sharply: “May I ask you, Herr Kniebusch, what is the meaning of this? In case you’ve forgotten, my name is Studmann, von Studmann, and this gentleman’s name is Pagel—we are employed by Rittmeister von Prackwitz.”

“That’s got nothing to do with me,” muttered Kniebusch, looking at the clothes which Pagel, without more ado, had pulled from under his arm. “Bathing is prohibited here, and if anyone bathes here his clothes are taken away!”

“Since when?” cried Sophie Kowalewski angrily. “That’s a new one!”

“Shut up, Sophie!” said the forester rudely. “It’s one of the Geheimrat’s orders, it’s been in force a long time.”

“If you tell me to shut up, then I’ll talk!” cried the warlike Sophie. “And anyway you’re lying. You told me specially that nothing would happen to me, you only wanted the gentlemen’s clothes!”

“That’s not true!” contradicted the forester hastily. “I didn’t mean it that way.”

“You did mean it that way! I just want the clothes of the gentlemen, you said!”

“No!”

“Yes!”

“No!”

“Yes!”

“Let’s sit down!” suggested von Studmann. “Yes, you too, please, Herr Kniebusch. Pagel, give me the cigarettes from my jacket. Sit down, Kniebusch! That’s right. Cigarette, Fräulein Sophie? Yes, of course I know you smoke. We’re not as strict as the Rittmeister was in the train; we’re the younger generation. So you were specially ordered to confiscate our things, Herr Kniebusch?”

“I wasn’t! I always confiscate the things of people bathing here!” said the forester obstinately.

“Not those of Fräulein Sophie, for instance. Well, let’s drop that. How often have you confiscated clothes here, then, Forester Kniebusch?”

“I don’t have to tell you that. I’m employed by the Geheimrat, not the Rittmeister,” said the forester defiantly, squinting at the clothes, squinting at the forest, and feeling as if he were slowly roasting in hell—the heat from below supplied by Herr von Studmann, the heat above from the Geheimrat.

“I am only asking,” said Herr von Studmann, “because you must have already had a lot of unpleasantness with this confiscation, haven’t you?”

The forester maintained an obstinate silence.

“Or are you an auxiliary police official?”

Kniebusch remained silent.

“But perhaps you have been previously convicted. Then confiscating clothes without any legal right wouldn’t matter to you so much.”

Sophie burst out laughing, Pagel loudly cleared his throat, and the forester blushed to his eyes, which had become small and gloomy. He kept silent, however.

“You know us by name, you could have reported us for illegal bathing. If we had been convicted, we would, of course, have paid the fine. Why confiscation, then?”

The three of them looked at the forester fidgeting about, wanting to say something. Once more he looked at the forest close by. He half got up, but between him and the salvation of cover was young Pagel’s leg. The forester sat down again.

“Forester Kniebusch,” said Herr von Studmann, in the same pleasant, patient tone, as if he were explaining something to an obstinate child, “won’t you speak openly to us? Look, if you don’t tell us all about it, we shall go to Geheimrat von Teschow. I shall explain to him the situation in which we caught you here, and then we
shall
hear what this is all about.”