Krakatit/Chapter 23
CHAPTER XXIII
It was decided very differently from the way he imagined.
He had conceived a plan of seeking out in Balttin the person who had given himself out to be Carson and of saying to him something like this: “Whatever happens, I spit on your money; lead me at once to George Thomas, with whom I have business, and in return you shall get a good explosive, say fulminate of iodine with a guaranteed detonation of some eleven thousand metres per second, or a certain acid with a good thirteen thousand, my dear sir, and you can do with it what you like.” They would simply be mad not to take advantage of such an offer.
From the outside the factory in Balttin seemed to him to be positively enormous; he was rather startled when, instead of a porter, he came upon a military sentry. He asked for Mr. Carson (of course that was not the fellow’s real name!); but the soldier passed him on without a word to his N.C.O. The latter said little more and led Prokop to the officer. “We’ve never heard of Engineer Carson here,” said the latter, “and what might the gentleman want with him?” Prokop announced that, strictly speaking, he wished to see Mr. Thomas. This made such an impression on the officer that he sent for the commandant.
The commandant, a very fat and asthmatic person, questioned Prokop in detail as to who he was and what he wanted; by this time there were at least five military persons in the office and they all stared at Prokop so hard that he simply sweated. It was evident that they were waiting for somebody, for whom they had meanwhile telephoned. When this somebody suddenly dashed into the room he proved to be nobody else but Mr. Carson; they addressed him as director, but Prokop never learned his real name. He cried out with delight when his eyes fell on Prokop, saying that he had been waiting for him for a long time and various other things. He at once telephoned to the “Castle” for the guest’s suite to be prepared, took Prokop by the arm and conducted him all over the factory. It appeared that what Prokop had taken for the factory was nothing but the guard’s and firemen’s quarters at the entrance; from there they went along a long road, bordered on each side by a fence about thirty feet high. Mr. Carson led Prokop to the end of this road and only then did he realize what the Balttin factories were really like: a whole town of munition sheds, designated by numbers and letters, hillocks covered with grass which, he told him, were magazines, a little farther on a siding with cranes and ramps, and behind it a number of buildings made of wood. “You see that wood over there?” said Mr. Carson pointing to the horizon. “Behind it are the first experimental laboratories. And there where you see those sand hills is the range. So. And here in the park is the castle. You’ll open your eyes when I show you the laboratories. Absolutely up to date. And now we’ll go to the castle.”
Mr. Carson chattered on happily, but said nothing about what had happened or what was to happen in the future; they passed through the park and he showed him a rare variety of Amorphophallus and next to it a particular species of Japanese cherry; and then they came in sight of the Castle of Balttin, all overgrown with ivy. At the entrance was waiting a quiet and gentle old man in white gloves named Paul, who led Prokop straight to the guest’s apartments. Prokop had never been in such surroundings in his life: parquet flooring, empire style, everything old and valuable, so that he was afraid even to sit down. And before he had had time to wash his hands there was Paul with eggs, a bottle of wine and a glass, which he set down on the table as carefully as if he were waiting on a princess. Beneath the window was a yard covered with pale yellow sand; a groom in top boots was training a large dapple grey horse; beside him there stood a slight, dark girl who was watching the trotting of the horse through half-closed eyes and from time to time giving the groom some sort of brief orders, after which she knelt down and felt the animal’s hocks.
Mr. Carson then appeared with the swiftness of the wind, saying that he must now introduce Prokop to the general manager. He led him along a long white passage, adorned exclusively with antlers and lined with black carved chairs. A red-faced page wearing white gloves opened the door for them, Mr. Carson pushed Prokop inside into a sort of reception room and the door closed behind them. At a desk there was seated a tall old man, extraordinarily erect, as if he had just been taken out of a cupboard and prepared for the interview.
“Mr. Eng. Prokop, your Excellence,” said Mr. Carson, “Prince Hagen—Balttin.”
Prokop’s brow darkened and he jerked his head angrily, a movement which he evidently regarded as constituting a bow.
“Very—pleased—to welcome you,” said Prince Hagen and stretched out an inordinately long hand. Prokop again jerked his head.
“I—hope that—you will—enjoy yourself—among us,” continued the Prince, and then Prokop noticed that he was paralyzed in half his body.
“Do—honour us—with your presence at dinner,” continued the Prince, with evident anxiety on the score of his artificial teeth.
Prokop moved his feet nervously. “Excuse me, Prince,” he said finally, “but I am unable to stay here; I—I must leave this very day”
“Impossible, quite impossible,” cried Mr. Carson from behind.
“I must leave to-day,” repeated Prokop obstinately. “I only wanted . . . to ask you the whereabouts of Thomas. I should be . . . pleased to offer you in return”
“What?” cried the Prince, and looked at Mr. Carson with eyes wide with complete lack of comprehension. “What—does he want?”
“Leave that for the moment,” said Mr. Carson in Prokop’s ear. “Mr. Prokop means to say, your Excellence, that he was not prepared for your invitation. That doesn’t matter,” he went on, turning quickly to Prokop. “I’ve arranged for that. We shall dine to-day out on the lawn, so there is no question of evening clothes; you can go as you are. I’ve telegraphed for a tailor; no need for anxiety, my dear sir. Everything will be arranged by tomorrow. So.”
It was now Prokop’s turn to open his eyes wide. “What tailor? What does this mean?”
“It will be—a particular honour—for us,” the Prince concluded and gave Prokop his lifeless fingers.
“What does this mean?” raged Prokop when they were outside in the passage and seized Carson by the shoulder. “Tell me now, man, or”
Mr. Carson neighed like a horse and slipped out of his grasp like a street urchin. “Or—what?” he laughed and flew off, bouncing like a ball. “If you can catch me I’ll tell you everything, honestly.”
“You clown,” thundered Prokop, furious, and set off after him. Mr. Carson, still neighing, flew down the stairs and slipped past the row of armoured knights into the park. There he squatted down like a hare in mockery of his pursuer. “Well,” he cried, “what will you do to me?”
“I’ll smash you to a jelly,” Prokop burst out, falling on him with his full weight. Carson slid away, squeaked with delight and leapt about the lawn like a hare. “Quick,” he sang out, “here I am,” and again he slipped out of Prokop’s hands and cried “I see you!” from behind the stump of a tree.
Prokop again set off after him silently with clenched fists, as serious and threatening as Ajax. He was already panting for breath when, looking round, he saw the dark Amazon watching him from the castle steps with half-closed eyes. He became exceedingly ashamed of himself, stopped, and had a sudden foolish fear that the girl would come across and feel his hocks.
Mr. Carson, suddenly quite serious again, strolled over to him with his hands in his pockets and said in a friendly manner: “Not enough training. You shouldn’t spend the whole day sitting. Exercise your heart. So. A-a-a-a,” he sang out, glowing, “haholihoo! The daughter of the old man,” he added softly. “Princess Willy, that is Wilhelmina Adelaide Maud and so on. An interesting girl, twenty-eight years old, a great horsewoman. I must introduce you,” he said aloud and dragged the protesting Prokop up to the girl. “Princess,” he called when they were still some distance away, “let me introduce to you—to a certain extent against his will—our guest, Engineer Prokop. A terribly irate person. Wants to kill me.”
“Good-morning,” said the Princess, and turned to Mr. Carson: “Do you know that one of Whirlwind’s hocks is inflamed?”
“My God!” said Mr. Carson, horrified. “Poor Princess!”
“Do you play tennis?”
Prokop was frowning darkly and did not even realize that the remark was addressed to him.
“He doesn’t,” Carson answered for him and dug him in the ribs. “You must play. The Princess lost to Lenglen by only one set, eh?”
“Because I was playing against the sun,” said the Princess, a little piqued. “What do you play?”
Again Prokop did not realize that he was being addressed.
“Mr. Prokop is a scientist,” said Carson warmly. “He’s discovered atomic explosions and that sort of thing. A marvellous mind. Compared with him we’re nothing but helps in the kitchen. Scraping potatoes. But he,” and Mr. Carson whistled with amazement, “he’s a pure magician. If you want him to he’ll prepare hydrogen from bismuth. So, madame.”
The half-closed grey eyes glanced casually at Prokop, who stood still, thoroughly embarrassed and furious with Carson.
“Very interesting,” said the Princess and at once looked elsewhere. “Ask him to teach me about these things some time. We meet again then at mid-day, eh?”
Prokop bowed just in time and Carson dragged him off into the park. “Race,” he said appreciatively. “That woman has breeding. Haughty, eh? Wait till you know her better.”
Prokop stopped. “Listen, Carson, so that you will get it clear. I don’t intend to get to know anybody better. I am going away to-day or to-morrow, you understand?”
Mr. Carson chewed a piece of grass. “A pity,” he said. “It’s very nice here. Well, it can’t be helped.”
“The long and short of it is, where is Thomas?”
“Wait until you are leaving. How did you like the old man?”
“What interest have I in him?” growled Prokop.
“Well, yes, an antique. There for show. Unfortunately he has a paralytic stroke nearly every week. But Willy’s a marvellous girl. Then there’s Egon, a hobbledehoy, eighteen. Both orphans. Then the guests, some second cousin, Prince Suwalski, all sorts of officers, Rohlauf, Von Graun, you know, Jockey Club and Dr. Krafft, the tutor, and various others. You must come and see us this evening. Drink, none of the aristocracy, our engineers and people of that sort, see? Over there in my villa. It’ll be in your honour.”
“Carson,” said Prokop severely, “I want to speak seriously with you before I go.”
“There’s no hurry. Just rest yourself. Well, I must get back to my work. Do just what you like. No formalities. If you want to bathe, there’s a lake over there. We’ll talk seriously later. Make yourself comfortable. So.”
And he was gone.