Krakatit/Chapter 30
CHAPTER XXX
Mr. carson ran ahead to the seat of the explosion. The Princess—evidently on purpose—lingered behind. Prokop thought that she had something to say to him, but she only pointed with her finger at his face. Prokop quickly felt his face; on it he found the bloody traces of her teeth, and, picking up a handful of soil, rubbed it over the marks, as if he had been struck by a clod at the explosion.
The hole in which the powder had been placed had become a crater about fifteen feet across. It was difficult to calculate the power of the explosion, but Carson estimated it at five times that of oxyliquid. “Fine stuff,” he said, “but a bit too strong for ordinary usage.” Mr. Carson took the whole conversation in hand, slipping adroitly over its serious gaps. When on the way back he took leave of them with an affability that was somewhat too evident, saying that he had this and that to do, Prokop became conscious of an oppressive weight. What was he to talk about now? For some curious reason he had the impression that he must not refer in any way to the dark and mysterious happening which took place at the same time as the explosion when “the heavens were cleft by a fiery power.” He entertained a bitter and unpleasant feeling that the Princess had coldly dismissed him like a lackey with whom—with whom He clenched his fists in his disgust, and began to mumble something of secondary interest about the horses; the words stuck in his throat, and the Princess accelerated her step noticeably, evidently wishing to get back to the castle as soon as possible. Prokop limped heavily, but did not let her see that he was doing so. Having reached the park, he wished to take leave of her, but the Princess turned down a side path. He followed her irresolutely; then she drew close to his shoulder, turned back her head and placed her thirsty lips on his own.
The Princess’s chow, Toy, scented the approach of his mistress, and, whining with delight, rushed towards her across the lawn. And here he was! But what was this? He stopped. The Big Unfriendly Person was shaking her, they were biting one another, swaying in a silent and desperate struggle. Oho! his Lady was beaten, her arms sank, and she lay moaning in the arms of the Big Person; now he was crushing her. And Toy began to cry “Help! help!” in his dog’s language.
The Princess tore herself out of Prokop’s arms. “Even the dog, even the dog,” she smiled nervously. “Let’s go!” Prokop’s head was spinning; it was only with the greatest difficulty that he could make a few steps. The Princess hung on to him (Insanity! Supposing somebody . . .), drawing him along, but her legs suddenly failed her; she gripped his arm with her fingers, as if she wished to tear it or something of the sort, drew in her breath sharply, knitted her brows, and a dark light came into her eyes. Then with a hoarse sob, seeking his lips, she flung her arms round his neck, so that he staggered. Prokop crushed her in his arms; a long breathless embrace, and her body, stretched taut like a bow, collapsed softly and helplessly against him. She lay on his breast with closed eyes. Sweet and meaningless phrases came from her lips; she allowed her face, neck and hair to be covered with his violent kisses, moving her head as if she were intoxicated and did not know what she was doing. Submissive, half swooning, utterly tender; perhaps happy at this moment with an inexpressible happiness. O God, what a trembling and lovely smile there was on her lips!
Suddenly she opened her eyes widely and slipped out of his embrace. They were two yards away from the main avenue. She passed her hands over her face, like a person awakening from a dream, moved away, and leaned her forehead against the trunk of an oak. Scarcely had Prokop released her from his rough hands than his heart began to beat violently with emotion, with an emotion of shame and degradation. Christ! for her he was only a servant whom she used to excite her emotions when she had nothing better to do, when she was unable to bear her solitude, or something of the sort. Now she had kicked him away, like a dog, so that . . . she could do the same thing again with somebody else. He went up to her and put his hand firmly on her shoulder. She turned round gently with a shy, almost frightened and humiliated smile. “No, no,” she whispered, twisting her fingers. “Please, not”
Prokop’s heart swelled with a sudden wave of tenderness, “When shall I see you again?” he asked.
“To-morrow, to-morrow,” she murmured anxiously, and turned back towards the castle. “I must go. Now I can’t’
“When to-morrow?” insisted Prokop.
“To-morrow,” she repeated nervously, drew her cloak more closely round her shivering body, and hurried off, Prokop at her side. In front of the castle she held out her hand to him. “Au revoir.”
Her fingers were still twisting feverishly; he would have drawn her again towards him. “You mustn’t, you mustn’t,” she whispered, and left him with a last burning kiss.
No greater damage than this was done by the explosion of Vicit. A few chimneys were knocked over on the adjacent barracks, and the rush of air burst a number of windows. The large windows in Prince Hagen’s room were also broken. The crippled old gentleman had with great difficulty risen to his feet, and stood like a soldier waiting for a further catastrophe.
The company in the castle were sitting over their coffee one evening when Prokop entered, his eyes searching for the Princess. He was unable to bear the devouring torture of uncertainty. The Princess turned pale, but the jovial Uncle Rohn at once grasped Prokop’s hand and congratulated him on his magnificent achievement, etc., etc. Even the haughty Suwalski inquired with interest whether it was true that the gentleman was able to turn every substance into an explosive. “Take sugar, for instance,” he said, and was simply astounded when Prokop grunted something to the effect that sugar had been used as an explosive even during the Great War. For some time Prokop was the centre of interest; but he stammered, and, although he answered all the questions that were put to him, was chiefly occupied in trying to ascertain the meaning of the provocative glances of the Princess. His bloodshot eyes were fixed on her with terrible attention. The Princess was as if on thorns.
Then the conversation changed, and Prokop had the impression that nobody any longer took any interest in him. These people understood one another so well, conversed so easily, and touched lightly and with enormous interest on things which he simply did not understand or had never even heard of. Even the Princess became quite animated; there you are, you see, she had a thousand times as much in common with these gentlemen as she had with him! His brow darkened, he did not know what to do with his hands, a blind anger began to rage within him. Then he put down his coffee cup so violently that it cracked.
The Princess turned horrified eyes on him, but the charming Oncle Charles saved the situation by telling a story about a sea captain who was able to crush a beer bottle in his fingers. Some fat person, a cousin of sorts, asserted that he could do the same thing. Thereupon they ordered a bottle to be brought in, and one after the other attempted to smash it in this manner. The bottle was a heavy one of black glass, and no one was able to break it,
“‘Now you,” ordered the Princess, with a quick glance at Prokop.
“I shan’t be able to,” muttered Prokop, but the Princess drew up her eyebrows in such a commanding way that Prokop got up and seized the bottle by its neck. He stood motionless, did not, like the others, contort himself with the effort which he was making, but the muscles in his face stood out as if they were going to burst. He looked like a primitive man who was preparing to kill somebody with a club. His lips were twisted with the strain, his face as it were intersected with powerful muscles, his shoulders loose, as if he were defending himself with the bottle against the attack of a gorilla, and he turned his bloodshot eyes on the Princess. There was a silence. The Princess got up with her eyes fixed upon him. Her lips were drawn back over her clenched teeth, and the tendons stood out on her swarthy face. Her eyebrows were drawn and she breathed quickly, as if she, too, were making a terrible physical effort. They stood opposite one another in this manner, their faces contorted, looking into one another's eyes like two desperate opponents. Convulsive tremors ran through their bodies from head to heel. No one breathed; nothing was to be heard but the hoarse panting of these two. Then there was a crunching sound, the jingle of breaking glass, and the bottom of the bottle fell with a crash on to the floor.
The first to recover himself was Mon Oncle Charles, who paced up and down for a moment and then rushed up to the Princess. “Minnie,” he whispered rapidly, and lowered her, almost fainting, into an arm-chair. Kneeling in front of her, by exerting all his strength he opened her convulsively clenched fists; her palms were covered with blood, so deeply had she driven the nails into the flesh. “Take that bottle out of his hand,” ordered le bon Prince, and drew back one of the Princess’s fingers after the other.
“Bravo!” cried Prince Suwalski and began to applaud loudly. Meanwhile Von Graun had seized Prokop’s right hand, which was still grasping fragments of the bottle, and forced open his fingers. “Water,” he cried, and the fat cousin, agitatedly looking round, grasped a table cover, soaked it in water and put it on Prokop’s forehead.
“Ahahah!” cried Prokop with relief. The attack was over but his head was still swirling from the sudden flow of blood and his knees trembled with weakness.
Oncle Charles was massaging on his knees the twisted, quivering fingers of the Princess. “Games of this sort are dangerous,” he muttered, while the Princess, completely exhausted, was hardly able to draw her breath. But on her lips there trembled a wry but victorious smile. “You helped him,” said the fat cousin, “that’s what it was.”
The Princess stood up, hardly able to move her legs. “The gentlemen will excuse me,” she said weakly, giving Prokop such a burning glance with her eyes that he grew terrified lest the others should notice it. She left the room on the arm of Uncle Rohn. It was now necessary to celebrate Prokop’s feat somehow or other. The company was a good-natured one, consisting largely of young men who were only too ready to show their appreciation of such a heroic deed. Prokop rose enormously in their estimation through the fact that he had broken the bottle and afterwards demonstrated his ability to consume an incredible quantity of wine and liqueurs without finding himself under the table. By three o’clock in the morning Prince Suwalski was triumphantly kissing him, and the fat cousin, almost with tears in his eyes, was addressing him familiarly in the second person singular. Then they began jumping over chairs and kicking up a frightful row. Prokop smiled at everyone and his head was in the clouds. But when they tried to take him off to the only fille de joie to be found in Balttin, he broke free of them, announced that they were drunken cattle and that he was off to bed.
But instead of executing this sensible project he wandered into the dark park and for a long time examined the front of the castle, looking for a certain window. Mr. Holz stood dreaming fifteen yards away, leaning against a tree.