Krakatit/Chapter 45
CHAPTER XLV
They sat together, their eyes staring into the semi-darkness. He could feel the feverish beating of her heart; for these hours they had not spoken; she had kissed him insatiably and then wrenched herself away. Now she had turned her face away and was gazing feverishly into the darkness..
He sat with his hands clasped round his knees. Yes, lost; caught in a trap, fettered, he had fallen into the hands of the Philistines. And now that would take place which must take place. They were putting the weapon into the hands of those who would use it. Thousands upon thousands would perish. Look! was there not in prospect an endless waste covered with ruins? This was a church and that a house; there were the remains of a man. Force was a terrible thing and all evil came from it. A curse on force, the unregenerated spirit of wickedness. Like Krakatit, like himself.
Creative and industrious human weakness, all that is good and noble comes from you. Your work is to bind and link together, to assemble parts and preserve what has been built up. Cursed be the hand which liberates force! Cursed be he who loosens the fetters which bind the elements! Humanity is only a little boat on an ocean of forces; and you, you have let loose a storm, the like of which has never been seen.
Yes, he was letting loose a storm of a kind which has never been known before; he was handing over Krakatit, liberating an element which would blow the boat of humanity into pieces. Thousands upon thousands would perish. Towns and peoples would be wiped off the face of the earth. There would be no limit to the power of anyone who had this weapon in his hands and a corrupted heart. He, Prokop, had done it. Passion is terrible, the Krakatit of human hearts; and all evil comes from it.
He looked at the Princess—without contempt, torn by disturbing passion and sympathy. What was she thinking about now, motionless and as if in a trance? He bent down and kissed her shoulder. It was for this that he was giving up Krakatit. He would give it up and go away so as not to see the terror and shame following his defeat. He would pay the terrible price for his love and go away.
He made a gesture of helplessness. Why did they let him go? What was the use of Krakatit to them while he was still able to give it to others? Ah, that was why they wanted to keep him a prisoner for ever! Ah, that was why he must sell himself to them soul and body! He would remain here, here, fettered by passion, and for ever he would hate this woman; he would struggle in the throes of cursed love, and all the time he would be inventing hellish devices . . . and he would be serving them. . . .
She turned to him with a breathless look. He sat motionless, the tears running down his coarse, rough face. She looked at him with a fixed stare, her eyes full of painful scrutiny; he did not realize that she was doing so, half closed his eyes and remained stupefied by his defeat. Then she quietly got up, turned on the light over the dressing-table and began to dress.
He was recalled to her existence by her throwing a comb down upon the table. He watched her with surprise as with both her arms raised she braided her dishevelled hair. “To-morrow . . . to-morrow I will give them it,” he whispered. She did not answer; she was holding some hair-pins in her mouth and rapidly coiling her hair round her head. He followed all her movements. She hastened feverishly, again blushed and looked down at the ground, then tossed her head and set to work again all the more quickly. Then she stood up, carefully examined her reflection in the glass, and powdered her face as if there was nobody else in the room. She went into the next room, returning with a scarf over her head. Sitting down again, she rocked her body to and fro in meditation; then she nodded her head and again went into the next room.
He got up and softly went over to her dressing-table. God! what a collection of curious and charming objects! Scent-bottles, lipsticks, little boxes, creams, every possible sort of toy. Here was woman’s trade: eyes, smiles, strong and disturbing scents— His mutilated fingers passed trembling over all these fragile and mysterious objects; he experienced a sort of irritation and excitement, as if they were touching something which was forbidden.
She came back into the room wearing a leather coat and cap. She was pulling on a heavy pair of gloves. “Get ready,” she said in a colourless voice, “we’re going.”
“Where?”
“Where you like. Get together what you need, but quickly, quickly!”
“What does this mean?”
“Don’t waste time asking questions. You mustn’t remain here, you see? They won’t let you go. Are you coming?”
“For . . . how long?”
“For ever.”
His heart began to thump. “No . . . no, I won’t go!”
She came up to him and kissed his face. “You must,” she said quietly. “I’ll tell you when we’re once outside. Come to the front of the castle, only quickly, while it’s still dark. Now go, go!”
He went back to his room as if in a dream, collected all his papers, his priceless and endless notes, and quickly looked round. Was that all? “No, I won’t go,” flashed through his head, and leaving the papers where they were he ran outside. In front of the castle was standing a throbbing car with the lights turned off; the Princess was already at the wheel. “Quickly, quickly,” she whispered. “Are the doors open?”
“They are,” answered the sleepy chauffeur in a hoarse voice, pulling down the hood of the car.
A shadow appeared from the back of the car and stopped in front of them.
Prokop stepped up to the open door of the car. “Princess,” he said in a hoarse voice, “I’ve . . . decided that I’ll . . . give up everything and stay.”
She was not listening. Inclined forwards, she was staring attentively at the spot where that shadow fused with the darkness. “Quickly,” she said suddenly, seized Prokop by the arm and pulled him into the car beside her. A single movement and the car had begun to slide forward. At that moment a light appeared in one window of the castle and the shadow sprang out of the darkness. “Halt!” it cried and threw itself in front of the car; it was Holz.
“Out of the way,” cried the Princess, closed her eyes and opened the throttle full. Prokop raised his hand in horror; there was an inhuman roar and the wheels lurched over something soft. Prokop was about to spring out of the car, but at that moment it swung round the corner of the drive, so that the door slammed to by itself and the machine hurled itself into the darkness. With horror he turned round to the Princess. He could scarcely recognize her with her leather cap, bent forward over the wheel. “What have you done?” he cried.
“Quiet,” she said sharply through her teeth, still inclined forward. He caught sight of three figures in the distance on the white road; she slowed down and drew up close to them. It was the military guard. “Why are your lights off?” asked one of the soldiers. “Who are you?”
“The Princess.”
The soldiers raised their hands to their caps and drew back. “The password?”
“Krakatit.”
“Please put on your lights. Who have you with you, please? Your pass, please.”
“One moment,” said the Princess calmly and went into first speed. The car simply jumped forward; the soldiers were only just able to get out of the way. ‘Don’t shoot,” cried one of them, and the car flew into the darkness. They went round a sharp corner and continued almost in the opposite direction. Two soldiers approached the car.
“Who’s on duty?” she asked coldly.
“Lieutenant Rohlauf,” answered the soldier.
“Send for him!”
Lieutenant Rohlauf came running out of the guardhouse, buttoning up his uniform.
“Good-evening, Rohlauf,” she said amicably. “How are you? Please let me out.”
He stood still respectfully, but looked doubtfully at Prokop: “Delighted, but . . . has the gentleman a pass?”
The Princess smiled. “It’s only a bet, Rohlauf. To Brogel and back in thirty-five minutes. You don’t believe me? Don’t make me lose my bet.” Stripping off her glove, she gave him her hand from the car. “Au revoir, yes? Look in some time.” He clicked his heels and kissed her hand, bowing deeply. The soldiers opened the barrier and the car moved off. “Au revoir!” she called back.
They whirled along an endless avenue. Now and then there flashed past the light of some human habitation; in a village a child was crying, behind a fence a dog became excited at the dark, flying car. “What have you done?” cried Prokop. “Do you know that Holz has five children and a crippled sister? His life is worth five times as much as yours and mine! What have you done?”
She did not answer. With knitted brows and clenched teeth she was watching the road, raising her head higher every now and then to see better. “Where do you want to go?” she asked suddenly at a cross-roads high above the sleeping countryside.
“To hell,” he said through his teeth.
She stopped the car and turned round to him seriously. “Don’t say that! Do you think that I haven’t wanted a hundred times to crash us both into some wall or other? Let me tell you that we should both go to hell. I know that there’s a hell. Where do you want to go?”
“I want . . . to be with you.”
She shook her head. “That’s no good. Do you remember what you said? You’re engaged and . . . you want to save the world from something terrible. Well, do it. You must keep yourself pure; otherwise . . . otherwise it’ll be bad. And I can’t . . .” She passed her hand along the steering wheel. “Where do you want to go? Where do you live?”
He clasped her in his arms with all his strength. “You’ve . . . killed Holz! Don’t you . . .”
“I know,” she said quietly. “Do you imagine that I can’t feel? It seemed as if my own bones were being crushed and I see him in front of me all the time, all the time the car is rushing at him, and again and again he runs forward” she shivered. “Well, where? To the right or the left?”
“Is this the end?” he asked quietly.
She nodded. “It is the end.”
He opened the door, sprang out of the car and stood before it. “Go on,” he said in a hoarse voice. “Drive over me.”
She reversed and drove back a few yards. “Come, we must go farther. I’ll take you at least to the frontier. Where do you want to go?”
“Back,” he said through his teeth, “back with you.”
“With me you can’t either go back or go forward. Don’t you understand? I must do this to see, to be certain that I love you. Do you think that I could hear what you told me again? You can’t go back; you would either have to give up . . . what you don’t want to give up and mustn’t, or they’d take you away, and I” She let her hands fall into her lap. “You see, I’ve thought of what it would mean if I were to go on with you. I should be able to, I should certainly be able to, but . . . you’ve got a fiancée somewhere—go to her. Do you know it never occurred to me to ask you about her. When one’s a princess one thinks that one’s alone in the world. Do you love her?”
He looked at her with eyes which were full of torture; yet he couldn’t deny
“There you are,” she breathed. “You darling, you simply cannot lie! But listen. When I considered— What was I to you? What was it that I did? Did you think of her when you were in love with me? How you must have hated me! No, say nothing! Don’t take away from me the strength to say these last words.”
She wrung her hands. “I loved you! I loved you, man, as much as I could ever love more. And you, you were so loath to believe it that finally you shattered even my faith. Do I love you? I don’t know. When I see you there I could thrust a knife into my breast; I should like to die and I don’t know what else, but do I love you? I—I don’t know. And when you took me into your arms . . . for the last time I felt something . . . impure in me . . . and in you. Forgive my kisses; they were . . . unclean,” she breathed. “We must part.”
She was not looking at him and did not listen to what he said in reply. Suddenly her eyelashes began to tremble, and then her eyes filled with tears. She wept silently, her hands on the wheel. When he tried to approach her she moved the car away.
“Now you’re no longer Prokopokopak,” she whispered, “you are an unhappy, unhappy man. You see, you pull at your chain . . . as I do. It was . . . a wrong sort of link that joined us, and yet when one tears oneself away it is as if one left every-thing behind, one’s heart, one’s soul. . . . Can there be good in a man when he is so empty?” Her tears fell more quickly. “I loved you, and now I shall never see you again. Out of the way, I’m turning round.”
He did not move.
She drew the car close up to him. “Good-bye, Prokop,” she said softly, and began to go backwards along the road. He ran after her, but the car began to retire more and more rapidly.
Then it vanished altogether.