The Visionists/Chapter 2
II
For five minutes after Mangus had gone Nomé sat gazing out into the dark of the west, over the city roofs and the dull, sullen, smoke-stained walls, pierced with lighted windows. The old man's cynical distrust of women had put her on her mettle, and, although she had no distrust of herself, she longed to have it over.
It was with a shock that, since throwing the winning dice, she had awakened to a sense of the enormous difference between the work of an agitator and that of an active conspirator. She had so long practiced with the catchwords of the movement and had gone so often over the old, well-known arguments, that she had long ago come to believe herself a creature of action. The sacrifice for which she had long been ready had seemed like an accomplished fact—she saw no difference between the willingness to die and death itself, so commonplace had her heroics become in her mind.
But now—it was so different! The crisis had come and she had been called upon to do actually what she had so often pictured herself as doing. Her time and place were set. It was for her to fall at this first ditch and let the Movement sweep on without her. The others would carry on the propaganda of the Cause, filling up the ranks where she had dropped. Ospovat, O'Brien, Irma Strieb, all would meet as usual in that room to plan new strokes, and, perhaps, go forth, one by one, to die like her. It seemed so hard that she could not do more, besides this night's work, for the Cause. She envied Mangus, not his safety, but his isolated supremacy in the Council, his prospect of seeing the Cause grow in power.
She was interrupted by a knock, and, before she had time to answer, little Ospovat crept into the room, apologetic and shrinking. He stumbled in a hole in the carpet and fell at full length. Nomé smiled to think that he was almost always either ridiculous or pathetic, and gave him a patronizing welcome. She was fond of him, but could never take him seriously; he was pure gold, as she had said, but he was, to her mind, but half a man—a child whose moods she was wont to indulge. But, after Mangus's insinuations, it heartened her to see someone who believed in her implicitly, as Ospovat always had done, always would do.
"I couldn't bear not to see you again, Nomé," he said. "And, oh, Nomé, I can't bear to have you die tonight! Nomé, Nomé, I have come to ask you something! Let me go in your place and do it! I am a man, and it does not matter about me—they can spare me so well—but you are so wonderful! You must not go, Nomé!"
He knelt before her, and she petted him like a sister. "It can't be, Ospovat," she said soothingly. "I have been chosen, and I must go. You know I have sworn not to disclose what I have to do tonight. How could I tell even you? I must do this thing. It is glorious, and I am happy to be able to give my life for the Cause!"
"Ah, but I am not happy!" he moaned, laying his head in her lap.
"Do you think I shall fail?" she inquired, knowing well what he would say, but longing for his trust.
"No! no!" he cried. "You will be a heroine! You cannot fail—you, who are so wonderful! But you are so beautiful, too!"
"Don't, Ospovat!" she exclaimed.
"And I love you—love you, Nomé!" he went on boldly.
"You must not say that!" she said, freeing herself from his hands. "What have you or I to do with love? Haven't you sworn that nothing shall come between you and the Cause? Haven't I? We have no right to any personal life, any personal taste, feeling or thought! You must not speak a word of this to me!"
"I will speak, Nomé—I must! It may be the last time I shall ever see you. I must tell you that I love you—that I have loved you ever since you came to us. You are a divine creature to me, so far above me that I want no return, no answer, even, only to let you know. And I cannot bear to have you die! You could never care for me, and so it is better, far better, that I should die, not you, who are so wonderful. If you should die, what would I do!"
"Poor boy, I am so sorry!" she said sadly. "But you must not talk so. It is decided, and it is wrong for you to distract me now, when I have so much to think of, when I need all my calmness to do what is to be done. You must throw yourself more into the Cause, and forget."
"Have you forgotten, Nomé?" he asked keenly.
"Forgotten what?"
"Forgotten your love, your heart, your sorrow."
"What do you know of that?"
"How do I know? Can I look at you and not see? Haven't I seen your eyes fill with tears and your hand go to your heart? You could not have that look in your face without having loved and suffered, as I suffer now. Look in my eyes, and you will see the same look there. I know—how well I know! I do not expect you to care for me—I never expected it. I am only little Ospovat, the Russian Jew! But I love you, all the same; and loving you, I have understood you. Is it not true, Nomé?"
"Yes," she said, "it is true."
"Then you, too, can understand how hard it is for me to let you go to-night!"
"You must let me go!" she cried. "Would you have me dishonored? You see for yourself how your words affect me, and you should not speak of this to me. I don't want to think of myself at all, tonight, least of all think of—what you have spoken of. I had to answer Mangus, and it nearly killed me! I can't bear it!"
"You will not let me go in your place?" he repeated.
"No, I cannot. I would not, if I could. I owe this to the Cause, and to myself, too, for I must be tried and proven, or what does all my work count for?"
"Let me go with you, then! Let me take the pistol and give myself up, while you escape. You could do so much for the Cause!"
"It is too late!"
He moaned, and threw himself into a seat by the table, dropping his head in his arms. She went up to him again, and touched him gently. "It is very sweet to have you love me so much, Ospovat," she said. "But I am past all that, and my heart is broken. I shall be glad to die."
"Is it so bad with you?" he said, looking up into her face. "He must have been wonderful, to inspire such a one as you to love him!"
"Indeed he was wonderful—to me."
"And he left you? How could anyone ever leave you!"
"We quarreled. Then he left. Sometimes I have thought that he quarreled on purpose, so that he might go without hurting me so much."
"Can't I do something for you, Nomé, before you go out into danger? I might take a message to him from you."
"No, that's useless. When he hears how I have died that will be message enough for him. He will know."
"It is well; I would kill him if I saw him."
"That would be a poor way to serve me," Nomé said, smiling sadly.
The little Swiss clock on the mantel struck midnight. The two listened, Ospovat trembling, till it had finished. Then Nomé looked at him meaningly. He rose and gazed at her fixedly, then knelt and kissed her hand.
"Farewell, Nomé!" he said quickly.
After he had gone she sat for some time listlessly, then arose with a brisk resolve. She put on her hat and coat and placed the revolver carefully inside her muff. Finally, turning out the light, she went downstairs and opened the front door on Fitzroy street. A cab had just passed. As it turned the corner into Grafton street, she walked slowly down the steps and across the pavement to the curb. Soon after the cab reappeared from the opposite direction and halted where she stood. Opening the door, without speaking to the driver, Nomé stepped in.
As the vehicle passed into Charlotte street, a little man, slinking in the shadow, ran out and swung himself on the rear of the cab. The driver did not notice.