Night Games: And Other Stories and Novellas (28 page)

Almost giddy, he left with the others. He accompanied Sigurd to the
hotel with Fanny and heard him sing Clara's praises as though from far
away. Then he took Fanny Ringeiser to Mariahilferstrasse through quiet
streets in the pleasant night coolness, and as if in a fog he saw silly tears
run down her ruddy cheeks. Then he took a carriage and drove to Clara's
house. He saw light shine through the curtains of her bedroom; he saw
her shadow pass by, and then her head appeared in the opening next to
the curtain and she nodded to him. He had not been dreaming; she was
awaiting him.

The next morning Baron von Leisenbohg went for a pleasure ride in
the Prater. He felt happy and young. In the late fulfillment of his desire
there seemed to him to be a deeper meaning. What he had experienced that night was the most wonderful surprise-and yet nothing but the intensification and obvious conclusion of his previous relationship with
Clara. He now felt that nothing else could have happened, and made
plans for the immediate and distant future. "How long is she going to remain on the stage?" he thought...... Maybe four, maybe five years.
Then, but not before, I'll marry her. We'll live together in the country,
very near Vienna, maybe in St.Veit or in Lainz. There I'll buy a small
house or have one built to her taste. We'll live quite secluded but will
often make major trips ... to Spain, Egypt, India...." He daydreamed
all this while he let his horse trot faster and faster over the meadows of
Heustadtl. Then he trotted back to the Hauptallee, and at the Praterstern
he entered his carriage. He had the carriage stop at Fossati's and sent
Clara a bouquet of gorgeous dark roses. He breakfasted in his home at
the Schwarzenbergplatz, alone as usual, and after he had eaten, lay down
on the sofa. He was filled with intense desire for Clara. What did all the
other women mean to him? ... They had been a distraction-nothing
more. And he felt the day would come when Clara too would say to him,
"What did all the others mean to me? You are the only and the first one
that I ever loved!".... And as he was lying on the sofa with his eyes
closed, all the other men paraded in front of him ... certainly she had
loved none of them; perhaps she had loved only him always and in
everyone!...

The baron dressed and walked slowly along the familiar route to
Clara's house so that he could have a few more seconds of the pleasurable anticipation of his reunion with her. Many people were out walking
on the Ring, but it was still noticeable that the season was reaching its
end. Leisenbohg was glad that it was already summer so that he could
travel with Clara to the sea or the mountains, and he had to control himself in order not to cry out loud in delight.

He stood in front of her house and looked up toward her windows.
The light of the afternoon sun was reflected back from the windows and
almost blinded him. He walked up the two steps to her door and rang. No
one came. He rang the bell again. No one opened. Now Leisenbohg noticed that a lock had been attached to the door. What did that mean? Had
he come to the wrong place? There was no sign on the door, but opposite it he read as usual: "First Lieutenant von Jeleskowits...." There was no
doubt: he stood in front of her flat and her flat was locked up.... He ran
down the stairs and tore open the caretaker's door. The caretaker's wife
was sitting on a bed in the half-darkened room; a child was looking
through the small basement window up to the street, and another child
was whistling an incomprehensible melody on a comb. "Is Miss Hell not
at home?" the baron asked. The woman stood up...."No, Herr Baron,
Miss Hell has moved out...."

"What?" the baron exclaimed. "Yes, of course," he added immediately ... "around three o'clock, no?"

"No, Herr Baron, the Fraulein left at eight o'clock in the morning."

"And where to? ... I mean, did she go directly to-" he just
guessed, "did she go directly to Dresden?"

"No, Herr Baron; she didn't leave an address. She did say that she
would write and tell us where she is."

"So-yes ... yes ... so ... naturally.... Thank you." He turned
around and stepped onto the street again. Instinctively he looked back at
the house. The late afternoon sun now appeared very different from before. What a dull, melancholy, and oppressive summer evening heat was
now lying over the city! Clara was gone? ... Why? ... Had she flown
from him? ... What did that mean? ... His first thought was to drive to
the opera. But then he remembered that the summer recess began the day
after tomorrow and that Clara didn't have to be there the last two days.

So instead he drove to Mariahilferstrasse 76, where the Ringeisers
lived. An old cook opened the door and looked at the elegant visitor with
some mistrust. He asked to see Mrs. Ringeiser. "Is Miss Fanny at home?"
he asked in an agitation that he could no longer control.

"What do you mean?" Mrs. Ringeiser replied sharply.

The baron introduced himself.

"Oh, yes," said Mrs. Ringeiser. "Does the Herr Baron not want to
come in?"

He stood still in the foyer and asked again, "Is Miss Fanny at
home?"

"Please do follow me." Leisenbohg had to follow her and soon
found himself in a low, dimly lit room with blue velvet furniture and cor duroy curtains of the same color on the windows. "No," said Mrs.
Ringeiser, "Fanny isn't at home. Miss Hell took her along on vacation."

"Where to?" asked the baron, and stared at a photograph of Clara
that was standing on the piano in a slim gold frame.

"Where to'? I have no idea," said Mrs. Ringeiser. "At eight in the
morning Miss Hell herself came and asked me to let Fanny go with her.
Well, and she begged so charmingly-I couldn't say no."

"But where to ... where to?" asked Leisenbohg urgently.

"Well, that I don't know. Fanny is going to telegraph me as soon as
Miss Hell decides where she's going to stay. Maybe as soon as tomorrow
or the day after tomorrow."

"So," said Leisenbohg, and sank into a small bamboo chair in front
of the piano. He remained silent for a few seconds, then suddenly stood
up, gave Mrs. Ringeiser his hand, asked her to excuse him for bothering
her, and slowly went down the dark staircase of the old house.

He shook his head. She had been very careful-truly! More careful
than necessary ... she should have known that he wouldn't press himself
on her.

"Where're we going, Herr Baron?" the coachman asked him, and
Leisenbohg realized that he had been sitting in the open carriage staring
straight ahead for a long time. And, following a sudden impulse, he answered, "To the Hotel Bristol."

Sigurd Oise had not yet left. He asked the baron up to his room,
greeted him with enthusiasm, and begged him to spend the last evening
of his stay in Vienna with him. Leisenbohg was already surprised to find
that Sigurd Oise was still in Vienna, but this kindness now moved him almost to tears. Sigurd immediately began to talk about Clara. He asked
Leisenbohg to tell him as much about her as he could, since he knew that
the baron was her oldest and most faithful friend. And Leisenbohg sat
down on a suitcase and talked about Clara. It was good for him to be able
to talk about Clara. He told the singer almost everything-with the exception of those things that he felt he had to conceal out of chivalry. Sigurd listened and seemed to be delighted.

At supper the singer invited his friend to leave Vienna with him that
very night and to accompany him to his estate in Molde. The baron felt himself wonderfully calmed. He declined but promised to visit Olse in
the course of the summer.

They drove to the train station together. "You'll think I'm a fool,"
said Sigurd, "but I want to drive past her windows once more." Leisenbohg looked at him sideways. Was this perhaps an attempt to deceive
him? Or was it the last proof of the singer's trustworthiness? As they
stood in front of Clara's house, Sigurd threw a kiss up to the closed windows. Then he said, "Give her my greetings one more time."

Leisenbohg nodded, "I'll tell her when she returns." Sigurd looked
at him in amazement.

"She's already gone," added Leisenbohg. "She left this morning ...
without saying goodbye ... in her usual manner," he lied.

"She left?" repeated Sigurd and fell silent. Then they were both
silent.

Before the train left they embraced each other like old friends.

That night the baron cried in his bed in a way he had not done since
childhood. The one hour of voluptuous joy he had experienced with
Clara now seemed to him to be surrounded by spine-chilling horror. It
seemed to him that her eyes last night had glowed as though mad. Now
he understood everything. He had accepted her invitation too early. The
shadow of Prince Bedenbruck still held power over her, and Leisenbohg
felt that he had only possessed Clara in order to lose her forever.

He hung around Vienna for a few days without knowing what to do
with his days and his nights. Everything that he used to do-reading the
newspapers, playing whist, taking pleasure rides-held no interest for
him. He realized that his whole existence had meaning only in relationship to Clara, that even his relationships with other women were mere reflections of his passion for her. The city seemed to be enveloped in an
eternal grey mist; the people with whom he talked seemed to have muffled voices and to stare at him peculiarly, almost treacherously. One
evening he drove to the train station and almost mechanically bought
himself a ticket for Ischl. There he ran into acquaintances who innocently
asked about Clara, and he answered them impolitely, with irritation, with
the result that he had to fight a duel with someone who didn't interest
him in the least. He went to the duel without emotion, heard the bullet whistle past his ear, shot into the air, and left Ischl half an hour afterward.
He traveled to Tirol, to the Engadin, to the Bernese Highland, and to
Lake Geneva; he rowed, hiked up and down mountains and passes, slept
in a dairy hut, and remembered no more of the day before than he knew
of the day to come.

One day he received a telegram from Vienna. He opened it with
feverish fingers. He read, "If you are my friend, keep your word and rush
to me, as I need a friend. Sigurd Oise." Leisenbohg had no doubt that this
telegram had some connection with Clara. He packed as rapidly as he
could and left Aix-where he happened to be-as soon as he could. He
traveled to Hamburg by way of Munich without stopping and there took
a boat that brought him via Stavanger to Molde, where he arrived on a
bright summer evening. The trip seemed endless to him. His soul was unmoved by the charms of the landscapes he passed. He could hardly remember Clara's singing or even her features. He felt as though he had
been away from Vienna for years, even decades. But as he saw Sigurd
standing on the shore in a white flannel suit with a white cap, it was as
though he had just seen him last night. And despite his confused state, he
answered Sigurd's welcome with a smile from the dock, and walked upright down the staircase of the ship.

"I thank you a thousand times for answering my call," said Sigurd.
And then he added simply, "It's all over with me."

The baron looked at him. Sigurd was looking very pale, and the hair
on his temples had turned noticeably grey. He carried a worn green blanket over his arm.

"What's wrong? What happened?" asked Leisenbohg with a rigid
smile.

"You'll soon know everything," said Sigurd Olse. The baron noticed that Sigurd's voice was not as full as it had been before. They drove
in a small, narrow carriage through the lovely boulevard along the blue
ocean. They were both silent. Leisenbohg didn't dare to ask. He fixed his
gaze on water that was moving imperceptibly. He had the peculiar, and,
as it turned out, impossible idea of counting the waves; then he looked
into the air, and he felt as though the stars were slowly dripping down.
Finally he remembered that there was a singer by the name of Clara Hell who was somewhere in this wide world-but that fact was rather unimportant. Suddenly there was a start, and the carriage stood in front of a
simple white house entirely surrounded by greenery. They ate supper on
a veranda with a view of the ocean. A servant with a severe-and in
those moments in which he poured the wine, almost threatening-manner was serving. The bright northern night rested on the horizon.

"Well?" asked Leisenbohg, who was suddenly flooded with impatience.

"I'm a lost man," said Sigurd Olse, and looked down.

"What do you mean?" asked Leisenbohg tonelessly. "And what can
I do for you?" he added mechanically.

"Not much. I don't know yet." And Sigurd Olse looked across the
tablecloth, the railing, the front garden, the fence, the street, and the
ocean into the distance.

Leisenbohg was unable to feel anything ... all sorts of ideas went
through his mind at the same time.... What could have happened? ...
was Clara dead-? had Sigurd killed her-? thrown her into the sea-?
... or was Sigurd dead-? ... But no, that was impossible ... he was
sitting right in front of him.... But why didn't he speak? ... And suddenly, seized by an enormous terror, he managed to ask, "Where is
Clara?"

At that the singer turned slowly toward him. His somewhat fat face
began to glow from the inside, and he seemed to smile-though it might
have been only moonshine that was playing over his face. In any case at
this moment it seemed to Leisenbohg that the man who was sitting next
to him with a veiled look, both hands in his pants pockets, his legs
stretched out underneath the table, resembled nothing in the world more
than a Pierrot. The green blanket hung over the railing of the terrace and
seemed to the baron like a good old friend ... but why should this ridiculous blanket concern him? ... Was he dreaming? ... He was in Molde.
That was strange enough.... If he had had any sense, he could of course
have telegraphed the singer from Aix and asked, "What's the matter?
What do you want from me, Pierrot?" And suddenly he repeated his earlier question, only much more calmly and politely: "Where is Clara?"