The Nice Old Man and the Pretty Girl Read Free Page B

For her the adventure was so clear that it was impossible for her to lie, as he did. She must not break off that relationship for the moment. It was also easy to keep silence when he was covering her with kisses. But when he gave vent to feelings more sincere and talked of other lovers, accusing her of having them, she found words again: How could he believe it? In the first place, she only went through the streets of the town on her tram, and besides, her mother kept an eye on her, and lastly, nobody wanted her, poor thing! And down fell a couple of tears. It was bad reasoning to use so many arguments, but in the meantime love and jealousy disappeared from the old man and she could go back to her supper.
    This will show how old men regularly function. With young men each single hour is filled irregularly with the most diverse feelings, whereas with old men every feeling has its hour complete. The young girl fell in with the old man’s ways. When he wanted her, she came; she went off when he had done with her. If they differed, they ended by making love and eating afterwards in the best of humours.
    Perhaps the old man ate and drank too much. He was anxious to show off his strength.
    I do not wish to imply that that is why the old man fell ill. Obviously an excessive number of years is more dangerous than an excess of wine, or of food or even of love. It may be that one of these excesses aggravated another, but it is not for me to assert even as much as that.

V
    He had gone quietly to bed, as he did every evening, and especially on those evenings when the girl left him, after eating everything that had been put before her.
    He soon fell asleep. He afterwards remembered that he had dreamed, but so confusedly that he did not recollect anything about it. A number of people were round him, shouting, arguing with him and with each other. Then they had all gone away, and, utterly exhausted, he had thrown himself upon a sofa to rest. Then, on a little table exactly on a level with the sofa, he saw a large rat looking at him with its small bright eyes. There was laughter, or rather mockery, in those eyes. Then the rat vanished, but to his horror he realized that it had forced its way into his left arm, and,digging furiously, was making for his chest, causing him excruciating pain.
    He woke up gasping, covered with perspiration. It had been a dream, but something real remained behind, the excruciating pain. The image of the object causing the pain changed immediately. It was no longer a rat, but a sword fixed in the upper part of the arm, the point of which reached his chest; curved, not cutting, but jagged and poisonous, because it caused pain wherever it touched. It prevented him from breathing or making any movement. It would have been possible to break the sword by wrenching it, if he had moved. He shouted and he knew it, because the effort of making himself heard hurt his throat, but he was not sure that he heard the sound he uttered. There was a great deal of noise in that empty room. Empty? In that room was death. A profound darkness drew towards him from the ceiling, a cloud which, when it reached him, would crush out of him the little breath that was still left, and would cut him off for ever from all light, driving him among things base and filthy. The darkness drew slowly nearer. When would it reach him? Without a doubt it might expand at any moment, wrap itself round him and strangle him in a second. Was this what death, which had been familiar to him from childhood, was like? So insidious and bringing with it so much pain? He felt the tears flowing from his eyes. He wept from fear and not in the hope of awakening pity, because he knew thatthere was no pity. And the terror was so great that he seemed to himself to be without fault or sin. He was being strangled like this, he so good and gentle and merciful.
    How long did the terror last? He could not have said, and he might have imagined that it lasted a whole night, if