Chapter XVII
My way of living became the same again. Now as before I scrubbed the floor, washed the linen, and looked after the kitchen. Many times during my work I thought of my friend in London and secretly wished to be near her. There was one reason, however, why I could not really leave Marlow. It was this: that I was determined to return the money which I owed to my friend in Buda-Pesth; that was, of course, not easy for me, since my wages were only thirty shillings a month, and out of them I used also to help my parents. It is true that I had sent home less of late, because the conditions at home had gradually become more satisfactory, and my brother had also gone away. My parents had not heard from him for a long time. All they knew was that he had given up entirely the hated profession of a waiter, and gone over seas to try his luck in another land. In one of his more recent letters my father had told me that he had received a newspaper from Brazil, containing the news of a most daring flight made by an aviator named "Aranga."
Underneath this account, however, the following words were written in pencil, "Much love to all of you. I shall be all right as long as my spine is not broken."
To the above-mentioned purpose I now put away every farthing that I could save out of the thirty shillings, and the mere thought of sending my friend the amount of my debt made me exceedingly happy. Now to leave my situation and find another one in London would have certainly cost me money, and to spend even a single penny would have been unbearable to me. About that, however, I made no mention to my friend, but told him only of my occupation and so forth. His letters became very rare indeed, and of late contained nothing but reproaches at my apparent "waste of time."
"Have you," he asked, "gone over to England in order to learn how to cook? There was indeed no need for you to go to London just for that. You know how much I want to help on your education, and to develop your talent. Pray do not insist on sacrificing all your time to others. Try at least to find an engagement for the mornings somewhere in London, and study in the afternoons. I would, of course, support you in whatever way you require."
Tempting though such an offer may have been, I could not make up my mind to accept it, and so I returned with a sigh to my pots and pans. But in my heart of hearts I felt like the little boy in the story, who was for ever wishing that something might come along that would take him somewhere else. However, nothing came. One month passed after the other, and sometimes my feet felt very tired. By-and-by my heart grew weary too, and finally refused to tremble whenever the bell was rung; no longer did I fear, hope, and believe that he had come at last. But I was still waiting, waiting at the threshold of his soul, waiting for the wonderful moment when it would open, and he would step out to me with kindness on his lips and fulfilment in his eyes. Sometimes again there were hours when I almost regretted—hours when my most secret thoughts seemed to come to life and confront me with malicious-looking faces. "Why did you go away from him?" they would ask scornfully. Yes, why had I gone away from him? To get to know different people and different places? Of course, did not he himself wish it thus? Did not I myself want it thus? Want it thus? And after every drop of blood within me had set its "No" against that question, the scornful voices rose again: "And if you did not want to go away why, then, did you go?" And all at once I knew it, and my cheeks flushed with an unaccustomed glow, and my heart was filled with an unaccustomed sorrow. Thus disputing with myself, time passed on.
It happened one night, when I could not go to sleep though I had worked hard all day long, that I lay awake in bed, and thought and thought until all good and evil spirits had gathered around me. Like so many hands they reached down into my thoughts, tugging, pulling, and tearing them about, and when they had gone, there were red letters floating about in the darkness of the room, forming themselves to a question at the end, and the question was:
"May I come back again?"
"Why not?" I said, shaking my fists towards the glowing signs; "is not our friendship so pure, so marvellously wonderful?" ... At that a wreath of flames encircled every letter, and when I read again I trembled.