“Oi, it is late, ain’t it? I must be going,” cried Philippina. “Don’t worry, Gertrude,” she said by way of consolation. “And don’t complain of me to your husband; he’ll git ugly if you do. If you say anything bad about me, there’s going to be trouble here, I say. I am a perfect fool; people git out of my way, they do. I’ve got a wicked mouth, I have; there’s no stopping it. Well, good night.”
She rubbed her hands down over her skirt, as if she were trying to smooth out the wrinkles; there was an element of comic caution in what she did.
Out on the street she began to hum again:
Drah’ di, Madel, drah’ di,
Morgen kommt der Mahdi.
XIV
When Daniel came home, it was late; but he sat down by the lamp in his room and began to read Jean Paul’s “Titan.” In the course of time his thoughts liberated themselves from the book and went their own way. He got up, walked over to the piano, raised the lid, and struck a chord; he listened with closed eyes: it seemed that some one was calling him. It was a sultry night; the stillness was painful.
Again he struck the chord: bells from the lower world. They rang up through the green, grey mists, each distinct and delicate. Each tone sent forth its accompanying group like sparks from a skyrocket. Those related by the ties of harmony joined; those that were alien fell back and down. And up in the distant, inaccessible heights there rang out with deceiving clarity, like the last vision of earthly perfection, the melody of love, the melody of Eleanore.
Yet, some one was calling him; but from where? His wife? The distant, gloomy, waiting one? He closed the piano; the echo of the noise made thereby rebounded from the church wall through his window.
He put out the lamp, went into his bedroom, and undressed by the light of the moon. The border of the curtain was embroidered with heavy Vitruvian scrolls, the shadows of which were reflected on the floor; they made jagged, goalless paths. All these lines consisted after all of only one line.
As he lay in bed his heart began to hammer. Suddenly he knew, without looking, that Gertrude was not asleep; that she was lying there staring at the ceiling just as he was. “Gertrude!” he called.