Gustav. Well, it’s like this. Fate had given the youngster for a wife a little innocent, with kiss-curls, dove-like eyes, and a baby face, from which there spoke the pure soul of an angel. In spite of that, the little one managed to appropriate the man’s prerogative.
Adolf. What is that?
Gustav. Initiative, of course; and the inevitable result was that the angel came precious near taking him away to heaven. He first had to be on the cross and feel the nails in his flesh.
Adolf.[Suffocating.] Tell me, what was it like?
Gustav.[Slowly.] There were times when he and I would sit quite quietly by each other and chat, and then—I’d scarcely been speaking a few minutes before his face became ashy white, his limbs were paralyzed, and his thumbs turned in towards the palm of the hand. [With a gesture.] Like that! [ADOLF imitates the gesture.] And his eyes were shot with blood, and he began to chew, do you see, like this. [He moves his lips as though chewing; ADOLF imitates him again.] The saliva stuck in his throat, the chest contracted as though it had been compre?1ed by screws on a joiner’s bench; there was a flicker in his pupils like gas jets, foam spurted from his mouth, and he sank gently back in the chair as though he were drowning. Then—
Adolf.[Hissing.] Stop!
Gustav. Then—are you unwell?
Adolf. Yes.
Gustav.[Gets up and fetches a glass of water front the table on the right near the center door.] Here, drink this, and let’s change the subject.
Adolf.[Drinks, limp.] Thanks, go on.