Then he tore his deadened feet from the floor, stumbled to the door and pushed it open....
In the middle of the room, which was filled with a cutting brightness, stood Joh Fredersen, holding a woman in his arms. And the woman was Maria. She was not struggling. Leaning far back in the man’s arms, she was offering him her mouth, her alluring mouth, that deadly laugh....
“You...!” shouted Freder.
He dashed to the girl. He did not see his father. He saw only the girl—no, neither did he see the girl, only her mouth and her sweet, wicked laugh.
Joh Fredersen turned around, broad and menacing. He let the girl go. He covered her with the might of his shoulders, with the great cranium, flamed with blood, and in which the strong teeth and the invincible eyes were very visible.
But Freder did not see his father. He only saw an obstacle between him and the girl.
He rushed at the obstacle. It pushed him back. Scarlet hatred for the obstacle choked him. His eyes flew around. They sought an implement—an implement which could be used as a battering ram. He found none. Then he threw himself forward as a battering ram. His fingers clutched into stuff. He bit into the stuff. He heard his own breath like a whistle, very high and shrill. Yet within him there was only one sound, only one cry: “Maria—!” Groaningly, beseechingly: “Maria—!!”
A man dreaming of hell shrieks out no more, in his torment, than did he.
And still, between him and the girl, the man, the lump of rock, the living wall....
He threw his hands forward. Ah ... look! ... there was a throat! He seized the throat. His fingers snapped fast like iron fangs.