And suddenly, as though his soul were an over-filled vessel, which had lost its balance, toppled over and poured out in streams, Freder began to speak. He told his friend the story of Maria, from the moment of their first meeting in the “Club of Sons,” to when they saw each other again right down under the earth in the City of the Dead—his waiting for her in the cathedral, his experiences in Rotwang’s house, his vain search, the curt “no” at Maria’s home, up to the moment when, for her sake, he wanted to be the murderer of his own father—no, not for her sake: for that of a being who was not there, whom he only believed himself to see....
“Was that not madness—?”
“Hallucination, Mr. Freder....”
“Hallucination—? I will tell you some more about hallucination, Josaphat, and you mustn’t believe that I am speaking in delirium or that I am not fully master of my thoughts. I wanted to kill my father.... It was not my fault that the attempt at parricide was unsuccessful.... But ever since that moment I have not been human.... I am a creature that has no feet, no hands and hardly a head. And this head is only there eternally to think that I wanted to kill my own father. Do you believe that I shall ever get free from this hell—? Never, Josaphat. Never—never in all eternity. I lay during the night hearing my father walking up and down in the next room. I lay in the depths of a black pit; but my thoughts ran along behind my father’s steps, as though chained to his soles. What horror has come upon the world that this could happen? Is there a comet in the heavens which drives mankind to madness? Is a fresh plague coming, or Anti-Christ? Or the end of the world? A woman, who does not exist, forces herself between father and son and incites the son to murder against the father.... It may be that my thoughts were running themselves a little hot at the time.... Then my father came in to me....”
He stopped and his wasted hands twisted themselves together upon his damp hair.
“You know my father. There are many in the great Metropolis who do not believe Joh Fredersen to be human, because he seems not to need to eat and drink and he sleeps when he wishes to; and usually he does not wish to.... They call him The Brain of Metropolis, and if it is true that fear is the source of all religion then the brain of Metropolis is not very far off from becoming a deity.... This man, who is my father came up to my bed.... He walked on tip-toe, Josaphat. He bent over me and held his breath.... My eyes were shut. I lay quite still and it seemed to me as though my father must hear my soul crying within me. Then I loved him more than anything on earth. But if my life had been dependent on it, I should still not have been able to open my eyes. I felt my father’s hand smoothing my pillow. Then he went again as he had come, on tip-toe, closing the door quite soundlessly behind him. Do you know what he had done?”
“No....”
“No.... I don’t see how you could. I only realised it myself some hours later.... For the first time since the great Metropolis had stood, Joh Fredersen had omitted to press on the little blue metal plate and to let the Behemoth-voice of Metropolis roar out, because he did not wish to disturb his son’s sleep....”
Josaphat lowered his head; he said nothing. Freder let his intertwined hands sink.
“Then I realised,” he continued, “that my father had quite forgiven me.... And when I realised that, I really fell asleep....”