The Song of the Blood-Red Flower Part 36

"I can't stay here, I must go--I must go in a minute. Never mind.

Drink."

"Oh, let's drink, then," said the girl bitterly, and, rising, emptied her gla.s.s. "Drink--yes, and drink and drink--'tis the only thing when once you're--here." She sank down into a seat. "Night and day, morning and night--there's none of us could stand it if it wasn't for that stuff there. Ho, the world's a mad place--what a fool I am!"

She burst into tears, and fell forward with her arms on the table.

Olof felt more miserable than before. The blood was pulsing in his temples, and something choking in his throat, as he looked at the sobbing figure.

"I'll tell you what this place is," she said, looking up between sobs.

"'Tis h.e.l.l--and in h.e.l.l you're always wanting something to wet the tip of your tongue--I've read that somewhere, haven't I? Oh, oh...!" She fell to sobbing again.

Olof felt he could bear it no longer. He would have liked to comfort her, but his tongue was dry, he could not speak.

Then suddenly the girl jumped up and struck the table with her fist, shaking the things on the tray. "What the h.e.l.l am I snivelling about--'twon't make it any better." She took the bottle of beer, filled a tumbler and drank it off at a draught, then flung the gla.s.s crashing against the wall behind the stove.

"Puh! Now I've got that wretched fit again." She stood in the middle of the room, looking round. "I can't help it, I get like that every now and then. Wait a bit, and I'll bring you better company. A real good girl--she's younger than me, and only just beginning, but she's lovely, lovely as an angel. Only don't go and fall in love with her, or I'll be jealous."

"No! Stay where you are!" Olof would have stopped her, but she was out of the door in a moment. He rose to his feet, his head was throbbing, and he could hardly stand.

"Here you are--here's the beauty!"

A bright-eyed girl, young and slightly built, stood in the doorway smiling.

Olof started as if he had seen a ghost, the blood seemed to stand still in his veins; a cold weight seemed crushing him like an iceberg.

"You--Gazelle!" he cried in horror.

"Olof!"

"Oho, so you're old friends, it seems? Well, then, shake hands nicely.

Come along, man, give her a kiss...."

Olof felt the room growing dark before his eyes.

The girl turned deathly pale. She stood a moment, trembling from head to foot, then turned and fled. There was the sound of a key drawn from a lock, a door was slammed, and then silence.

Olof stood as if rooted to the spot, seeing nothing but a vague glimmer of light through a rent in blackness. Then at last he pulled himself together, s.n.a.t.c.hed up his hat, and rushed out of the place as if pursued by demons.

Morning found him seated on a chair by the window, looking out. The night had been cold. Before him lay a group of housetops, the dark roofs covered with a thin white coating of rime; beyond, a glimpse of a grey, cold sky.

He had been sitting thus all night, deep in thought. His road seemed ending here in a blank wall--or he was grown suddenly old, and could go no farther--or was trying vainly to rise from a bed of sickness.

His eyes burned, his head was heavy as lead, and his heart seemed dead and cold, as hands and feet may do in winter when on the point of freezing.

He rose to his feet, and bathed his face again and again with cold water. Then he straightened his hair, put on his clothes, and went out.

He took his way direct to a certain street, reached the house he was seeking, and knocked. There were people moving in the yard, and some children about; but he felt no shame, and knocked as easily as if it had been a church door.

The panel opened, and the harsh voice of an old woman asked:

"What d'you want here at this hour? The girls are not up yet."

"When will they be up?"

"In a couple of hours or so."

He looked at his watch, and went out into the street. For a while he wandered up and down, then took the road out from the town, and went straight on.

When he came back his face was pale; his feet were so weary he could hardly drag himself along.

He knocked again; the panel was thrust aside, and a face peeped through, then the door was opened.

"Hallo!" It was the girl of the night before. She was half-dressed, her eyes dull, her face tired and haggard. Olof felt as if he were breathing in the fumes of beer and wine and all unspeakable nastiness.

"Your friend--is she up yet? I want to see her," he stammered.

"Up--ay, she's up long ago; you can see for yourself."

She vanished down the pa.s.sage, and returned in a moment with a crumpled sheet of notepaper, which she handed him.

Olof glanced at it, and read, hastily scribbled in pencil, these words:

"When you get this I shall be far away. I am going and not coming back. I can't stay here.--ELLI."

"There--what's the meaning of that, if you please?" cried the girl.

Olof made no answer. He held the paper in a trembling hand, and read it again and again; a weight seemed lifted from his shoulders.

"May I--may I keep this?" he asked, with flushing cheeks.

"Keep it--ay, eat it, if you like."

"Good-bye--and--and...." He pressed the girl's hand, as if unconscious of what he was doing.

The girl watched him as he hurried away.

"Queer lot," she murmured. "Something wrong somewhere...."

BY THE ROADSIDE

A man came walking down the sandy, gra.s.s-bordered road.

He walked mechanically, like a machine set to go, and going without consciousness or effort--without a question or a thought, without a glance to either side--on and on.