Read Online Journey Into the Past by Stefan Zweig - Free Book Online Page A

hurried over to the cords at the windows and pulled up the curtains, to let more light fall on the dark furnishings that seemed to be crouching there. But no sooner had bright light come suddenly rushing in than it was as if all those items of furniture suddenly had eyes and were stirring restlessly in alarm. Everything stood out in a significant way, speaking urgently of some memory. Here was the wardrobe that her attentive hand had always secretly kept in order for him, there were the bookshelves to which an addition was made when he had uttered a fleeting wish, there—speaking in yet sultrier tones—was the bed, where countless dreams of her, he knew, lay hidden under the bedspread. There in the corner—and this memory was burning hot as it came back to his mind—there was the ottoman where she had freed herself from him that last time. Inflamed by the passion now rekindled and blazing up, he saw signs and messages everywhere, left there by the woman now standing beside him, quietly breathing, compellingly strange, her eyes turned away and inscrutable. And the dense silence of the years, lying heavily as if slumped in the room, took alarm at their human presence and now assumed powerful proportions, settling on their lungs and troubled hearts like the blast of an explosion. Something had to be said, something must overcome that silence to keep it from overwhelming them—they both felt it. It was she, suddenly turning, who broke the silence.
    “Everything is just as it used to be, don’t you think?” she began, determined to say something innocent and casual, although her voice was husky and shook a little. However he did not echo her friendly, conversational tone, but gritted his teeth.
    “Oh yes, everything.” Sudden inner rage forced the words abruptly and bitterly out of his mouth. “Everything is as it used to be except for us, except for us!”
    The words cut into her. Alarmed, she turned again.
    “What do you mean, Ludwig?” But she did not meet his gaze, for his eyes were not seeking hers now but staring, silent and blazing, at her lips, the lips he had not touched for so many years, although once, moist on the inside like a fruit, they had burned against his own burning lips. In her embarrassment she understood the sensuality of his gaze, and a blush covered her face, mysteriously rejuvenating her, so that she looked to him just as she had looked in this same room when he was about to leave. Once again she tried to fend off that dangerous gaze drawing her in, intentionally misunderstanding what could not be mistaken.
    “What do you mean, Ludwig?” she repeated, but it was more of a plea for him not to tell her than a question requiring an answer.
    Then, with a firm, determined look, he fixed his eyes on hers with masculine strength. “You pretend not to understand me, but I know you do. Do you remember this room—and do you remember what you promised me here ... when I came back?”
    Her shoulders were shaking as she still tried to fend him off. “No, don’t say it, Ludwig ... this is all old history, let’s not touch on it. Where are those times now?”
    “In us,” he replied firmly, “in what we want. I have waited nine years, keeping grimly silent, but I haven’t forgotten. And I am asking you, do you still remember?”
    “Yes.” She looked at him more steadily now. “I have not forgotten either.”
    “And will you—” he had to take a deep breath, to give force to what he as about to say—“will you keep your promise?”
    The colour came to her face again, surging up to her hairline. She moved towards him, as if to placate him. “Ludwig, do think! You said you haven’t forgotten anything—so don’t forget, I am almost an old woman now. When a woman’s hair turns grey she has no more to wish for, no more to give. I beg you, let the past rest.”
    But a great desire now came over him to be hard and determined. “You are trying to avoid me,” he said inexorably, “but I have