say ‘why you were crying’. But there were no traces of tears in those brilliant eyes.
‘I often come,’ she said, ‘at night. You see, I am not allowed to go in the house. And it is this.’ Her voice was very foreign and I could make nothing of her words; I was not even sure I had heard them right.
‘Can I help you?’ I said, The flight through the darkness and now her half-clothed nocturnal proximity, her curious animal calmness, produced in me an immediate elation, a sort of excited protective devotion. It was long since I had had so direct and yet so oddly natural an encounter with a woman. I felt ready to talk to her for a long time. And a sense that I might dangerously have taken her in my arms was instantly changed into a desire to serve her. Her tearless lamentation upon the lawn and now her mysterious words seemed like a sacred appeal directed especially to me.
She looked at me thoughtfully as if taking seriously what I had said. Then she said, ‘There is some coffee. But first I must show you something. After all you are the brother. And we have waited for you a long time.’
She moved toward the closed door of the other room and threw it wide open. There was already a bright light within by which I saw, sprawled upon a low bed and lying half naked in the abandonment of deep sleep, my brother Otto.
The brightly lit scene revealed through the doorway had a crudely unreal quality, it was suddenly too large and too close, as if the girl had summoned up a gross simulacrum in a vision. Yet it was no psychological doll, it was indeed Otto who lay there displayed as on a stage, Otto open-mouthed and snoring, Otto huge, shaggy, deplorably and shamefully present and fast asleep. My first feeling was a curious dull sense of deprivation. Then I felt disgust and then a pang of guilt and fear. I feared my brother’s rage should he awake and find me.
‘He will not wake,’ she said, guessing my thought. ‘He has drunk. He sleeps like a pig. Come and see him.’ We went in together and she closed the door behind us. It was like entering an animal’s den.
Most of the room was occupied by the divan on which my brother was sprawled, Heavy curtains were pulled closely across the windows and the atmosphere was stuffy and thick with a humid pungent smell. The floor was covered with a mass of clothes which encumbered my ankles like sticky seaweed. A half-empty whisky bottle was standing upright in one of Otto’s shoes. Otto, uncovered by the surge of the blankets, was wearing two very dirty round-necked vests rolled up in tubes about his chest and a pair of equally reprehensible long woollen pants pulled well down upon his hips. His thick soft waist was revealed, covered with a straggle of dark curly hairs, and below it the bare white protuberance of his stomach and the black cup of his navel, seemingly full of earth. His big bull-head was thrown back and his face seemed a crumpled mass of fleshy lines, his moist shapeless mouth ajar and gurgling, He seemed more like the debris of a human being than like a man.
The girl was staring down at him intently. Then suddenly she prodded him violently in the ribs with her bare foot. Otto groaned and settled his head more deeply into what I now saw was a pile of female underwear. The girl looked at me as if for approval of her demonstration, and said ‘Elsa.’
I found myself replying ‘Elsa.’ The magical repetition of her name seemed like a charm which was to stop me from going away. She sat down now upon the bed and gestured me to sit too. Very cautiously I lowered myself on to the end of the divan, the odorous bulk of Otto rising and falling between us. And as I did so I thought again, in a resigned way, that if Otto were to open his eyes now he would probably break me in two.
I stared at the girl. She seemed solemn, cool, with a pathetic air of tawdry ceremony. The aroma of whisky and sweat and sex from Otto was overwhelming; and I began to notice that she herself
‘I often come,’ she said, ‘at night. You see, I am not allowed to go in the house. And it is this.’ Her voice was very foreign and I could make nothing of her words; I was not even sure I had heard them right.
‘Can I help you?’ I said, The flight through the darkness and now her half-clothed nocturnal proximity, her curious animal calmness, produced in me an immediate elation, a sort of excited protective devotion. It was long since I had had so direct and yet so oddly natural an encounter with a woman. I felt ready to talk to her for a long time. And a sense that I might dangerously have taken her in my arms was instantly changed into a desire to serve her. Her tearless lamentation upon the lawn and now her mysterious words seemed like a sacred appeal directed especially to me.
She looked at me thoughtfully as if taking seriously what I had said. Then she said, ‘There is some coffee. But first I must show you something. After all you are the brother. And we have waited for you a long time.’
She moved toward the closed door of the other room and threw it wide open. There was already a bright light within by which I saw, sprawled upon a low bed and lying half naked in the abandonment of deep sleep, my brother Otto.
The brightly lit scene revealed through the doorway had a crudely unreal quality, it was suddenly too large and too close, as if the girl had summoned up a gross simulacrum in a vision. Yet it was no psychological doll, it was indeed Otto who lay there displayed as on a stage, Otto open-mouthed and snoring, Otto huge, shaggy, deplorably and shamefully present and fast asleep. My first feeling was a curious dull sense of deprivation. Then I felt disgust and then a pang of guilt and fear. I feared my brother’s rage should he awake and find me.
‘He will not wake,’ she said, guessing my thought. ‘He has drunk. He sleeps like a pig. Come and see him.’ We went in together and she closed the door behind us. It was like entering an animal’s den.
Most of the room was occupied by the divan on which my brother was sprawled, Heavy curtains were pulled closely across the windows and the atmosphere was stuffy and thick with a humid pungent smell. The floor was covered with a mass of clothes which encumbered my ankles like sticky seaweed. A half-empty whisky bottle was standing upright in one of Otto’s shoes. Otto, uncovered by the surge of the blankets, was wearing two very dirty round-necked vests rolled up in tubes about his chest and a pair of equally reprehensible long woollen pants pulled well down upon his hips. His thick soft waist was revealed, covered with a straggle of dark curly hairs, and below it the bare white protuberance of his stomach and the black cup of his navel, seemingly full of earth. His big bull-head was thrown back and his face seemed a crumpled mass of fleshy lines, his moist shapeless mouth ajar and gurgling, He seemed more like the debris of a human being than like a man.
The girl was staring down at him intently. Then suddenly she prodded him violently in the ribs with her bare foot. Otto groaned and settled his head more deeply into what I now saw was a pile of female underwear. The girl looked at me as if for approval of her demonstration, and said ‘Elsa.’
I found myself replying ‘Elsa.’ The magical repetition of her name seemed like a charm which was to stop me from going away. She sat down now upon the bed and gestured me to sit too. Very cautiously I lowered myself on to the end of the divan, the odorous bulk of Otto rising and falling between us. And as I did so I thought again, in a resigned way, that if Otto were to open his eyes now he would probably break me in two.
I stared at the girl. She seemed solemn, cool, with a pathetic air of tawdry ceremony. The aroma of whisky and sweat and sex from Otto was overwhelming; and I began to notice that she herself
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