Текст книги "The Complete Stories (forword by John Updike)"

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CHAMBERLAIN: I cannot recommend it, your Highness.

PRINCE: Why?

CHAMBERLAIN: I can't quite formulate my objections at the moment. I'm expressing only a fraction of what's on my mind when I quote the universal saying: Let the dead rest in peace.

PRINCE: That's my opinion, too.

CHAMBERLAIN: In that case I haven't properly understood.

PRINCE: So it seems.

Pause.

PRINCE: Perhaps the only thing that disconcerts you is that instead of going ahead with the arrangement, I announced it to you first.

CHAMBERLAIN: The announcement certainly burdens me with a great responsibility which I must endeavor to live up to.

PRINCE: Don't speak of responsibility!

Pause.

PRINCE: Let's see. Hitherto the tomb in the Friedrichspark has been guarded by a warden who lives in a lodge at the park's entrance. Was there anything wrong with this?

CHAMBERLAIN: Certainly not. The tomb is more than four hundred years old and has always been guarded in this way.

PRINCE: It could be an abuse. But it isn't an abuse, is it?

CHAMBERLAIN: It is a necessary arrangement.

PRINCE: All right then, a necessary arrangement. I've been here in the castle quite some time now, have gained some insight into details which hitherto have been entrusted to strangers – they manage fairly well – and I've come to this conclusion: the Warden up there in the park is not enough. There must also be a guard down in the tomb. It probably won't be a pleasant job. But experience has proved that willing and suitable people can be found for any job.

CHAMBERLAIN: Needless to say, any orders issued by your Highness will be carried out, even if the necessity of the order is not fully understood.

PRINCE (starting up):Necessity! Do you mean to say that a guard at the park gate is necessary? The Friedrichspark belongs to the castle park, is entirely surrounded by it. The castle park itself is amply guarded – by the army, what's more. So why a special guard for the Friedrichspark? Isn't this a mere formality? A pleasant deathbed for the wretched old man who is keeping watch there?

CHAMBERLAIN: Formality it is, but a necessary one. A demonstration of reverence for the illustrious dead.

PRINCE: And what about the guard in the tomb itself?

CHAMBERLAIN: In my opinion this would have a police connotation. It would mean a real guarding of unreal things beyond the human sphere.

PRINCE: For my family this tomb represents the frontier between the Human and the Other, and it's on this frontier that I wish to post a guard. As for the police connotation, as you call it, we can question the Warden himself. I've sent for him. (Rings a bell.)

CHAMBERLAIN: He's a confused old man, if I may say so, already quite out of hand.

PRINCE: If that's so, all the more reason for strengthening the guard in the way I've suggested.

(Enter servant.)

PRINCE: The Warden of the tomb!

(Servant leads in Warden, holding him tight around the waist to prevent him from collapsing. Ancient red livery hanging loosely about Warden, brightly polished silver buttons, several decorations. Cap in hand, he trembles under the gentlemen's gaze.)

PRINCE: Put him on the divan!

(Servant lays him down and goes off. Pause. A faint rattling in Warden's throat.)

PRINCE (again in armchair):Can you hear?

WARDEN (tries to answer but fails, is too exhausted, sinks back again).

PRINCE: Try to pull yourself together. We're waiting.

CHAMBERLAIN (leaning over Prince):What could this man give information about? And credible and important information at that? He ought to be taken straight to bed.

WARDEN: Not to bed – still strong – fairly – can still hold my end up.

PRINCE: So you should. You've only just turned sixty. Granted, you look very weak.

WARDEN: I'll pick up in no time – feel better in a minute.

PRINCE: It wasn't meant as a reproach. I'm only sorry you aren't feeling well. Have you anything to complain about?

WARDEN: Hard work – hard work – not complaining – but very weak – wrestling bouts every night.

PRINCE: What d'you say?

WARDEN: Hard work.

PRINCE: You said something else.

WARDEN: Wrestling bouts.

PRINCE: Wrestling bouts? What kind of wrestling bouts?

WARDEN: With the blessed ancestors.

PRINCE: I don't understand. D'you have bad dreams?

WARDEN: No dreams – don't sleep.

PRINCE: Then let's hear about these – these wrestling bouts.

WARDEN (remains silent).

PRINCE (to Chamberlain):Why doesn't he speak?

CHAMBERLAIN (hurrying to Warden):He may die any minute.

PRINCE (stands up).

WARDEN (as Chamberlain touches him):Don't, don't, don't! (Fights off Chamberlain's hands, then collapses in tears.)

PRINCE: We're tormenting him.

CHAMBERLAIN: How?

PRINCE: I don't know.

CHAMBERLAIN: Coming to the castle, having to present himself here, the sight of your Highness, this questioning – he no longer has the wits to face all this.

PRINCE (still staring at the Warden):That's not it. (Goes to divan, bends over Warden, takes his little skull in his hands.)Mustn't cry. What are you crying for? We wish you well. I realize your job isn't easy. You've certainly deserved well of my family. So stop crying and tell us all about it.

WARDEN: But I'm so afraid of that gentleman there – (Looks at Chamberlain, more threateningly than afraid.)

PRINCE (to Chamberlain):If we want him to talk I'm afraid you'll have to leave.

CHAMBERLAIN: But look, your Highness, he's foaming at the mouth. He's seriously ill.

PRINCE (absent-mindedly):Please go, it won't take long.

Exit Chamberlain.

Prince sits on edge of divan.

Pause.

PRINCE: Why were you afraid of him?

WARDEN (surprisingly composed):I wasn't afraid. Me afraid of a servant?

PRINCE: He's not a servant. He's a Count, free and rich.

WARDEN: A servant all the same, you are the master.

PRINCE: If you like it that way. But you said yourself that you were afraid of him.

WARDEN: I didn't want to say things in front of him which are meant only for you. Haven't I already said too much in front of him?

PRINCE: So we're on terms of intimacy, and yet today is the first time I've seen you.

WARDEN: Seen for the first time, but you've always known that I (raising his forefinger)hold the most important position at Court. You even acknowledged it publicly by awarding me the medal "Red-as-Fire." Here! (Holds up the medal on his coat.)

PRINCE: No, that's the medal for twenty-five years' service at Court. My grandfather gave you that. But I'll decorate you, too.

WARDEN: Do as you please and grant me whatever you think I deserve. I've acted as your tomb Warden for thirty years.

PRINCE: Not mine. My reign has lasted hardly a year.

WARDEN (lost in thought):Thirty years.

Pause.

WARDEN (remembering only half of the Prince's remark):Nights last years there.

PRINCE: I haven't yet had a report from your office. What's your work like?

WARDEN: Every night the same. Every night till the heart beats as if it were about to burst.

PRINCE: Is it only night duty, then? Night duty for an old man like you?

WARDEN: That's just it, your Highness. It's day duty. A loafer's job. There one sits, at the front door, with one's mouth open in the sunshine. Sometimes the watchdog pats one on the knee with its paws, and then lies down again. That's all that ever happens.

PRINCE: Well?

WARDEN (nodding):But it has been changed to night duty.

PRINCE: By whom?

WARDEN: By the lords of the tomb.

PRINCE: You know them?

WARDEN: Yes.

PRINCE: They come to see you?

WARDEN: Yes.

PRINCE: Last night, too?

WARDEN: Last night, too.

PRINCE: What was it like?

WARDEN (sitting up straight):Same as usual.

Prince stands up.

WARDEN: Same as usual. Quiet till midnight. I'm lying in bed – excuse me – smoking my pipe. My granddaughter is asleep in the next bed. At midnight comes the first knock at the window. I look at the clock. Always to the minute. Two more knocks, they mingle with the striking of the tower clock, but I can still hear them. These are no human knuckles. But I know all that and don't budge. Then it clears its throat outside, it's surprised that in spite of all that knocking I haven't opened the window. Let his princely Highness be surprised! The old Warden is still there! (Shows his fist.)

PRINCE: You're threatening me?

WARDEN (doesn't immediately understand):Not you. The one at the window!

PRINCE: Who is it?

WARDEN: He shows himself at once. All of a sudden window and shutters are opened. I just have time to throw the blanket over my grandchild's face. The storm blows in, promptly puts the light out. Duke Friedrich! His face with beard and hair completely fills my poor window. How he has grown throughout the centuries! When he opens his mouth to speak the wind blows his old beard between his teeth and he bites on it.

PRINCE: Just a moment. You say Duke Friedrich? Which Friedrich?

WARDEN: Duke Friedrich, just Duke Friedrich.

PRINCE: Is that the name he gives?

WARDEN (anxiously):No, he doesn't give it.

PRINCE: And yet you know – (breaking off) -– Go on!

WARDEN: Shall I go on?

PRINCE: Of course. All this very much concerns me. There must be an error in the distribution of labor. You're overworked.

WARDEN (kneeling):Don't take my job away, your Highness. Having lived for you all these years, let me also die for you! Don't wall up the grave I'm struggling toward. I serve willingly and am still strong enough to serve. To be granted an audience like today's, to take a rest with my master – this gives me strength for ten years.

PRINCE (putting Warden back on divan):No one's going to take your job from you. How could I get along without your experience? But I'll appoint another Warden, then you'll become Head Warden.

WARDEN: Am I not good enough? Have I ever let anyone pass?

PRINCE: Into the Friedrichspark?

WARDEN: No, out of the park. Who'd want to come in? If ever anyone stops at the railing I beckon to him from the window and he runs away. But out! Everyone wants to get out. After midnight you can see all the voices from the grave assembled around my house. I think it's only because they are so closely packed together that the whole lot of them don't burst through my narrow window. If it gets too bad, however, I grab the lantern from under my bed, swing it high, and with laughter and moaning these incredible creatures scatter in all directions. Then I can hear them rustling even in the farthest bush at the end of the park. But they soon gather together again.

PRINCE: And do they tell you what they want?

WARDEN: First they give orders. Especially Duke Friedrich. No living being could be so confident. Every night for thirty years he has been expecting me to give in.

PRINCE: If he has been coming for thirty years it can't be Duke Friedrich, for he has been dead only fifteen years. On the other hand, he is the only one of that name in the tomb.

WARDEN (too carried away by his story}:That I don't know, your Highness, I never went to school. I only know how he begins. "Old dog," he begins at the window, "the gentlemen are knocking and you just stay in your filthy bed." They have a particular grudge against beds, by the way. And now every night we have the same conversation, he outside, I opposite him, my back to the door. I say: "I'm only on day duty." The Duke turns and shouts into the park: "He's only on day duty." Whereupon all the assembled aristocracy burst out laughing. Then the Duke says to me again: "But it is day." I say curtly: "You're wrong." The Duke: "Night or day, open the door." I: "That's against my orders." And with my pipe I point at a notice on the door. The Duke: "But you're our Warden." I: "Your Warden, but employed by the reigning Prince." He: "Our Warden, that's the main thing. So open up, and be quick about it." I: "No." He: "Idiot, you'll lose your job. Prince Leo has invited us for today."

PRINCE (quickly):I?

WARDEN: You.

Pause.

WARDEN: When I hear your name I lose my firmness. That's why I have always taken care to lean against the door which is almost the only thing that holds me up. Outside, everyone's singing your name. "Where's the invitation?" I ask weakly. "Bedbug!" he shouts, "you doubt my ducal word?" I say: "I have no orders, so I won't open, I won't open, I won't open!" – "He won't open!" shouts the Duke outside. "So come on, all of you, the whole dynasty! At the door! We'll open it ourselves." And a moment later there's nothing under my window.

Pause.

PRINCE: Is that all?

WARDEN: All? My real service begins only now. I rush out of the door, around the house, and promptly run into the Duke and there we are, locked in combat. He so big, I so small, he so broad, I so thin, I can fight only with his feet, but now and again he lifts me up in the air and then I fight up there, too. All his comrades stand around in a circle and make fun of me. One, for instance, cuts open my trousers behind and they all play with the tail of my shirt while I'm fighting. Can't understand why they laugh, as until now I've always won.

PRINCE: How is it possible for you to win? Have you any weapons?

WARDEN: I carried weapons only during the first years. What good could they be against him? They only hampered me. We just fight with our fists, or rather with the strength of our breath. And you're in my thoughts all the time.

Pause.

WARDEN: But I never doubt my victory. Only sometimes I'm afraid the Duke will let me slip through his fingers and forget that he's fighting.

PRINCE: And when do you win?

WARDEN: At dawn. Then he throws me down and spits at me. That's his confession of defeat. But I have to go on lying there for an hour before I can get my breath back properly.

Pause.

PRINCE (standing up): But tell me, don't you know what they really want?

WARDEN: To get out of the park.

PRINCE: But why?

WARDEN: That I don't know.

PRINCE: Haven't you asked?

WARDEN: No.

PRINCE: Why not?

WARDEN: It would embarrass me. But if you wish, I'll ask them today.

PRINCE (shocked, loud): Today!

WARDEN (knowingly): Yes, today.

PRINCE: And you can't even guess what they want?

WARDEN (thoughtfully): No.

Pause.

WARDEN: Perhaps I ought to add that sometimes in the early mornings while I'm lying there trying to get my breath and even too weak to open my eyes, there comes a delicate, moist creature, rather hairy to the touch, a latecomer, the Countess Isabella. She runs her hand all over me, catches hold of my beard, her whole body glides along my neck, under my chin, and she's in the habit of saying: "Not the others, but me – let me out." I shake my head as much as I can. "I want to go to Prince Leo, to offer him my hand." I keep on shaking my head. "But me, me!" I can still hear her crying, then she's gone. And my granddaughter appears with blankets, wraps me up in them, and waits with me till I can walk on my own. An exceptionally good girl.

PRINCE: Isabella? The name's unknown to me.

Pause.

PRINCE: To offer me her hand! (Goes to window, looks out.)

Enter servant through center door.

SERVANT: Her Highness, m'lady the Princess, awaits you.

PRINCE (looks absent-mindedly at servant. Turns to Warden):Wait till I come back. (Exit left.)

Chamberlain enters at once through center door, then the Lord High Steward (youngish man in officer's uniform) through door on right.

WARDEN (ducks behind divan and flourishes his hands as though seeing ghosts).

STEWARD: The Prince has gone?

CHAMBERLAIN: Following your advice, the Princess sent for him.

STEWARD: Good. (Turns suddenly, bends over behind divan.)And you, miserable ghost, you actually dare to appear here in the princely castle! Aren't you afraid of the great boot that'll kick you through the door?

WARDEN: I'm – I'm —

STEWARD: Quiet, first of all keep quiet, don't utter – and sit down here in this corner! (To Chamberlain)I thank you for informing me about the latest princely whim.

CHAMBERLAIN: You inquired about it.

STEWARD: Even so. And now a confidential word. Purposely in front of that creature there. You, Count, are flirting with the opposition.

CHAMBERLAIN: Is that an accusation?

STEWARD: An apprehension, so far.

CHAMBERLAIN: In that case I can answer. I'm not flirting with the opposition, for I don't know it. I can feel the currents, but I steer clear of them. I still represent the open policy that prevailed under Duke Friedrich. At that time the only policy at Court was to serve the Prince. This was made easier by his being a bachelor, but it should never be difficult.

STEWARD: Very sensible – except that one's own nose, however reliable, never points the right way all the time. This can only be achieved by reason. But reason must make decisions. Let's assume the Prince is on the wrong track: does one serve him better by following him down or, with all due respect, by chasing him back? Undoubtedly by chasing him back.

CHAMBERLAIN: You came here with the Princess from a foreign Court, have spent a mere six months here, and you already think you can tell the difference between good and evil in the complicated conditions of this Court?

STEWARD: He who blinks sees only complications. He who keeps his eyes open sees the eternal truth in the first hours as clearly as after a hundred years. Admittedly, in this case, a sad truth which in the next few days, however, may take a decisive turn for the better.

CHAMBERLAIN: I cannot believe that the decision which you wish to bring about and which I know only from your announcement will be a good one. I'm afraid you misunderstand our Prince, the Court, and everything here.

STEWARD: Whether understood or misunderstood, the present situation is unbearable.

CHAMBERLAIN: Unbearable it may be, but it is founded on the nature of things as they are here, and we are prepared to bear it to the end.

STEWARD: But not the Princess, not I, not those who are on our side.

CHAMBERLAIN: What do you find so unbearable?

STEWARD: Just because the decision is imminent I want to speak frankly. The Prince has a dual nature. The one, concerning itself with government, wavers absent-mindedly in public, disregarding its own privileges. The other nature admittedly searches very painstakingly for a strengthening of its foundations. It searches for them in the past, delving deeper and deeper. What a misunderstanding of the situation! A misunderstanding that doesn't lack greatness – although its defectiveness is even greater than its appearance. Can you fail to see that?

CHAMBERLAIN: It's not the description I object to, it's the interpretation.

STEWARD: The interpretation? And to think that in the hope of getting you to agree, I have judged the situation with more leniency than I actually feel! And I'm still withholding my verdict in order to spare you. But just one thing: in reality the Prince does not need a strengthening of his foundations. If he uses all the power at present at his disposal, he'll find it sufficient to bring about everything that the most extreme responsibility before God and man may demand of him. But he shies away from the balance of life, he's on his way to becoming a tyrant.

CHAMBERLAIN: He with his modest character!

STEWARD: It's the modesty of the one half, for he needs all his energy for the second half which scrapes together the foundation needed to build something like the Tower of Babel. To hinder this work should be the sole policy of all those who are interested in their personal existence, in the principality, in the Princess, and possibly even in the Prince.

CHAMBERLAIN: "Possibly even" – you're very candid. To be equally frank, your candor makes me tremble at the imminent decision. And I regret, as I've recently come to regret more and more, that I'm devoted to the Prince almost to the point of helplessness.

STEWARD: Everything is clear. You are not flirting with the opposition. In fact, you are even holding out a hand. Only one, which is commendable for an old courtier. And yet your only hope is that our great example carries you along.

CHAMBERLAIN: Whatever I can do to prevent it, I shall do.

STEWARD: It doesn't frighten me anymore. (Pointing to the Warden.)And you who've been sitting there so quietly, have you understood everything that's been said?

CHAMBERLAIN: The Warden of the tomb?

STEWARD: The Warden of the tomb. One must probably be a stranger to size him up. Isn't that so, old boy, you little old screech-owl, you! Have you ever seen him flying through the forest in the evening, out of any gun's reach? But by day he ducks at the slightest move.

CHAMBERLAIN: I don't understand.

WARDEN (almost in tears):You're scolding me, sir, and I don't know why. Please let me go home. I'm really not evil, I'm just the Warden of the tomb.

CHAMBERLAIN: You mistrust him.

STEWARD: Mistrust? No, he's too insignificant for that. But I want to keep an eye on him. For I think – call it whim or superstition, if you like – that he's not just a mere tool of evil, but an upright, active worker for evil.

CHAMBERLAIN: He has been serving the Court quietly for thirty years – possibly without ever having been in the castle.

STEWARD: Oh, moles like him build long passages before they emerge. (Suddenly turns to Warden.)But first of all, away with this one! (To servant)Take him to the Friedrichspark, stay with him, and don't let him out until further notice.

WARDEN (very frightened):I'm supposed to wait for his Highness, the Prince.

STEWARD: An error. – Off with you.

CHAMBERLAIN: He must be treated with care. He's an old and sick man, and for some reason the Prince sets store by him.

WARDEN (bowing low before Chamberlain).

STEWARD: What? (To servant)Treat him carefully, but for God's sake get him out of here. Quick!

SERVANT (about to grab him).

CHAMBERLAIN (stepping between them):No, we must get a carriage.

STEWARD: It's the air at this Court. I can't taste a grain of salt anywhere. All right then, a carriage. You take the treasure away in a carriage. But now, out of the room with you both! (To Chamberlain)Your behavior shows me —

WARDEN (collapses, with a little scream, on way to door).

STEWARD (stamping his foot):Is it impossible to get rid of him? Pick him up in your arms if there's no other way. Can't you understand what's expected of you!

CHAMBERLAIN: The Prince!

SERVANT (opening door at left).

STEWARD: Ah! (Glances at Warden.)I should have known that ghosts cannot be transported.

PRINCE (enters with quick step, behind him the Princess, dark young woman with teeth clenched, stops in doorway).

PRINCE: What's happened?

STEWARD: The Warden felt ill, I was about to have him taken away.

PRINCE: I should have been notified. Has the doctor been sent for?

CHAMBERLAIN: I'll have him called. (Hurries out by center door, returns at once.)

PRINCE (kneeling beside Warden):Prepare a bed for him! Fetch a stretcher! Is the doctor on his way? He's taking a long time. The pulse is very weak. I can't hear the heart. These miserable ribs! How worn out this body is! (Stands up suddenly, fetches a glass of water, stares about him.)One is so helpless. (Kneels down again, moistens the Warden's face.)Now he's breathing better. It won't be so bad. Healthy stock, the kind that doesn't give up, even in extremity. But the doctor, the doctor!

(While he glances toward the door, the Warden raises his hand and caresses the Prince's cheek. Princess turns her head away, toward the window. Enter servants with stretcher, Prince helps to lift Warden.)

PRINCE: Handle him gently. Oh, you with your great claws! Lift his head a little. Nearer the stretcher. The pillow further down his back. His arm! His arm! You're all bad, bad nurses! I wonder if you'll ever be as tired as this man on the stretcher? – There we are – and now with slow – slow – steps. And above all, steadily. (Turning in door to Princess.)Here then is the Warden of the tomb.

PRINCESS (nods).

PRINCE: I had intended to show him to you differently. (After taking another step.)Aren't you coming along?

PRINCESS: I'm so tired.

PRINCE: The moment I've talked to the doctor I'll come back. And you, gentlemen, who wish to make your report, wait for me.

STEWARD (to Princess):Does your Highness require my services?

PRINCESS: Always. I am grateful for your vigilance. Do not abandon it, even if today it was in vain. Everything is at stake. You see more than I. I am always in my rooms. But I know it will get more and more gloomy. This autumn is sad beyond belief.

Translated by Tania and James Stern

A Country Doctor

I WAS in great perplexity; I had to start on an urgent journey; a seriously ill patient was waiting for me in a village ten miles off; a thick blizzard of snow filled all the wide spaces between him and me; I had a gig, a light gig with big wheels, exactly right for our country roads; muffled in furs, my bag of instruments in my hand, I was in the courtyard all ready for the journey; but there was no horse to be had, no horse. My own horse had died in the night, worn out by the fatigues of this icy winter; my servant girl was now running around the village trying to borrow a horse; but it was hopeless, I knew it, and I stood there forlornly, with the snow gathering more and more thickly upon me, more and more unable to move. In the gateway the girl appeared, alone, and waved the lantern; of course, who would lend a horse at this time for such a journey? I strode through the courtyard once more; I could see no way out; in my confused distress I kicked at the dilapidated door of the yearlong uninhabited pigsty. It flew open and flapped to and fro on its hinges. A steam and smell as of horses came out from it. A dim stable lantern was swinging inside from a rope. A man, crouching on his hams in that low space, showed an open blue-eyed face. "Shall I yoke up?" he asked, crawling out on all fours. I did not know what to say and merely stooped down to see what else was in the sty. The servant girl was standing beside me. "You never know what you're going to find in your own house," she said, and we both laughed. "Hey there, Brother, hey there, Sister!" called the groom, and two horses, enormous creatures with powerful flanks, one after the other, their legs tucked close to their bodies, each well-shaped head lowered like a camel's, by sheer strength of buttocking squeezed out through the door hole which they filled entirely. But at once they were standing up, their legs long and their bodies steaming thickly. "Give him a hand," I said, and the willing girl hurried to help the groom with the harnessing. Yet hardly was she beside him when the groom clipped hold of her and pushed his face against hers. She screamed and fled back to me; on her cheek stood out in red the marks of two rows of teeth. "You brute," I yelled in fury, "do you want a whipping?" but in the same moment reflected that the man was a stranger; that I did not know where he came from, and that of his own free will he was helping me out when everyone else had failed me. As if he knew my thoughts he took no offense at my threat but, still busied with the horses, only turned around once toward me. "Get in," he said then, and indeed: everything was ready. A magnificent pair of horses, I observed, such as I had never sat behind, and I climbed in happily. "But I'll drive, you don't know the way," I said. "Of course," said he, "I'm not coming with you anyway, I'm staying with Rose." "No," shrieked Rose, fleeing into the house with a justified presentiment that her fate was inescapable; I heard the door chain rattle as she put it up; I heard the key turn in the lock; I could see, moreover, how she put out the lights in the entrance hall and in further flight all though the rooms to keep herself from being discovered. "You're coming with me," I said to the groom, "or I won't go, urgent as my journey is. I'm not thinking of paying for it by handing the girl over to you." "Gee up!" he said; clapped his hands; the gig whirled off like a log in a freshet; I could just hear the door of my house splitting and bursting as the groom charged at it and then I was deafened and blinded by a storming rush that steadily buffeted all my senses. But this only for a moment, since, as if my patient's farmyard had opened out just before my courtyard gate, I was already there; the horses had come quietly to a standstill; the blizzard had stopped; moonlight all around; my patient's parents hurried out of the house, his sister behind them; I was almost lifted out of the gig; from their confused ejaculations I gathered not a word; in the sickroom the air was almost unbreathable; the neglected stove was smoking; I wanted to push open a window; but first I had to look at my patient. Gaunt, without any fever, not cold, not warm, with vacant eyes, without a shirt, the youngster heaved himself up from under the feather bedding, threw his arms around my neck, and whispered in my ear: "Doctor, let me die." I glanced around the room; no one had heard it; the parents were leaning forward in silence waiting for my verdict; the sister had set a chair for my handbag; I opened the bag and hunted among my instruments; the boy kept clutching at me from his bed to remind me of his entreaty; I picked up a pair of tweezers, examined them in the candlelight, and laid them down again. "Yes," I thought blasphemously, "in cases like this the gods are helpful, send the missing horse, add to it a second because of the urgency, and to crown everything bestow even a groom —" And only now did I remember Rose again; what was I to do, how could I rescue her, how could I pull her away from under that groom at ten miles' distance, with a team of horses I couldn't control. These horses, now, they had somehow slipped the reins loose, pushed the windows open from outside, I did not know how; each of them had stuck a head in at a window and, quite unmoved by the startled cries of the family, stood eyeing the patient. "Better go back at once," I thought, as if the horses were summoning me to the return journey, yet I permitted the patient's sister, who fancied that I was dazed by the heat, to take my fur coat from me. A glass of rum was poured out for me, the old man clapped me on the shoulder, a familiarity justified by this offer of his treasure. I shook my head; in the narrow confines of the old man's thoughts I felt ill; that was my only reason for refusing the drink. The mother stood by the bedside and cajoled me toward it; I yielded, and, while one of the horses whinnied loudly to the ceiling, laid my head to the boy's breast, which shivered under my wet beard. I confirmed what I already knew; the boy was quite sound, something a little wrong with his circulation, saturated with coffee by his solicitous mother, but sound and best turned out of bed with one shove. I am no world reformer and so I let him lie. I was the district doctor and did my duty to the uttermost, to the point where it became almost too much. I was badly paid and yet generous and helpful to the poor. I had still to see that Rose was all right, and then the boy might have his way and I wanted to die too. What was I doing there in that endless winter! My horse was dead, and not a single person in the village would lend me another. I had to get my team out of the pigsty; if they hadn't chanced to be horses I should have had to travel with swine. That was how it was. And I nodded to the family. They knew nothing about it, and, had they known, would not have believed it. To write prescriptions is easy, but to come to an understanding with people is hard. Well, this should be the end of my visit, I had once more been called out needlessly, I was used to that, the whole district made my life a torment with my night bell, but that I should have to sacrifice Rose this time as well, the pretty girl who had lived in my house for years almost without my noticing her – that sacrifice was too much to ask, and I had somehow to get it reasoned out in my head with the help of what craft I could muster, in order not to let fly at this family, which with the best will in the world could not restore Rose to me. But as I shut my bag and put an arm out for my fur coat, the family meanwhile standing together, the father sniffing at the glass of rum in his hand, the mother, apparently disappointed in me – why, what do people expect? – biting her lips with tears in her eyes, the sister fluttering a blood-soaked towel, I was somehow ready to admit conditionally that the boy might be ill after all. I went toward him, he welcomed me smiling as if I were bringing him the most nourishing invalid broth – ah, now both horses were whinnying together; the noise, I suppose, was ordained by heaven to assist my examination of the patient – and this time I discovered that the boy was indeed ill. In his right side, near the hip, was an open wound as big as the palm of my hand. Rose-red, in many variations of shade, dark in the hollows, lighter at the edges, softly granulated, with irregular clots of blood, open as a surface mine to the daylight. That was how it looked from a distance. But on a closer inspection there was another complication. I could not help a low whistle of surprise. Worms, as thick and as long as my little finger, themselves rose-red and blood-spotted as well, were wriggling from their fastness in the interior of the wound toward the light, with small white heads and many little legs. Poor boy, you were past helping. I had discovered your great wound; this blossom in your side was destroying you. The family was pleased; they saw me busying myself; the sister told the mother, the mother the father, the father told several guests who were coming in, through the moonlight at the open door, walking on tiptoe, keeping their balance with outstretched arms. "Will you save me?" whispered the boy with a sob, quite blinded by the life within his wound. That is what people are like in my district. Always expecting the impossible from the doctor. They have lost their ancient beliefs; the parson sits at home and unravels his vestments, one after another; but the doctor is supposed to be omnipotent with his merciful surgeon's hand. Well, as it pleases them; I have not thrust my services on them; if they misuse me for sacred ends, I let that happen to me too; what better do I want, old country doctor that I am, bereft of my servant girl! And so they came, the family and the village elders, and stripped my clothes off me; a school choir with the teacher at the head of it stood before the house and sang these words to an utterly simple tune: