A Confession... — A Story on a Borrowed Idea

— A story on a borrowed idea —

In the midst of a darkness whose veil was pierced only by a faint, pale light, two companions sat, as close together as could be and as far apart as could be. They were close and face to face in body and sense, and distant and at odds in thought, mind, and imagination. One of them — the master of the house — was distinguished by the coarseness of his features, the force of his gaze, and the bristle of his mustache; the other, sitting near him on the bench, was tall and thin, narrow-shouldered and slender-necked — but a neck that counted it a glory to bear the head of a thinker, a philosopher, a famous genius! There he is, casting about his dim, bewildered glances, like other aged men on whose faces are drawn looks of supplication and bargaining... puffing the smoke of his pipe in a thick cloud.

Snow-white are the locks that flow from his head and hang down over his wrinkled, dignified face...

Calm is his enigmatic smile... as though nothing leaves its mark on an old man's countenance but an easy conscience and repose in virtue...

Our two companions sat without speaking. Through that all-embracing quiet you could hear the faint, feeble bubbling of the burning oil, mingled with the faint, feeble bubbling of the tobacco juice... And there on the wall is the clock, ringed with a halo of pale light, whirring and striking eleven.

Here the voice of the thinking man broke through the silence. In a soft, deep, musical tone he began:

— This is the hour at which you used to mix the drink for the New Year's toast...

— Yes, this is the hour, the other answered, in a rough voice like the echo of some tremendous crying voice.

— I would never have thought — the guest went on — I would never have thought this day could be so sad without her.

The host agreed with a nod of his head, then repeated:

— She prepared the drink for us forty-four times... yes, forty-four times; and all the while I have lived here in this town, you have come visiting me, easing whatever care and grief and distress I bore...

Here the philosopher's voice rose, as if issuing from some deep cavern, and he said, as though waking from a dream:

— Last year, at this very hour, there were three of us gathered here, rejoicing... Yes, I remember it exactly... She sat here... here, on this rickety chair... Then there we are, drinking, and discussing all manner of subjects with great pleasure and delight... And there is the clock striking twelve, and she rises and wishes each of us a new year full of gladness and joy... then slips away to her bed... And there she is, two months after that day... there she is, borne upon men's shoulders, slipping away upon them to her eternal bed...

The husband answered him with a burning sigh...

— She was a good, devoted woman. She was among the best of women in usefulness, in sense, in thought, in feeling, and in heart... She cared for me greatly: whenever I woke and made ready to go to work at five in the morning, I would always find her above my head, looking at me with looks all gratitude, all love and honesty and majesty, in her hand the cup of coffee, its steam rising and veiling her radiant face... I never dreamed that face would be veiled from me by the smoke of death so quickly! No... no, I never dreamed it! I loved her greatly, but I hated in her that love of hers for debating questions of philosophy with you, that is...

— "You could not understand them"... words the guest whispered, as though sunk in a deep dream. He whispered as though from some far-off, hollow, dismal cavern.

After a silence that did not last long, the scholar began, with some confusion and hesitation:

— Listen, my friend... there is something I want to say to you... something that has gnawed at me a long while... something I cannot possibly carry with me to the grave...

The host cried, puffing the smoke of his pipe and rocking his chair without the least concern:

— Begin, then... what are you waiting for!

— One day... something happened... between me and... and your wife...

— Kindly leave off your usual joking, especially in matters such as these!...

— I am reciting into your hearing a tremendous, fearful truth, my friend... I have kept it hidden more than forty years, and now, at this hour, I must fold up this page of my life within your hearing...

The host cried out firmly: "Do you mean that my wife betrayed me?!"

— Shame on you to say it — the philosopher answered, his perpetual, faint smile never leaving his lips. — She was a model of purity, chastity, and virtue. She was as spotless as an angel... You and I are the two criminals...

Listen to me: forty-three years ago, you had to go to the capital on some important business, and I was then teaching at the university... Do you remember what a reckless young fellow you were?... Do you remember that beautiful, dark-eyed person you loved!?

— Do I remember!... Yes... yes, she was called "Hayfa" — and here a weak, fading smile hovered over his face, scorched by the sun's blaze and covered with the venerable lines of age...

— I warned you, and told you frankly and more than once: she may pursue you... she may play you false... she may wreck your family... so beware, turn away from her... But you would not desist, nor come back to your senses...

You deceived your wife... And she grew suspicious and doubted it, but she said nothing; she suffered in stillness and quiet. You did not notice it, but I perceived it.

She was the first woman whose heart I wished to look into, whose soul I wished to fathom, after my father's death. She entered my life like a bright, glittering star... and I too was to her as a shining, glittering star... And I merely summoned my courage at the first opportunity and asked her the cause of her unease and languor. She smiled and said her health was not quite well...

And the days went by, one after another, and New Year's Day came; I came here about eight, as usual, and she was sitting embroidering. I sat down opposite her and began to read in a book while we waited for you to come home. The hours passed, one upon another... and you did not appear. I caught her confusion and her trembling... and I grew confused and trembled. I knew the person who was beguiling you away from us, and I feared you would forget midnight in her hands! And there is the clock dancing before me, its two hands drawing near each other to meet above the twelve... Your wife could no longer embroider in that state of stifled trembling, so she stopped, and I stopped reading with her. A dreadful, fearful silence reigned, and I saw a tear steal from her eyes and flow down slowly, quietly, and fall upon the piece she had been embroidering. I sprang up, meaning to go to you and bring you back to your house, for I felt at that moment a tremendous force driving me to wrench you by force from that lady's side... But your wife leapt up at the same instant from this chair on which I now sit, and cried:

"— Where are you going? —" and an indescribable terror and pallor overspread her face.

I said to her: "I am going to bring you home." And no sooner did she see me making ready to go than she cried, with courtesy and gentleness: "Do not leave me alone, for pity's sake; at least, with you near me, the desolation of solitude is eased. Do not leave me, I beg you." Then she threw herself upon me, flung her arms about my shoulders, and hid her wet face against my chest. My body quivered like a slaughtered bird: it was the first time I had felt a woman's body pressed against me... But I mastered myself and gently put her from me, and set about consoling her and soothing away her alarm and dread... A little afterward you returned, but you did not notice my confusion: your cheeks were brimming with red, and a heavy weariness and great fatigue clothed your eyes.

That day wrought an upheaval that filled the soul with terror and disquiet, like a shrieking cry or a piercing alarm.

From the moment I felt her soft, yielding hands encircle my neck, from the moment I breathed the perfume of her jet-black hair, the star fell from the sky... and in place of a bright, glittering star there was only — the woman — the beautiful, graceful woman... breathing out love and breathing it in.

My looks that day betrayed infatuation, longing, and passion; and I showed myself thenceforth a fool and a cunning deceiver. And so as to make at least a partial atonement to my conscience, I set about using every means to part you from your mistress; by good luck I had with me a little money I had inherited, so I gave it to her, and she was satisfied with that, and...

The host cut him off with earnest severity: So you are the man who severed the tie between me and the one I desired. You are the cause of that affecting letter she sent me: the letter of farewell into which she poured all the wiles and cunning at her command, so as to end by saying, "I have forgotten your love, so away with you from me!"?...

— Yes! I am that man. But hear me out. I wanted to purchase with the money the peace I hoped for, but I was mistaken. The wicked thoughts still pursued me. I buried myself in my work, but fate refused me peace... And so a whole year passed, and the feast of the New Year came round. I was sitting near her on this bench once more; but this time you were in the house, asleep in the next room, worn out with the din of the club. I sat near her, gazing innocently at her pale face; but the memory of last year's feast beguiled me, and resistance was beyond me, and before I knew it her head was at my neck once more; before I knew it, I was kissing her for the second time... Our eyes met, and I fancied a secret gleamed in hers; I could no longer master myself, and I sank down at her feet and hid my burning head in her lap, and remained so for a few

seconds, until I felt her ice-cold hand pass over my head, and heard her say in a sweet, melodious voice: "You must be virtuous!" Yes! I must be virtuous, and not betray the man sleeping in the next room, secure in his trust in the purity of my intent. So I sprang up and looked about me with relief... and the next thing I saw, she was handing me a book, and the next thing I knew, I was reading aloud from that book... I did not know what I was reading. The letters danced before my eyes. But the tempest lurking in my soul began to lift, little by little. And when twelve struck, and you came out with drooping, drowsy eyes, wishing each of us a happy year, the moment of sin and temptation had drawn far away from us and become as something of a distant, dim age. From that time on I have felt a relative calm. I became certain that she did not return my love, and that I should never have anything of her — nothing, save tenderness and compassion. The years passed, and age advanced upon us, but my love kept all the warmth it had had. I loved her still; but that love had risen above common desire to a chaste, deep love; it had ascended to the height of a virtuous spirituality.

You used to laugh when you heard us debating philosophical subjects — but did you ever divine how our two spirits had become no more than one single, all-embracing spirit? And there she lies now, a lifeless body... and perhaps not a year will pass before we have followed her into the world of eternity. That is the reason that moved me to unburden this secret at this hour, my comrade; so pardon me, and forgive my lapse... And he stretched out his hand to him imploringly. But his friend answered with coldness, spite, and guile:

— Bah! Drivel, raving, idle talk! A great deal indeed to forgive!!! This news of yours is old — very old. I have known it for an age. She herself told me all of it forty years ago. And now I want to tell you the reason that drove me to run after women — that road I traveled until I grew old and decrepitude showed upon me... The reason is that she told me, she herself — and he paused a little to recover some of his courage — she told me that you were the only man to whom she had opened her heart, and whom she had loved... The thinker started, and began to search his host's face in a fearful stillness... And there on the wall is the clock, ringed with a halo of pale light, whirring and striking twelve...