Mysteries - Knut Hamsun [107]
Miniman doesn’t reply, not a word. Terror-stricken at those staring eyes and that mysterious whisper, completely unable to grasp this desperate little question about a particular day, a date a month ago, he hurriedly tears open the door and tumbles into the hallway. Here he wobbles about for a moment, unable to find the stairs, while Nagel stands in the doorway calling to him: “No, no, this is all wrong, please forget it! I’ll explain some other time, some other time....”
But Miniman didn’t hear anything. He was already downstairs before Nagel had finished speaking, and from there he ran—looking neither right nor left—into the street, across Market Square and over to the big town pump, where he turned into the first side street and disappeared.
An hour later—it was ten o’clock—Nagel lighted a cigar and went out. The town hadn’t yet gone to rest; a great many people were seen strolling slowly up and down the road leading to the parsonage, and the streets round about still rang with laughter and shouts from small fry playing. Men and women were sitting on the steps chatting quietly in the mild evening air; now and then they called to neighbors across the street and received a friendly reply.
Nagel walked down toward the docks. He saw Miniman go around sticking up posters on the post office, the bank, the school, and the prison. He did it, oh, so carefully and conscientiously! What pains he took and how unmindful of the time he was, though he might need to get to bed! Walking by close up, Nagel bowed, but didn’t stop.
Shortly before reaching the docks, he was accosted by a voice behind him. Martha Gude stops him and says, quite breathlessly, “Excuse me, but you gave me too much money.”
“Good evening!” he replies. “Are you, too, taking a walk?”
“No, I’ve been in town, outside your hotel; I was waiting for you. Really, you gave me too much money.”
“So, we’re starting that comedy all over again, are we?”
“But you made a mistake!” she cries, dismayed. “There was more than two hundred in small bills.”
“Oh, that’s it! Well, well, there were really a few kroner too many, one or two kroner over two hundred? All right, you can just return them to me.”
She begins to unbutton her bodice, but suddenly checks herself and looks around, not knowing what to do. Then she apologized again: there were so many people, maybe she couldn’t take out the money here, in the street, she had put it in such a safe place—
“No,” he hastened to answer, “I can pick it up, you know, just let me pick it up.”
And they walked to her house together. They met several people, who looked at them with inquisitive eyes.
When they got indoors, Nagel took a seat by the window where he had sat before, and where her skirt was still hanging for a curtain. While Martha was busy getting out the money he didn’t say anything; only when she was through and handed him a handful of small bills, some worn and faded ten-krone bills that were still warm from her bosom and which her honesty wouldn’t let her keep even overnight, did he speak to her, asking her to keep the money.
But now, as once before, she seemed to suspect his purpose; giving him a doubtful look, she said, “No! ... I just don’t understand you.”
He abruptly got to his feet.
“But I understand you perfectly,” he replied, “that’s why I’m getting up and going to the door. Is your mind set at rest now?”
“Yes—. No, you mustn’t stand by the door.” And, indeed, she held out her arms slightly, as if to pull him back. This queer spinster was too afraid to cross anybody.
“I should like to ask you a favor,” Nagel then said, still not sitting down. “It would give me great pleasure if you agreed to—well, I would make sure to make it up to you some way or other: I want you to come to the bazaar Thursday evening. Will you do me that favor? It would distract you, there will be lots of people, lights, music, tableaux. Oh, please say yes, you won’t regret it! You’re laughing, why are you laughing? Good