Mysteries - Knut Hamsun [136]
Sure, he hadn’t the least doubt that he would eventually persuade an angel of the Lord to do this for him....
Again the church bell strikes the hour. Half absent, he counts the four strokes and thinks no more of it. He had to be patient. Then he folded his hands and prayed to be allowed to die quickly, within the next few minutes; that way he might be able to reach Dagny before she awoke. If he did, he would offer thanks and praise to everything and everybody; it was a great favor, and he had only this one fervent wish....
He closed his eyes and fell asleep.
He slept for three hours. When he awoke the sun was shining down at him, and the whole forest was filled with a loud murmur of chirping birds. He sat up and looked about him; suddenly he remembered all he had done during the night. The bottle was still lying beside him, and he recalled how fervently he had prayed to God at the end, asking to be allowed to die real soon. And here he was, still alive! Once again some evil circumstance he’d not foreseen had crossed his path! Completely at sea, he thought it all through to no avail, being aware of only one thing: that thus far he was not dead!
He got up, took the bottle and walked a few steps. Why did he always come up against obstacles whenever he honestly tried to do something? What was wrong with the poison? It was genuine Prussic acid, a doctor had confirmed it was enough, more than enough; also, the parson’s dog had dropped stone dead after a mere taste of it. And it was the very same vial, it had been half full, that he remembered having seen with his own eyes before he emptied it. The vial had never been in anyone else’s hands either; he always carried it in his vest pocket. What were these insidious powers shadowing him everywhere?
Like a flash it hits him that the vial had been in strange hands, after all. Coming to a halt, he instinctively snaps his fingers. Hm, it was obvious: Miniman had had it in his possession for a whole night. He had given Miniman his vest at the bachelor party in the hotel; the vial, his watch, and some papers were left in the pockets. Early the following morning Miniman had returned the articles. Oh, that old foolish cripple, once again he had been there with his crafty goodness! How clever, what an artful trick!
Nagel clenched his teeth with indignation. What had he said that night in his room? Hadn’t he explicitly stated that he didn’t have the courage to use the poison on himself? And yet, that utterly rotten, hypocritical freak of a dwarf had been sitting on the chair next to him, secretly doubting his words! What a wretch, a real mole! He had gone straight home and emptied the vial, had perhaps even rinsed it thoroughly and then filled it half full with water. And after this noble deed he had gone to bed and slept soundly!
Nagel began walking toward town. Being fairly rested, he thought things over bitterly and clearly. The events of the night had humiliated him and made him seem ridiculous in his own eyes. To think that