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By Root 928 0

hard at you and thought you gave a start? I did it to feel my way. I’ve kept an eye on you and tried all sorts of ways, almost always without success, I admit, because you are irreproachable. But I haven’t doubted for a moment that you were a quiet, sanctimonious secret sinner of some kind. I have no evidence against you, I’m afraid that is lacking, so you can feel quite safe, it will all be between the two of us. But since I have no evidence, how can I be so confident that I’m right, can you understand that? No, that you cannot grasp. And yet you have a way of ducking your head when we talk about certain things; you show a pair of eyes with this or that expression, eyes that blink at the very moment you utter such and such words or when we approach such and such questions. Besides, you have a voice with a sort of whistling sound, oh, what a voice! Ultimately, your person affects me with repugnance; I feel it in the air when you approach, my soul immediately winces with aversion. You can’t understand that, can you? Nor can I, but that’s the way it is. Even at this moment I feel convinced that I am on the right track, God knows I do, but I cannot catch you for lack of evidence. The last time you were here I asked you where you were on June 6—would you like to know why I asked you about that? All right, June 6 was the day Karlsen died, and until then I believed that you had murdered Karlsen.”

Thunderstruck, Miniman repeats, “That I had murdered Karlsen!” and falls silent.

“Yes, I had believed that all along until then. I suspected you’d done it—that’s how far my feeling that you were some kind of crook had driven me. I no longer believe that, I admit I was mistaken; I went too far, and I ask your forgiveness. Whether you believe me or not, I feel very sorry to have done you this great wrong, I’ve begged your pardon for it many an evening when I was alone. But though I was mistaken on this point, I’m still confident that you are an unclean, unctuous soul; I’ll be damned, but you are! I can feel it in my heart of hearts as I stand here looking at you, and strike me dead, you are! Why do I feel so certain? Note that, from the beginning, I had no reason to entertain anything but the best opinion of you, and all you’ve done and said subsequently has also been right and proper, even noble. Besides, I had an unusually beautiful dream about you—that you were in the middle of an open marsh, suffering terribly from my importunities, but that you kept thanking me all the same, throwing yourself on the ground and thanking me for my not tormenting you even more, for not doing you even more harm. That’s what I dreamed about you, and it was very beautiful. And there isn’t a soul in this town who thinks you capable of wrongdoing; you receive the best character reference from everybody, you have everybody’s sympathy—that shows how secretive you’ve been in your life. And yet, in my heart, I see you as a cowardly, groveling angel of the Lord, with a kind word about everybody and a good deed every day. But haven’t you slandered me, done me harm, given away my secrets? No, no, you haven’t; that’s just part of your insinuating ways—you do right by everyone, you never do wrong, you are pious and irreproachable and ever free from sin in people’s eyes. And to the world that’s enough, but to me it’s not; I still suspect you. The first time I saw you a curious thing happened to me. It was a few days after my arrival in town, at two o’clock in the morning. I saw you outside Martha Gude’s house down by the quayside. All of a sudden you were standing in the middle of the street, I hadn’t seen where you came from; you waited to let me pass, and as I went by you stole a sidelong glance at me. I hadn’t yet spoken to you, but a voice inside me drew attention to you, and the voice said your name was Johannes. If it’s the last word I’ll ever utter, my heart sang out that your name was Johannes and that I should take note of you. Only much later did I learn that it really was your name. I’ve been aware of you from that night on, but you have always evaded me,