• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

By Root 930 0

I really experienced something strange, that’s true. I’d gone down into a so-called den. How I got there? Quite by chance. Now and then I roam the streets watching people; I pick out an individual whom I follow at a distance to see where he finally ends up. I don’t shrink from going straight into a house and up the stairs to see where he ends up. At night in a big city this can be extremely interesting and lead to the most curious contacts. Well, we won’t talk about that. Anyway, there I am in San Francisco, roaming the streets. It’s night, I have a tall, thin woman ahead of me on whom I’m keeping an eye; in the light of the street lamps we pass I can see she’s very lightly clad, but she’s wearing a crucifix of green precious stones around her neck. Where was she going? She passes several blocks of houses, turns corners and walks and walks, with me constantly at her heels. At last we find ourselves in the Chinese quarter, the woman steps down into a basement and I follow her; she passes through a long corridor and I do the same. On our right hand is a brick wall, but on our left are cafés, barbershops and laundries. The woman stops at a door and knocks; a face with a pair of slanting eyes looks out through a little window in the door and the woman is admitted. I wait a few moments, standing stock-still, before I knock; the door opens again and I’m admitted.

“The room was filled with smoke and loud conversation. Over by the counter, the skinny woman is arguing with a Chinese in a blue shirt that laps over his trousers. Walking a bit closer, I hear she’s trying to pawn her crucifix but is reluctant to hand it over, she wants to hang on to it. It was a matter of two dollars, and she also owed them some money previously, so that it came to three dollars all in all. Well, she carries on, sheds an occasional tear and wrings her hands; I found her very interesting. The shirt-clad Chinese was also interesting, he wasn’t going to do business unless the crucifix was handed over: cash or a pawn!

“‘I’ll sit here and wait a moment,’ the woman says; ‘I know I’ll end up doing it, agreeing to it. But I shouldn’t do it!’ And she sobs right to the Chinese’s face and wrings her hands.

“‘What is it you shouldn’t do?’ I ask.

“But she can hear I’m a foreigner and doesn’t answer.

“She was unusually interesting and I decided to do something. I could lend her that money just to see how it would turn out. I did it purely out of curiosity, and afterward I slipped an extra dollar into her hand, to see what she would make of that, too. That should be most amusing.

“She stares at me and thanks me; she doesn’t say anything, but nods repeatedly and looks at me with tearful eyes, though I had done it only out of curiosity. All right, she pays at the counter and asks for a room at once. She had handed over all her money.

“She goes off and I follow her. We again stroll through a long corridor; there are numbered rooms on both sides, and the woman slips into one of these rooms and slams the door. I wait a while, but she doesn’t come back; I try the door, it’s locked.

“Then I step into the next room and begin to wait. It has a red divan and an electric bell; the room is illuminated by a lamp wedged into the wall. I lie down on the divan, time hangs heavy and I’m bored. Just to do something, I press the button and ring the bell. I don’t want anything, but ring anyway.

“A Chinese boy appears, looks at me and disappears again. A few moments go by. Come, let me have another look at you! I say, to pass the time; why don’t you come back? And I ring again.

“The boy comes back, soundlessly, as if he were a ghost, gliding in his felt shoes. He doesn’t say anything, nor do I; but he hands me a tiny little porcelain pipe with a long, thin stem, and I accept it. Then he puts a live coal to it and I smoke. I hadn’t asked for the pipe, but I’m smoking. Soon my ears start buzzing....

“Now I can’t recall anything until I feel I’m somewhere high up, that I’m ascending, soaring. The light around me was too bright for words, and the clouds I passed were white. Who