Mysteries - Knut Hamsun [54]
“But now let’s talk about you. What grievance do you have against Mr. Reinert, the deputy?”
“None at all. Against Mr. Reinert, did you say?”
“Last night you asked him to forgive you for something, and tonight you barely spoke a word with him. Are you in the habit of offending everybody and then apologizing for it?”
He laughed and looked down at the road.
“The truth is,” he replied, “that it was quite wrong of me to offend the deputy. But I’m quite certain that it will be all right again when I’ve had a chance to talk to him. I’m a bit hasty, a bit too plain-spoken, the whole thing was due to his jostling me as he passed through a door. A trifle, that is, a carelessness on his part; but like a fool I immediately jump up and call him names, shake my tankard under his nose and dent his hat. Then he left; as a gentleman he simply had to take himself off. But afterward I came to regret my conduct, and I’ve decided to make it up with him. Naturally, I may have had an excuse of sorts; I was all nerves that day, having had several disappointments. But nobody knows about that, you can’t tell people such things, so I’d better take the whole blame.”4
He had spoken without hesitation, in absolute sincerity, as if trying to be fair to both sides. Nor did his expression betray any trickery. But Dagny stopped short, looked him squarely in the face and said, astonished, “Oh, but—that’s not how it happened! I’ve heard a quite different story.”
“Miniman is lying!” Nagel cried, coloring up.
“Miniman? I didn’t hear it from Miniman. Why are you slandering yourself? I heard it from a man in Market Square, from the plasterer, he told me all about it. He saw it from beginning to end.”
Pause.
“Why do you have to slander yourself? That baffles me,” she went on, not taking her eyes off him. “I heard the story today and it made me so happy; that is, I thought you had acted in such an exceptionally beautiful way, in such a superior way. It suited you so well. If I hadn’t heard that story this morning, I would hardly have dared to walk here with you now. I’m telling you this in all sincerity.”
Pause.
Then he says, “And now you admire me because of this?”
“I don’t know,” she replied.
“Oh yes, you do.5
“Look,” he goes on, “this is a farce. You are an honest person, it goes against my grain to deceive you; I’ll tell you what the truth of the matter is.”
And he explains to her, brazenly and unblinkingly, how he calculated the whole thing.
“When I present this skirmish with the deputy in my own way, distorting the matter slightly, even slandering myself a little, I do so essentially—essentially—out of pure speculation. I’m trying to derive as much advantage from the affair as possible. You can see I’m quite candid with you. I take it for granted that someone or other will tell you the truth sometime anyway, and since I have from the start made myself look as bad as possible, I stand to gain by it, to win an immense prize. I acquire a tinge of greatness, of magnanimity, which scarcely has an equal—don’t you agree?—but it only comes about through a deception so common, so crude, that you’ll be shocked on learning about it. I feel bound to make this open confession, because you deserve that I treat you honestly. But what I’ll achieve by it is, of course, to drive you a thousand miles away from me, unfortunately.”
Her eyes still fastened on him, she pondered this man and his words, reflecting and trying to form an opinion. What was she to believe? What was he after with all his candor? Again she suddenly stops, claps her hands together and bursts into loud, ringing laughter.
“Oh, you’re the most impudent person I’ve ever known! Imagine saying such things, one nastier than the other, and all with a straight face, just to damage oneself! But you won’t get anywhere with it! The utter absurdity of it! What guarantee did you have that I would ever get to know the truth