“We can rest there and have something to eat,” Hartmann said. “You must be hungry: you had no lunch. We won’t get roast duck there, but at least we can have a meal and rest.”
Toni nodded in agreement. She was thinking, When did I recollect the firefly: when Michael pointed to the light, or when I said I thought it was a firefly? But she felt she must have been thinking about the firefly before, as she had been thinking about her daughters in the country. She shivered, as if the incident had taken place only now.
The road twisted and turned, now to the right, now to the left. The inn lamp kept on vanishing and reappearing. A moist smell rose from the earth. Toni shivered a little, though she did not actually feel cold. She gazed silently into the darkness which was shrouding both her and Michael. Once more the inn lamp came into view, only to disappear a moment later. Toni drew in her shoulders, and a breeze passed across her body.
“Cold?” Hartmann asked solicitously.
“I think I see people coming.”
“There is no one here, but perhaps.”
“I’ve never seen such a tall person before,” said Toni, “Do look.” A man with a ladder came toward them. Placing the ladder on the ground, he climbed it and lit a lamp. Toni blinked her eyes and drew in her breath. “Was there something you wanted to say?” Michael asked her. She looked down and said: “I didn’t say anything.”
Hartmann smiled. “That’s strange, I fancied you wanted to say something.”
Toni blushed. “Did I want to say something?” She looked at her shadow in silence.
Hartmann smiled again: “So you didn’t want to say anything. But I thought you did.”
Toni walked on silently at Michael’s side.
Two shadows became visible. The head of one of them was close to Toni’s, while the other was close to Hartmann’s. Two young people came in sight, a boy and a girl. The whole air became charged with their unfulfilled desires. Hartmann looked at them, and they at him. Toni lowered her head and looked at her wedding ring.
4
A little later they came to a garden fenced on three sides. The gate was open, and to the right of it shone a lamp. Some smaller lanterns, in the shape of apples and pears, hung from the trees in the garden. Hartman looked at the sign and said: “I wasn’t mistaken, this is a restaurant. We’ll get something to eat here.” Taking Toni by the arm, he walked in with her.
A plump, loose-limbed girl was sitting in front of the house, cleaning vegetables and occupying half the width of the bottom step. She greeted them in a loud voice and lowered her skirt. Hartmann thought: She’s red-haired and freckled. Although I can’t see her in the dark, I’ve a feeling that’s the type she is. Toni shook her head at him. He gazed at her in astonishment. Could she possibly have sensed what I was thinking? He took her parasol and laid it on a chair, and placed his hat on top of it. “Let’s sit in the garden,” he said, “or would you prefer to eat indoors?” “No,” Toni replied, “let’s eat out here.”
A waiter came up, wiped the top of the table, spread a cloth on it, and handed them a menu. Then he fetched a glass of water and put the flowers in it, and stood waiting until they were ready with their order. Hartmann saw that most of the dishes listed in the menu had been struck out. He grumbled: “Most of the dishes have already been eaten up.” Looking over Hartmann’s shoulder, the waiter said: “I’ll bring you some others immediately.” “You’re hiding your wares under a bushel,” said Hartmann. The waiter bent down and said: “The dishes we have struck out have all been eaten. Others have been cooked instead, but we haven’t had time to enter them in the menu.” “In that case,” observed Hartmann, “we ought to be glad that we shall be getting fresh dishes.” “Your pleasure is our happiness,” the waiter replied. “Will you have brown bread or white?” “When you eat in the country,” Toni said, “you must have brown bread.” “And what wines do you care for, sir?” the waiter asked. “Wine,” exclaimed Hartmann happily, as if rejoiced to discover that such a thing still existed for people’s delectation. He studied the wine list and placed his order.
“We’re in luck,” he said to Toni. “This is far better than we expected.” Toni smoothed the crease on her upper lip with her tongue, either because she was hungry or maybe because she could think of nothing to say in reply. The waiter returned with their order. Michael and Toni drew up their chairs and began eating. Toni was ashamed to eat too heartily, but her bashfulness failed to blunt her appetite.
The potatoes, spinach, eggs, meat, turnips, and other things that the waiter brought them were all excellently prepared. Toni ate with relish. The stars winked at them from the sauce, and from the bough of a tree came the song of a bird. Hartmann covered his knees with his napkin and listened to the bird.
The girl they had seen on their arrival passed by. She gave them a glance of recognition. Hartmann looked at her and said, “Didn’t I say she was a red-head with freckles?” though in fact he did not manage to see whether she had freckles or not.
Toni lifted the glass with the flowers, looked at them and then smelled them. She had always been particularly fond of asters, they were so modest and lovely. She had planted some on her mother’s grave, and those asters, not particular about growing in the best soil necessarily, would look at her gratefully when she came for a visit.
Again the girl passed by, this time carrying a basket of plums with both hands. The juice of the overripe plums gave off an odor of cloying sweetness.
5
Taking his wineglass in his hand, Hartmann mused: Since the day I married her I never behaved so decently toward her as when I gave her the divorce. Unconsciously raising his glass higher, he continued: If a man quarrels with a woman, he has no right to live with her. Marriage without love is no marriage at all. Divorce is preferable to a quarrelsome marriage. He put down the glass, moved the cruet-stand, and selected a toothpick. Following the same trend of thought, he reflected: If a man marries a woman and does not love her, he has to give her a divorce. If he doesn’t divorce her, he has to love her. And that love has to undergo constant renewal. “Did you say anything?” Toni stretched out her hand, pointed to the tree, and said: “A bird.”
Hartmann looked at the tree.
“Is that the one that was singing,” Toni asked, “or was it another one?”
“Of course it was,” Hartmann replied with great animation, although his certainty rested upon insecure ground.
Toni leaned her head on her left shoulder and thought to herself, That little creature sits hidden in a tree, and its voice brings a thrill to one’s heart.
Hartmann clenched his fingers and looked at Toni as she sat with her head resting on her shoulder. Her shoulders seemed to him to be hidden, and two white specks peeped at him through the openings in her dress where her blouse had slipped down, exposing one shoulder. Now, Hartmann thought, we shall see the other one. Unconsciously he rapped on the table. The waiter heard and came up to them. Once he had come, Hartmann took out his purse, paid the bill and tipped him. The waiter thanked him and bowed profusely: either he was drunk, or else the tip was larger than he had anticipated.
The meal had been a good one, and it had cost Hartmann less than he had expected. He sat with a feeling of contentment and ordered a quarter-bottle of brandy for himself and a sweet liqueur for Toni. He took out a cigar and trimmed it with his knife. Then he offered his cigarette case to Toni. They sat opposite one another, the smoke from the cigar and cigarette mingling. Above them shone the little lanterns, and above the lanterns shone the stars. Toni parted the smoke with her fingers and went on smoking tranquilly. Hartmann looked at her and said: “Listen, Toni.” Toni raised her eyes to him. Hartmann put down his cigar and said: “I had a dream.”