The knowledge that Paul was close by brought Eline back to earth, and she saw that the corpse was nothing but her petticoat. She got up, took the night light and crouched down to look under her bed — there was no hand to be seen. But then, as she was setting the lamp on the table, the shadows began to heave again with wild animals on the prowl, and she ran back to bed, shivering with fear as she drew up the clammy, rumpled sheet. Her next thought was of the hand under the bed.
However hard she tried to halt the workings of her brain so that she might sleep, she stayed awake, filled with a dark sense of foreboding. Madame van Raat might die all of a sudden, and then what? She conjured up all manner of confused, illogical scenes illustrating the circumstances of her passing: a protracted illness, like the one Aunt Vere had suffered, complete with bouts of ill temper which Eline would bear with infinite forbearance, or a sudden heart attack, or else a fatal accident, such as a railway disaster. Or something even more dramatic: there was a man, for instance, a man with a grudge bent on revenge, he was dragging the old lady over the floor by her grey hair, stabbing her with a kitchen knife so that she lay dying in a pool of blood, until Eline broke down and sobbed at her fantasised horror.
How grief-stricken she would be, how she would cling to the lifeless body, how she would scream when forcibly dragged away! In a flash, the tragedy was transformed into a gentle scene, filled with love and happiness: a reconciliation between her and Otto, who came towards her, pressed her to his chest and kissed her. With their arms about each other, they wandered off into a Spanish landscape, only for her to push him away abruptly and for him to fall at her feet in a flood of tears. She raised him up again, and they were standing on top of a bridge, swaying sky-high over a thunderous waterfall, deafened by the noise; then he enfolded her in his arms, and together, exhausted from their grief and the roaring in their ears, they jumped into the deep.
Outside, the cock crowed again, and Eline sat up with a jolt. Had she been asleep, had she been dreaming? How could that be? She could have sworn that she had not slept a wink. Panting and clammy with perspiration, she got out of bed. Her throat was parched, and after moistening her face with a wet towel she gulped down a glass of water, then another and another in rapid succession. She shivered, despite the warm stuffiness of the room, and donned a grey woollen peignoir. Then she lifted the edge of the window curtain and looked outside, where the night was beginning to pale. It was half-past three; the cock crowed yet again, and this time its cry was answered by several others.
Her fevered imagination came to rest in the bleak onset of dawn, and she turned away from the window. The sight of her rumpled bed, on which she had spent so many hours tossing and turning, filled her with distaste, so she lay down on the Persian couch instead. From there she could just see the leafy crowns of the chestnut trees outside, and she focused her attention on the ruffled foliage.
Inside, the night light sputtered, flickered, then went out, leaving the wick smoking.
Eline dropped off to asleep, exhausted in mind and body, as the gathering light of day played on her sallow, waxen features.
. .
Reijer was not due to call on her that morning, but Eline sent him an urgent summons and he came forthwith. She almost begged him to give her something to make her sleep, saying that she would surely go mad if the horrendous experience of the past sleepless nights repeated itself. Reijer replied that he could of course prescribe a sleep-inducing medicine, but she would be far better off trying to regain a normal sleep pattern without artificial means. She should take exercise, go for walks. Eline sighed and shrugged her shoulders impatiently. She had barely had the strength to get out of bed this morning, and even now she could only drag herself with difficulty from one chair to the next! Take exercise — in this warm weather? She was simply not up to it, so she stayed at home, only feeling slightly revived in the fresh air of evening, in her large wicker chair on the veranda. Madame van Raat eyed her with concern.
Come the evening, Paul joined them again for tea, as was becoming his habit. Regarding Eline from his perch on the balustrade he was reminded of the dance party for Lili’s wedding, when he had conceived the idea of setting his cap at Eline, just for the sport of it. Although she was not as fresh-faced as she used to be, and much thinner, she made on him an impression of ethereal elegance; indeed, he found her rather beautiful with her dark, sunken eyes and her sad little mouth. However, he dismissed all thought of engaging her attention with honeyed tones and blandishments, for he could see that her spirit was broken. He recalled how dazzling she used to be, how coquettish and vivacious, with laughter pearling from her lips, and the memory filled him with a deep sense of pity for her. She had said her life was in ruins, and he thought that might well be the case.
‘How are you feeling, Eline? Better than this afternoon?’ he asked, and in his voice there was something, a certain warmth, that reminded her of Henk.
She nodded faintly, and he pointed to the stars that were beginning to twinkle in the dusk, asking whether she would like to see his celestial globe; this was as good an occasion as any, especially since he had brought it down from the attic that very morning. She was in no mind for astronomy, but did not wish to disappoint him, so off he went to fetch the globe. He placed himself beside her, and she sat up straight in readiness for instruction. Madame van Raat looked on as Paul, having availed himself of her crochet needle, used it to point out the constellations, after which Eline obligingly tried to identify the corresponding figures in the sky, smiling as she raised her finger to trace imaginary lines from one star to the next.
Paul’s mother noted the sweetness of Eline’s smile, and was likewise impressed by her son’s affable tone, in which there was not a trace of the cynicism and breezy condescension he so often affected. A vague sense of optimism came over her: to be sure, time was when she would have liked to see Eline wedded to her son Henk, but she could not help thinking that a measure of tenderness had crept into Eline’s exchanges with Paul of late. Even now she was responding with some animation while Paul pursued his elementary lesson in astronomy, circumstantially explaining that since she was looking down at the stars on the astronomy globe whereas she looked up at them in the sky, she should try and imagine herself at the centre of the globe.
That evening Paul stayed at home until the ladies made to retire at eleven. When he took his leave, his mother clasped his hand and kissed him on the forehead, instead of nodding a perfunctory goodbye as she usually did.
XXXI
Frédérique felt very annoyed with herself. She had discovered that Paul had been lending Etienne money again, and when she found herself alone with him she had given him a piece of her mind. Oh, why couldn’t she resist meddling in their affairs? What they did was none of her business, really. With Etienne it was different: he was still a boy, and as his older sister she had every right to tell him off when he behaved badly. Paul, on the other hand, must be getting sick and tired of her, what with her lecturing him and going off into a huff whenever she took exception to his behaviour. Because that was what she had done, yet again. Why had she not simply asked him not to lend Etienne any money in future, why complicate matters by giving him a cold shoulder first? There was no need for any of that!