He turned around and saw the man he had brought with him lying on a bed over which a young doctor was bending.
The lips of the sick man were moistened with wine. His eyes stood wide open, staring up at the ceiling, tears upon tears running gently and incessantly from the corners of his eyes, down over his temples. It was as though they had nothing to do with the man — as though they were trickling from a broken vessel and could not stop trickling until the vessel had run quite empty.
Slim looked the doctor in the face; the latter shrugged his shoulders. Slim bent over the prostrate man.
"Georgi," he said in a low voice, "can you hear me?" The sick man nodded; it was the shadow of a nod. "Do you know who I am?" A second nod.
"Are you in a condition to answer two or three questions?" Another nod.
"How did you get the white silk clothes?" For a long time he received no answer apart from the gentle falling of the tear drops. Then came the voice, softer than a whisper.
"… He changed with me… " "Who did?"
"Freder… Joh Fredersen's son… " "And then, Georgi?" "He told me I was to wait for him… " "Wait where, Georgi?" A long silence. And then, barely audible: "Ninetieth Street. House seven. Seventh floor… " Slim did not question him further. He knew who lived there. He looked at the doctor; the latter's face wore a completely impenetrable expression.
Slim drew a breath as though he were sighing. He said, more deploringly than inquiringly:
"Why did you not rather go there, Georgi… " He turned to go but stopped still as Georgi's voice came wavering after him; "… The city… all the lights… more than enough money… It is written… Forgive us our trespasses… lead us not into temptation… "
His voice died away. His head fell to one side. He breathed as though his soul wept, for his eyes could do so no longer. The doctor cleared his throat cautiously. Slim raised his head as though somebody had called him, then dropped it again.
"I shall come back again," he said softly. "He is to remain under your care… "
Georgi was asleep.
Slim left the room, followed by the policeman.
"What do you want?" Slim asked with an absent-minded look at him.
"The report, sir."
"What report?"
"I was to take down a report, sir."
Slim looked at the policeman very attentively, almost meditatively. He raised his hand and rubbed it across his forehead.
"A mistake," he said. "That was a mistake… "
The policeman saluted and retired, a little puzzled, for he knew Slim.
He remained standing on the same spot. Again and again he rubbed his forehead with the same helpless gesture.
Then he shook his head, stepped into the car and said:
"Ninetieth block…."
Chapter 7
"WHERE IS GEORGI?" asked Freder, his eyes wandering through Josaphat's three rooms, which stretched out before him — beautiful, with a rather bewildering super-abundance of armchairs, divans and silk cushions, with curtains which goldenly obscured the light.
"Who?" asked Josaphat, listlessly. He had waited, had not slept and his eyes stood excessively large in his thin, almost white face. His gaze, which he did not take from Freder, was like hands which are raised adoringly.
"Georgi," repeated Freder. He smiled happily with his tired mouth.
"Who is that?" asked Josaphat.
"I sent him to you."
"Nobody has come."
Freder looked at him without answering.
"I sat all night in this chair," continued Josaphat, misinterpreting Freder's silence. "I did not sleep a wink. I expected you to come at any second, or a messenger to come from you, or that you would ring me up. I also informed the watchman. Nobody has come, Mr. Freder."
Freder still remained silent. Slowly, almost stumblingly he stepped over the threshold, into the room raising his right hand to his head, as though to take off his hat, then noticing that he was wearing the cap, the black cap, which pressed the hair tightly down, he swept it from his head; it fell to the ground. His hand sank from his brow, over his eyes, resting there a little while. Then the other joined it, as though wishing to console its sister. His form was like that of a young birch tree pressed sideways by a strong wind.
Josaphat's eyes hung on the uniform which Freder wore.
"Mr. Freder," he began cautiously, "how comes it that you are wearing these clothes?"
Freder remained turned away from him. He took his hands from his eyes and pressed them to his face as though he felt some pain there.
"Georgi wore them… " He answered. "I gave him mine… "
"Then Georgi is a workman?"
"Yes… I found him before the Pater-noster machine. I took his place and sent him to you… "
"Perhaps he'll come yet," answered Josaphat.
Freder shook his head.
"He should have been here hours ago. If he had been caught when leaving the New Tower of Babel, then someone would have come to me when I was standing before the machine. It is strange, but there it is; he has not come."
"Was there much money in the suit which you exchanged with Georgi?" asked Josaphat tentatively, as one who-bares a wounded spot.
Freder nodded.
"Then you must not be surprised that Georgi has not come," said Josaphat. But the expression of shame and pain on Freder's face prevented him from continuing.
"Won't you sit down, Mr. Freder," he begged. "Or lie down? You look so tired that it is painful to look at you."
"I have no time to sit down and not time to lie down, either," answered Freder. He walked through the rooms, aimlessly, senselessly, stopping wherever a chair, a table, offered him a hold. "The fact, is this, Josaphat: I told Georgi to come here and to wait here for me — or for a message from me… It is a thousand to one that Slim, in searching for me, is already on Georgi's track, and it's a thousand to one he gets out of him where I sent him… "
"And you do not want Slim to find you?"
"He must not find me, Josaphat — not for anything on earth… "
The other stood silent, rather helpless. Freder looked at him with a trembling smile.
"How shall we obtain money, now, Josaphat?"
"That should offer no difficulty to Joh Fredersen's son."
"More than you think, Josaphat, for I am no longer Joh Fredersen's son… "
Josaphat raised his head.
"I do not understand you," he said, after a pause.
"There is nothing to misunderstand, Josaphat. I have set myself free from my father, and am going my own way… "
The man who had been the first secretary to the Master over the great Metropolis held his breath back in his lungs, then released it in streams.
"Will you let me tell you something, Mr. Freder?"
"Well… "
"One does not set oneself free from your father. It is he who decides whether one remains with him or must leave him.
"There is nobody who is stronger than Joh Fredersen. He is like the earth. As regards the earth we have no will either. Her laws keep us eternally perpendicular to the centre of the earth, even if we stand on our head… When Joh Fredersen sets a man free it means just as much as if the earth were to shut off from a man her powers of attraction. It means falling into nothing… Joh Fredersen can set free whom he may; he will never set free his son… "
"But what," answered Freder, speaking feverishly, "if a man overcomes the laws of nature?"
"Utopia, Mr. Freder."
"For the inventive spirit of man there is no Utopia: there is only a Not-yet. I have made up my mind to venture the path. I must take it — yes, I must take it! I do not know the way yet, but I shall find it because I must find it… "
"Wherever you wish, Mr. Freder—! shall go with you… "