He plunged his hands into his pocket and drew out a wad of banknotes. He pushed it across to Josaphat over the black, polished mirror — Like table. Josaphat clutched at it, leaving his nail marks behind on the table-top and threw it into Shin's face. He caught it with a nimble, thought-swift movement, and gently laid it back on the table. He laid a second one beside it.
"Is that enough?" he asked sleepily.
"No—!" shouted Josaphat's laughter.
"Sensible!" said Slim. "Very sensible. Why should you not make full use of your advantages. An opportunity like this, to raise your whole life by one hundred rungs, to become in-dependant, happy, free, the fulfilment of every wish, the satisfaction of every whim — to have your own, and a beautiful woman before you, will come only once in your life and never again. Seize it, Josaphat, if you are not a fool! In strict confidence: The beautiful woman of whom we spoke just now has already been informed and is awaiting you near the aeroplane which is standing ready for the journey… Three times the price, Josaphat, if you do not keep the beautiful woman waiting!"
He laid the third bundle of banknotes on the table. He looked at Josaphat. Josaphat's reddened eyes devoured his. Josaphat's hands fumbled across blindly and seized the three brown wads. His teeth showed white under his lips; while his fingers tore the notes to shreds, they seemed to be biting them to death.
Slim shook his head. "That's of no account," he said undisturbedly. "I have a cheque-book here, some of the blank leaves of which bear the signature, Joh Fredersen. Let us write a sum on the first leaf — a sum the double of the amount agreed upon up to now… Well, Josaphat?"
"I will not—!" said the other, shaken from head to foot.
Slim smiled.
"No," he said. "Not yet… But very soon… "
Josaphat did not answer. He was staring at the piece of paper, white, printed and written on, which lay before him on the blue-black table. He did not see the figure upon it. He only saw the name upon it:
Joh Fredersen.
The signature, as though written with the blade of an axe:
Joh Fredersen.
Josaphat turned his head this way and that as though he felt the blade of the axe at his neck.
"No," he croaked. "No, no, no…!"
"Not enough yet?" asked Slim.
"Yes!" said he in a mutter. "Yes! It is enough."
Slim got up. Something which he had drawn from his pocket with the bundles of banknotes, without his having noticed it, slid down from his knees.
It was a black cap, such as the workmen in Joh Fredersen's works used to wear…
A howl escaped Josaphat's lips. He threw himself down on both knees. He seized the black cap in both hands. He snatched it to his mouth. He stared at Slim. He jerked himself up. He sprang, like a stag before the pack, to gain the door.
But Slim got there before him. With a mighty leap he sprang across table and divan, rebounded against the door and stood before Josaphat. For the fraction of a second they stared each other in the face. Then Josaphat's hands flew to Slim's throat. Slim lowered his head. He threw forward his arms, like the grabbing arms of the octopus. They held each other, tightly clasped, and wrestled together, burning and ice-cold, raving and reflecting, teeth-grinding and silent, breast to breast.
They tore themselves apart and dashed at each other. They fell, and, wrestling, rolled along the floor. Josaphat forced his opponent beneath him. Fighting, they pushed each other up. They stumbled and rolled over armchairs and divans. The beautiful room, turned into a wilderness, seemed to be too small for the two twisted bodies, which jerked like fishes, stamped like steers, struck at each other like fighting bears.
But against Slim's unshakeable, dreadful coldness the white-hot fury of his opponent could not stand its ground. Suddenly, as though his knee joints had been hacked through, Josaphat collapsed in Slim's hands, fell on his knees and remained there, his back resting against an over-turned armchair, staring up with glassy eyes.
Slim loosened his hold. He looked down at him.
"Had enough yet?" he asked, and smiled sleepily.
Josaphat did not answer. He moved his right hand. In all the fury of the fight he had not lost hold of the black cap which Freder had worn when he came to him.
He raised the cap painfully on to his knees, as though it weighed a hundredweight. He twisted it between his fingers. He fondled it…
"Come, Josaphat, get up!" said Slim. He spoke very gravely and gently and a little sadly. "May I help you? Give me your hands! No, no. I shall not take the cap away from you… I am afraid I was obliged to hurt you very much. It was no pleasure. But you forced me into it."
He left go of the man, who was now standing upright, and he looked around him with a gloomy smile.
"A good thing we settled the price beforehand," he said. "Now the flat would be considerably cheaper."
He sighed a little and looked at Josaphat.
"When will you be ready to go?"
"Now," said Josaphat.
"You will not take anything with you?"
"No."
"You will go just as you are — with all the marks of the struggle, all tattered and torn?"
"Yes."
"Is that courteous to the lady who is waiting for you?"
Sight returned to Josaphat's eyes. He turned a reddened gaze towards Slim.
"If you do not want me to commit the murder on the woman which did not succeed on you — then send her away before I come… "
Slim was silent. He turned to go. He took the cheque, folded it together and put it into Josaphat's pocket.
Josaphat offered no resistance.
He walked before Slim towards the door. Then he stopped again and looked around.
He waved the cap which Freder had worn, in farewell to the room, and burst out into ceaseless laughter. He struck his shoulder against the door post…
Then he went out. Slim followed him.
Chapter 8
FREDER WALKED UP the steps of the cathedral hesitatingly; he was walking up them for the first time. Hel, his mother, used often to go to the cathedral. But her son had never yet done so. Now he longed to see it with his mother's eyes and to hear with the ears of Hel, his mother, the stony prayer of the pillars, each of which had its own particular voice.
He entered the cathedral as a child, not pious, yet not entirely free from shyness — prepared for reverence, but fearless. He heard, as Hel, his mother the Kyrie Eleison of the stones and the Te Deum Laudamus-the De Profundis and the Jubilate. And he heard, as his mother, how the powerfully ringing stone chair was crowned by the Amen of the cross vault…
He looked for Maria, who was to have waited for him on the belfry steps; but he could not find her. He wandered through the cathedral, which seemed to be quite empty of people. Once he stopped. He was standing opposite Death.
The ghostly minstrel stood in a side-niche, carved in wood, in hat and wide cloak, scythe on shoulder, the hour-glass dangling from his girdle; and the minstrel was playing on a bone as though on a flute. The Seven Deadly Sins were his following.
Freder looked Death in the face. Then he said:
"If you had come earlier you would not have frightened me… Now I pray you: Keep away from me and my beloved!"
But the awful flute-player seemed to be listening to nothing but the song he was playing upon a bone.
Freder walked on. He came to the central nave. Before the high altar, over which hovered God Incarnate, a dark form lay stretched out upon the stones, hands clutching out to each side, face pressed into the coldness of the stone, as though the blocks must burst asunder under the pressure of the brow. The form wore the garment of a monk, the head was shaven. An incessant trembling shook the lean body from shoulder to heel, and it seemed to be stiffened as though in a cramp.