“So, debts with the landlady,” said Zecke quite unmoved, his dark eyes looking attentively at his friend. “Anything else?”
“Yes,” replied Pagel vexed. “I’ve also got a few things in pawn.” In the same moment it occurred to him that this was really not quite true, but in speaking he hadn’t considered the distinction between what’s sold and what’s pawned, and so he left it at that. It really didn’t matter one way or the other …
“So, a few things in pawn,” said von Zecke, still scrutinizing him. “You know, Pagel, I must ask you something else—you must excuse me. Money’s money after all, and even a very little, a hundred dollars, for instance, is to some people quite a lot—for instance, to you.”
Pagel had made up his mind to take no notice of these pin-pricks, for, after all, the main thing was to get the money. “On with your questions!” he said peevishly.
“What are you doing? I mean, what are you living on? Have you got a job which earns you something? Are you a traveler on a commission basis? Employee with a salary?”
“At the moment I’ve got nothing,” said Pagel. “But at any moment I can get a job as a taxi driver.”
“Indeed.” Zecke seemed quite satisfied. “If you want another drink please take one. I’ve had enough for one morning. A taxi driver, then …” And this shady profiteer, this vampire, this criminal (sand instead of Salvarsan!) started to prod him again. “Taxi driver—a good job and handsome earnings, no doubt.” (How the venomous monkey sneered!) “But surely not so much that you can return my money tomorrow? You said, tomorrow if all goes well, you remember? But taxi driving doesn’t pay so well, does it?”
“My dear Zecke,” said Wolfgang getting up, “you want to torment me, isn’t that it? But the money’s not so important as all that.” He was almost shaking with fury.
“But, Pagel!” cried Zecke, startled. “I torment you? Why should I? Look here, you purposely haven’t asked me for a gift—otherwise you would have got a couple of notes long ago. You want a loan and you made statements about repayment—so I ask you how you figure it out, and you start a row. I don’t understand.”
“I spoke without thinking,” said Pagel. “In reality I could only pay the money back in weekly installments, perhaps about two millions a week.…”
“That’s of no consequence, old boy,” cried von Zecke cheerfully. “That’s of no consequence with old friends like ourselves. The chief thing is that you don’t lose the money gambling. That’s the position, isn’t it?”
The two looked at each other.
“It isn’t the slightest use shouting,” said Zecke, at once hurriedly and softly. “I’m so often shouted at that it has no effect. If you want to assault me you’d better do it very quickly—you see, I’ve already rung the bell. Yes, Reimers, the gentleman would like to go. Show him out, will you? So long, Pagel, old friend, and if you want to sell a painting of your father’s I’m always at home to you, always.… What’s the matter, have you gone crazy?” For Pagel had started to laugh with unrestrained amusement.
“Good God, what a swine you are, Zecke,” he said laughing. “It must have hurt you damned hard about the tarts if you have to discharge your venom in this way. Your chief used to trade in music-hall tarts,” he told the man behind him, a cross between master and servant. “He doesn’t wish to acknowledge it anymore, but it still hurts if it’s mentioned. But, Zecke,” went on Pagel, with the dead earnestness of the expert, “I’m inclined to the view that this torch-angel’s arm is stuck on, and badly, too. I should like to do—this …”
And before Zecke or his man could prevent him, the figure had lost its arm. Von Zecke screamed as if he himself felt the pain of amputation, and the servant made to attack Pagel, who, despite inadequate nourishment, was still a powerful young man. With one hand he warded off the manservant, in the other he held the angel’s amputated arm with its lamp socket. “This gross forgery I would like to keep in remembrance of you, my old friend Zecke,” said Wolfgang pleasantly. “You know—The Light That Failed—and so on. So long, and do enjoy your lunch, both of you.”
Pleased and satisfied, Pagel made his exit. If von Zecke really wished to enjoy the the thought that he had not given him any money, he would also have to remember the angel’s arm now in Pagel’s pocket. And the pain would outweigh the pleasure.
VIII
Unmolested he arrived at the gate of Zecke’s villa, and as he pulled it open, saw a girl standing outside, a girl with a terrier straining at its leash, a girl with a very red face.
“Good heavens, Fräulein, you’re not still standing here!” he cried in dismay. “I had completely forgotten all about you.”
“Listen,” said she, and her anger had lost none of its heat through her long wait in the sun. “Listen,” and she held out the notes, “if you think I’m that sort of a girl, then you’re wrong. Take your money.”
“And so little!” said Pagel quite unconcerned. “It wouldn’t buy even a pair of silk stockings.… No,” he added quickly, “I don’t want to pull your leg any longer. In fact, I want your advice.”
She stood there gaping at him, the notes in one hand, the leash with the fox terrier in the other—utterly confounded by the change in his manner. “Listen,” she said once more, but the threat in her voice had lost its vigor.
“Let’s go,” suggested Pagel. “Come along. Don’t be silly, come a part of the way with me, Lina, Trina, Stina. I can’t do anything to you in the street and I’m not crazy either.”
“I’ve no time. I ought to have been home by now. My mistress …”
“Tell your mistress Schnapps ran away, and listen. I’ve just been with that fine fellow in the villa there, a school friend of mine, trying to borrow some money.…”
“And then you put your money in my dog’s …”
“Don’t be a goose, Mitzi.”
“Liesbeth.”
“Listen, Liesbeth. Naturally, I didn’t get anything with you standing outside with my money. A fellow can’t get any money as long as he has any left, and that’s the reason I stuck what I had in the dog’s collar. Do you get me?”
It took her quite a while, however. “So you haven’t been running after me for a week, then, and you haven’t put in a letter either. I thought the dog had lost it.…”
“No, no, Liesbeth.” Pagel grinned impudently, but was nevertheless feeling abject. “No letter—and I didn’t want to buy your chastity with the money, either. But the question I want you to answer is this: what am I to do now? I haven’t got a penny. I have a dirty hole in Alexanderplatz for which the rent isn’t paid, and my girl’s sitting there as a kind of pledge, dressed in nothing but my summer overcoat. And I sold all our things to get here.”
“Serious?” asked the girl. “No more kidding?”
“No more kidding. Dead serious.”
She looked at him. She gave the impression of being unbelievably fresh and clean, in spite of the heat—she smelled, so as to speak, of Sunlight Soap. Perhaps she wasn’t as young as he had at first thought, and in addition she had a rather determined chin.
She realized now that it was indeed serious, looked at him, then at the money in her hand.
Will she give it back to me? he wondered. Then I’ll have to go to Peter and do something. But what I’d better do I really don’t know. I’m not keen on anything. She shall tell me.
The girl had smoothed out the money and put it in her pocket.
“There,” she said, “you must come with me first. I’m going home now—and you look quite done—in to me and as if you could do with a bit of lunch in our kitchen. The cook won’t mind, nor the mistress. But to think that your friend’s sitting in your room in your summer overcoat and perhaps nothing in her stomach, either, with a rude landlady into the bargain! And a chap like you puts money in dog collars and wants to pick up another girl right away—you men are rotters, upon my word you are.”