Free Fear by Stefan Zweig Page B

pawnbroker’s to pledge an inherited piece of jewellery that she almost never wore, thus providing herself with enough money, if need be, to buy back the ring that could betray her from the woman who had taken it. Then, as soon as she had the cash in her bag, she went walking at random, earnestly hoping for what, until yesterday, she had most feared—to meet the blackmailer. The air was mild, the sun shone above the rooftops. Something in the wild wind chasing white clouds swiftly over the sky seemed to have infected the people walking in the street, all of them at a lighter, livelier pace than in the bleak days of winter gloom. And she herself thought she felt something of it. The idea of dying, the ideashe had caught in flight yesterday and clasped firmly in her trembling hand, became a monstrosity, eluded her senses. Was it possible that a word from some dreadful woman could destroy all this, the buildings with their bright façades, the surging of her own blood? Could a word extinguish the never-ending flame with which the whole world blazed in her fast-breathing heart?
    She walked and walked, but her head was not bowed now. Her eyes searched almost eagerly for the woman she expected to see. Now the prey was in search of the hunter, and just as a weakened, hunted animal, feeling that escape is no longer possible, will turn suddenly with the defiance of despair to face its pursuer, ready to fight back, she too wanted to see her tormentor face to face and fight back with the very last of the strength that the will to live gives desperate creatures. She stayed close to her home on purpose, because it was the neighbourhood where the blackmailer had usually lain in wait for her, and once she even hurried across the road when the clothes worn by another woman reminded her of the person she was after. The ring itself was not her chief anxiety—recovering it would mean only postponement, not release—but she did long for the meeting as a kind of sign from fate, sealing a life and death decision that had been made by some higher power but depended on her own determination. However, she could not see the woman anywhere.She had disappeared into the endless hurry and bustle of the great city like a rat going down its hole. Disappointed, but not yet hopeless, she went home in the middle of the day and continued her vain search immediately after lunch. She patrolled the streets again, and when she could not find the woman anywhere she felt a revival of the horror that she had almost managed to stifle. It was not the woman herself who troubled her now, nor the ring, but the mysterious aspect of all those meetings. Her reasoning mind could no longer entirely comprehend it. The woman had discovered her name and address as if by magic, she knew all about the hours she kept, she knew about her domestic life, she had always turned up at the worst, most dangerous moments, and now all of a sudden she had disappeared just when she was actually wanted. She must be somewhere in the hurry and bustle of the city, close when she wanted to be close, yet out of reach as soon as Irene wanted to find her. And the amorphous nature of the threat, the elusive proximity of the blackmailer, close to her own life and yet beyond contact, left the already exhausted Irene a helpless prey to her ever more mystifying fears. Nervously now, with a feverish step, she kept walking up and down the same streets. Walking the streets like a prostitute, she thought. But the woman was nowhere to be seen. Now darkness came downlike a menace, the early spring evening cast shadows over the clear colour of the sky, and night was falling fast. Lights came on along the streets, the stream of humanity was making its way home at a faster pace, all life seemed to be swallowed up in its dark current. She went up and down a few more times, scrutinising the street once more with all that remained of her hope, and then she turned home. She was freezing cold.
    Wearily, she went up to