Free Burning Secret by Stefan Zweig Page B

at the table or follow her? Finally he too rose to his feet and meekly followed. She was still industriously ignoring him, and he kept feeling how ridiculous it was to be slinking after her like this. He took smaller and smaller steps, so as to lag further and further behind. Still without noticing him, she went into her room. When Edgar finally arrived, he faced a closed door.
    What had happened? He didn’t know what to make of it. Yesterday’s sense of confidence had left him. Had he been in the wrong after all the night before when he mounted his attack? And were they preparing a punishment or some new humiliation for him? Something had to happen, he felt sure of it, something terrible must happen very soon. The sultry atmosphere of a coming thunderstorm stood between them, the electrical tension of two charged poles that must be released in a flash of lightning. And he carried this burden of premonition around with him for four lonely hours, from room to room, until his slender, childish neck was bowed under its invisible weight,and he approached their table at lunch, his demeanour humble this time.
    “Good day,” he tried again. He had to break this silence, this terrible threat hanging over him like a black cloud.
    Once again his mother did not reply, once again she just looked past him. And with new fear, Edgar now felt that he was facing such a considered, concentrated anger as he had never yet known in his life. So far their quarrels had been furious outbursts more to do with the nerves than the feelings, quickly passing over and settled with a conciliatory smile. But this time, he felt, he had aroused wild emotions in the uttermost depths of his mother’s nature, and he shrank from the violence he had incautiously conjured up. He could hardly swallow a morsel. Something dry was rising in his throat and threatening to choke him. His mother seemed to notice none of this. Only now, as she got to her feet, did she turn back as if casually, saying, “Come upstairs, Edgar, I have to talk to you.”
    It did not sound threatening, only so icily cold that Edgar shuddered at the words. He felt as if an iron chain had suddenly been laid around his neck. His defiance was crushed. In silence, like a beaten dog, he followed her up to her room.
    She prolonged the agony by preserving her own silence for several minutes. Minutes during which he heard the clock striking, a child laughing, and his own heart hammering away in his breast. But she must befeeling very unsure of herself too, because she didn’t look at him now while she spoke to him, turning her back instead.
    “I don’t want to say any more about your behaviour yesterday. It was outrageous, and I am ashamed to think of it. You have only yourself to blame for the consequences. All I will say to you now is, that’s the last time you’ll be allowed in adult company on your own. I have just written to your Papa to say that you must either have a tutor or be sent to a boarding-school. I am not going to plague myself with you any more.”
    Edgar stood there with his head bent. He sensed that this was only a prelude, a threat, and waited uneasily for the nub of the matter.
    “You will now apologize immediately to the Baron.” Edgar flinched, but she was not to be interrupted. “The Baron left today, and you will write him a letter. I will dictate it to you.”
    Edgar made another movement, but his mother was firm.
    “And no arguing. Here is paper and ink. Sit down.”
    Edgar looked up. Her eyes were hard with her inflexible decision. He had never seen his mother like this before, so rigid and composed. Fear came over him. He sat down, picked up the pen, but bent his face low over the table.
    “The date at the top. Have you written that? Leave an empty line before the salutation. Yes, like that. Dear Baron, add the surname and a comma. Leave anotherline. I have just heard, to my great regret—do you have that down?—to my great regret that you have already left