Free Severin's Journey Into the Dark by PAUL LEPPIN Page A

also knew these songs.
    Severin leaned his head against the smooth glass. A beggarly agony twisted his lips into weeping.
     
    The night had come and transformed the rain into a drizzling fog that penetrated into the apartments and brought disquiet to the dreams of those who slept. It did not keep Severin from going out. He had not been on the street since midday. A shooting pain drove the blood to his temples. Today he had left Zdenka waiting, and a disturbing remorse was gathering in his thoughts, like the fog that veiled the gas-lanterns outside. He threw his raincape over his shoulders and pulled the hood over his hat.
    Near the suburban marketplace he startled two forms that were embracing behind the empty stands of the vege-table sellers. He stopped and watched them until the man noticed him and fled into the darkness with the girl. An overwhelming longing for the simple happiness these people possessed took hold of him. With a dull and pensive straining he tried for the hundredth time to find the source of the trail that led him away from life and into an accursed wilderness. And he was suddenly overcome by a painful, powerless lust, crippled by fear and ripped apart by doubts, for the kisses of the woman who had aroused his passion in the same hour when Lazarus had spoken of the death of his child.
    He stopped in front of the steps that led to the museum. Wenceslaus Square lay before him, and the autumn fog hung amid the electric flames in white clouds. Severin stretched out his arms.
    Mylada! he cried, and his voice fluttered through the mist like a trembling bird.
     
    In The Spider the hour hand of the clock was already pointing to twelve. The bar was full and the intoxicating smell of spilled wine floated over the tables. Laughter rose with the green smoke rings from the cigars and fell back to the floor screeching. The noise of the conversations swelled to a pandemonium that could not be contained and broke off in a roar when the music started or one of the guests began to sing a song. Karla herself sat at the piano wearing a bright, seductive dress, and she threw back her beautiful head while she played.
    Severin sat behind her and ordered a bottle. The room’s thick, miasmic air took away his breath, and sweat broke from his pores, making his shirt stick to his skin. Karla played the melodies people requested. The false and deceptive twaddle of operettas cooed beneath her fingers and the aroma of her body effervesced through the customers’ throats and scalded their veins. A senseless and abandoned gaiety raged in their heads and flooded their hearts. Mylada pulled herself away from a group of young men in tailcoats and white bow ties. Her thin mouth laughed in endlessly promising joy as she bent over Severin.
    Give me something to drink, she said, and he offered her his glass.
    He watched how her tongue slipped between her sharp teeth, and had to make an effort to keep himself from kissing her. He twined his arm around her and pulled her into his lap.
    I’ve seen your eyes somewhere before. Do you have a sister, Mylada? —
    I had a sister who was very much like me, but she’s dead now. —
    Severin brushed the hair from her face, and she clung to him with her legs and let him do as he pleased. Her body was small, like a child’s, and her breasts stretched beneath her thin dress.
    Come with me tonight — — he whispered, and in response she said:
    Her name was Regina, and she was a nun.

VI
     
    Severin stopped keeping track of time after Mylada became his lover. His days vanished in a single bright and burning illusion that inundated everything. Everything that had meant anything to him before, everything that had irritated and provoked him, disappeared from his life as though it had never been a part of it. With the carefree assurance of a sleepwalker he kept up with the duties that had constrained his existence. He did his work in the office without feeling the burden that had always oppressed him