Free Laughter in the Dark by Vladimir Nabokov, John Banville Page B

days before their departure Albinus was seated at a peculiarly uncomfortable desk writing a business letter while she was packing things into the new shiny black trunk in the adjoiningroom. He heard the rustling of tissue paper and a little song which she was softly humming to herself, her mouth shut.
    “How strange it all is,” thought he. “Had I been told on New Year’s Eve that my life would change so completely in a few months …”
    Margot dropped something in the next room. The humming stopped for a moment, and was then softly resumed.
    “Six months ago I was a model husband in a Margot-less world. Quick work fate made of it! Other men can combine a happy family life with little infidelities, but in my case everything went crash immediately. Why? And here I sit and seem to be thinking clearly and sensibly. Yet in reality the earthquake is in full swing and God knows how things will settle themselves …”
    Suddenly the bell rang. From three different doors Albinus, Margot and the cook all ran out into the hall simultaneously.
    “Albert,” whispered Margot, “be very careful. I’m sure it’s him.”
    “Go to your room,” he whispered back. “I’ll handle him nicely.”
    He opened the door. It was the girl from the milliner’s. Hardly had she gone, than there was another ring. He opened again. Before him stood a youth with a coarse oafish countenance, yet resemblingMargot strikingly—those dark eyes, that sleek hair, that straight nose slightly wedged at the tip. He wore his Sunday suit and the end of his tie was tucked into his shirt between the buttons.
    “What do you want?” asked Albinus.
    Otto coughed and said with a confidential huskiness in his voice:
    “I must talk to you about my sister. I’m Margot’s brother.”
    “And why to me particularly, may I ask?”
    “You are Herr …?” began Otto in a questioning tone. “Herr …?”
    “Schiffermiller,” said Albinus, rather relieved to learn that the boy did not know his identity.
    “Well, Herr Schiffermiller, I happened to see you with my sister. So I thought it would perhaps interest you if I … if we …”
    “Certainly—but why stand in the doorway? Please come inside.”
    He came and coughed again.
    “What I want to say is this, Herr Schiffermiller. My sister is young and inexperienced. Mother hasn’t slept a single night since our little Margot left home. She’s only sixteen, you know—don’t believe her if she says she’s older. Let me tell you, we’re decent people—my father’s an oldsoldier. It’s a very, very unpleasant situation. I don’t know what amends can be made …”
    Otto, gaining confidence, was beginning almost to believe what he said.
    “I really don’t know,” he continued with rising excitement. “Just imagine, Herr Schiffermiller, if you had a loved and innocent sister whom someone had bought …”
    “Now listen, my good fellow,” Albinus interrupted him. “There seems to be some mistake. My fiancée told me that her family was only too thankful to be rid of her.”
    “Oh, no,” said Otto winking. “You’re not going to make me believe you’ll marry her. When a man wants to marry a respectable girl, he talks to her family about it. A little more care and a little less pride, Herr Schiffermiller!”
    Albinus gazed at Otto with curiosity, as he reflected that the young brute was talking sense in a way, for he had as much right to concern himself over Margot’s welfare as Paul had to worry on behalf of
his
sister. Indeed, there was a fine flavor of parody about this talk, in comparison with that other dreadful conversation two months ago. And it was pleasant to think that now at least he could stand his own ground, brother or no brother—take advantage, as it were, ofthe fact that Otto was simply a bluffer and a bully.
    “You’d better stop,” he said, very resolutely, very coolly—quite the patrician, in fact. “I know exactly how things stand. It is no concern of yours.