Krakatit/Chapter 28
CHAPTER XXVIII
Needless to say, the distinguished surgeon did not recognize the work of the military butcher. He stretched out Prokop’s leg again, put it into plaster, and concluded by saying that he would probably be lame for life.
There began for Prokop a succession of delightful and lazy days. Krafft read him passages from Swedenborg and Mr. Paul and others from the Court Calendar, while the Princess saw to it that the patient’s bed was surrounded by a magnificent selection of volumes from the world’s literature. Finally Prokop got tired even of the Calendar, and began to dictate to Krafft a systematic work on destructive chemistry. Curiously enough he became most fond of Carson, whose insolence and lack of consideration impressed him more and more, for beneath it he found the grandiloquent plans and crazy fantasy of an out-and-out international militarist. Mr. Paul was in an ecstasy of delight. He was now indispensable night after night, and could dedicate every breath and every step of his faltering legs to Prokop’s service.
You lie encased in matter, like the stump of a tree; but can you not feel the crepitation of terrible and unknown forces in that inert matter which binds you? You luxuriate on magnificent pillows charged with more power than a cask of dynamite; your body is a sleeping explosive, and even the faded, trembling hand of Mr. Paul contains more explosive force than a capsule of melinite. You lie motionless in an ocean of immeasurable, unanalyzable, unutilized forces; you are surrounded not by the walls of the room, quiet people and the rustling branches of trees, but by an ammunition store, a cosmic magazine prepared for the most frightful deed. You tap matter with your finger as if you were testing casks of ekrasite to see if they are full.
Prokop’s hands had become transparent through lack of use, but on the other hand they had acquired an extraordinary sense of touch. They felt and detected the potential power of detonation of whatevery they encountered. A young body had an enormous explosive tension, while Dr. Krafft, an enthusiast and an idealist, had a relatively weak capacity for explosion. Carson’s index of detonaation approached that of tetranitraniline, and Prokop recalled with a shudder the cool touch of the Princess’s hand, which revealed to him the terrible explosive power of this haughty amazon. He racked his brains in trying to decide whether the potential explosive energy of the organism depended upon the presence of certain enzymotic or other substances or on the chemical composition of the cells themselves, which constituted charges par excellence. Be that as it may, he would have liked to know how that dark proud girl would explode.
And now Mr. Paul wheeled Prokop about the park in a bathchair. Mr. Holz proved superfluous, but was active, as he had revealed great talent as a masseur, and Prokop felt a beneficial explosive force flowing from his powerful fingers. If the Princess came across the patient in the park she said something with complete and precisely calculated politeness, and Prokop to his annoyance never understood how she managed to do it, for he himself was always either too rough or too friendly. The rest of the household regarded Prokop as a marvel; this gave them the right not to take him seriously, and allowed him to be as rude to them as he liked. On one occasion, the Princess drew up near him with the whole of her escort; she left the gentlemen to wait, sat down by Prokop’s side, and asked him about his work. Prokop, wishing to be as obliging to her as possible, embarked on a long technical explanation, as if he were giving a lecture before an international chemical congress. Prince Suwalski and some cousin or other began to laugh and nudge one another, at which Prokop grew furious, turned to them, and said that it was not them whom he was addressing. All eyes turned on Her Excellency, for it was her task to put this unpolished plebeian in his place; but the Princess smiled indulgently, and sent them off to play tennis. While she was looking after them with eyes narrowed to a slit Prokop scrutinized her out of the corner of his eye; for the first time he really noticed what she was like. She was rigid, thin, and with an excess of pigmentation in her colouring, strictly speaking not beautiful. She had small breasts, ungainly legs, magnificent hands indicative of race, a scar on her proud forehead, deep-set eyes with a sharp glance, dark brown under her sharp nose, full and haughty lips; well, yes, after all almost pretty. What were her eyes really like?
Then she turned fully round and Prokop became confused. “They say that you are able to discover the character of things by touching them,” she said quickly. “Krafft was talking about it.” Prokop smiled at this feminine description of his peculiar chemotaxis. “Well, yes,” he said, “one feels how much force a thing has; that’s nothing.” The Princess gave a quick glance at his hand, and then looked round the park; there was nobody about.
“Show me,” muttered Prokop, and opened his scarred hand. She laid on it the smooth tips of her fingers; a sort of flash passed through Prokop, his heart began to beat violently, and the mad idea came into his head: “Supposing I closed my hands!” Then he proceeded to knead and press in his rough paw the firm, burning flesh of her hand. His head suddenly became filled with a drunken giddiness; he saw the Princess close her eyes and draw her breath sharply through her half-open lips, while he also closed his eyes and, setting his teeth, whirled down into the swirling darkness. Her hand struggled feverishly and wildly with its thin sinuous fingers, fingers which were writhing to get free, which twisted like serpents, which dug their nails into his skin, and then suddenly pressed convulsively against his flesh, Prokop’s teeth chattered with ecstasy; the trembling fingers played on his wrist, red circles appeared before his eyes, a sudden sharp and burning pressure and the thin hand tore free from his grasp. Exhausted, Prokop opened his eyes; there was a noisy beating inside his head; the green and golden garden again presented itself to his eyes, which were blinded by the light of day. The Princess had grown deathly pale, and bit her lips with her sharp teeth; through the slits of her eyes there flashed a boundless resistance.
“Well?” she said sharply.
“Virginal, unfeeling, libidinous, proud and capable of violent anger—inflammable as tinder—and wicked. You are wicked; you are fiery through your very cruelty, arrogant and heartless; you are wicked and overcharged with excitability; inaccessible, filled with curiosity, hard, hard on yourself, fire and ice, ice and fire”
The Princess nodded silently. “Yes.”
“Of no use to anybody; haughty, incapable of loving, poisoned and burning—ardent, and everything around you leaves you indifferent.”
“I must be severe with myself,” whispered the Princess. “You don’t know” She waved her hand and got up. “Thank you. I will send Paul to you.”
Having thus relieved himself of his personal offended bitterness, Prokop began to think of the Princess more kindly. Finally he became annoyed that she now evidently avoided him. He prepared some friendly phrases to say to her at the first opportunity, but the opportunity did not offer itself.
At the castle there arrived Prince Rohn, known as Mon Oncle Charles, the brother of the late Princess, a refined and polished cosmopolitan, amateur of everything possible, très grand artiste, as they say. He had written a number of historical novels, and was an extraordinarily pleasant personality. He exhibited a particular liking for Prokop, and spent whole hours with him. Prokop profited a great deal from his contact with this charming old gentleman, acquired from him a certain finish, and realized that there were other things in the world besides destructive chemistry. Mon Oncle Charles possessed an enormous fund of anecdotes. Prokop turned the conversation on to the Princess, and heard with interest what a malicious, madcap, proud, and magnanimous girl she was, how on one occasion she had fired at her dancing master and on another had wanted to have a piece of her skin cut off for transplantation on to the limb of a nurse who had received some burns; when permission to do this was refused, in her rage she smashed a window of the most valuable glass. Le bon oncle also brought young Egon along to Prokop, whom he set up as an example to the young man with such extravagant praise that the unfortunate Prokop became as confused as Egon himself.
After five weeks he was going about on crutches. He visited the laboratory more and more, working like a nigger until the pain in his foot began again, so that on the way home he literally hung on the attentive Holz. Mr. Carson glowed with pleasure when he saw Prokop again so peaceable and industrious, and from time to time threw out allusions to Krakatit; but this was a subject which Prokop positively would not hear about.
One evening there was an important soirée at the castle. Prokop prepared a coup for this occasion. The Princess was standing in a group of generals and diplomatists when the doors opened and there entered—without a stick—the obstinate prisoner, who was thus making his first visit to the company in the castle. Oncle Charles and Carson ran forward to meet him while the Princess confined herself to giving him a quick discriminating glance over Prokop had the head of the Chinese Minister. Prokop had imagined that she would come to greet him, but when he saw that she remained with two old ladies, both of them with their dresses cut incredibly low, his brow clouded, and he retired into a corner, bowing with a bad grace to the distinguished personages to whom Carson introduced him as “a distinguished scientist,” “our eminent guest,” and the like. It was as if Mr. Carson had assumed the rôle of Holz, for he never left Prokop for a moment. As the evening went on Prokop became desperately bored; he retired still deeper into his corner and glowered at the whole world. Now the Princess was talking with various dignitaries, one of them an admiral and the other some famous foreign lion. The Princess glanced quickly in the direction in which Prokop was standing sullenly, but at that moment the claimant to some lost throne or other came up to her and led her off in the opposite direction. “Well, I’m of home,” muttered Prokop, and decided in the depths of his dark soul that within three days he would make a further attempt to escape. Just then the Princess approached him and held out her hand, “I’m so glad that you are well again.”
Prokop forgot all the education he had received from Oncle Charles. Making a heavy movement with his shoulders which was intended for a bow, he said in a surly tone: “I thought that you did not even see me.” Mr. Carson disappeared as quickly as if he had sunk through the earth.
The Princess wore a low-necked dress which had the effect of confusing Prokop. Whichever way he might look he saw her firm swarthy flesh and smelt the fragrance of her delicate scent.
“I hear that you are working again,” said the Princess. “What exactly are you doing?”
“Well, one thing and another,” answered Prokop, “nothing particularly important.” Here was a chance to repair his insulting behaviour in seizing her hand, but what on earth could he say by way of expiation? “If you would like me to,” he mumbled, “I could . . . make an experiment with your powder.”
“What sort of experiment?”
“An explosive. You’ve enough on you to charge a cannon.”
The Princess smiled. “I didn’t know that powder was an explosive?”
“Everything is an explosive . . . if you treat it properly. You yourself”
“What?”
“Nothing. A latent explosion. You are terribly explosive.”
“When I am treated properly,” smiled the Princess, and suddenly grew serious. “Wicked, unfeeling, violent, curious, and proud, eh?”
“A girl who wants to sacrifice her skin . . . for an old woman.”
The Princess flared up. “Who told you that?”
“Mon Oncle Charles,” babbled Prokop.
The Princess grew stiff, and was suddenly a hundred miles away. “Ah, Prince Rohn,” she corrected him dryly. “Prince Rohn talks a great deal. I’m glad that you are all right.” A brief nod of the head and Willy glided across the room at the side of some one in uniform, leaving Prokop to rage in a corner.
Nevertheless, the next morning Mr. Paul brought Prokop something precious, which the Princess had sent by her femme de chambre.
It was a box of brownish powder, with a penetrating scent.