“I must admit that I, too, have the impression that it’s value as an antique is not all that great.”
Lipotin interrupted me with an anxious gesture. He was afraid of an overhasty decision. He stretched out in his chair and made an effort to get back to the lighter tone:
“As I said, I have come round to talk you into selling the dagger. Why shouldn’t I be open about it? It’s not the kind of thing you collect. But the Princess does. And she thinks ... of course I don’t share her view at all ... but she thinks ...”
“... it is the piece missing from her father’s collection.” I kept to my aloof tone as I completed Lipotin’s sentence.
“Yes! That’s it! ... Right first time!” Lipotin leapt up from his chair and put on a show of pleased astonishment at my astuteness.
“I concur with the opinion of the Princess,” I remarked.
Lipotin leant back in satisfaction.
“You do? Then that’s all right.” His expression suggested he assumed the bargain had been struck.
In the same calm tone I said:
“And that is precisely why the dagger is of great value to me.”
“I quite understand,” interrupted Lipotin in his alacrity to agree with me. “We must make the most of our opportunities; my sentiments entirely.”
I ignored the insulting suggestion:
“I have no wish to be involved in any kind of deal.”
Lipotin squirmed about in his chair:
“Of course not! And I am not here to make you an offer. Hmm ... It would be very tactless of me to try and pry into your thoughts. Of course. But the Princess has taken a fancy to it and when a beautiful woman takes a fancy to something, ... I would have thought it was a sacrifice worth making, I would have thought ... to put it in a nutshell, I have been empowered to ... please do not misunderstand me; the Princess is not offering money! She leaves it to you to decide yourself. You know how charming and how ... liberal the Princess is, and what a high opinion she has of you. An act of generosity – the gift of this curio – would evoke an even more generous response on the part of the Princess.”
Never before had I found Lipotin so halting and at the same time so wordy. His eyes probed my face for any sign of a reaction so that he could adjust to the new situation. I could not suppress a brief smile at the pains he was going to:
“Unfortunately the charming Princess is wasting her time making me such attractive offers; the dagger does not belong to me.”
“Does not ... belong ...?” Lipotin’s astonishment was amusing to see.
“It was given to my fiancée.”
“Oh ... so that’s it.”
“That is the situation.”
The Russian cautiously tried a new tack:
“Gifts, I find, often have a tendency to be ... given. I have the impression that this gift is already – or could at any moment be – in your hand.”
I had had enough; I said brusquely:
“You are correct. The dagger is mine. And it will stay mine; it is very valuable.”
“Is that so? And why?” there was an undertone of mockery in Lipotin’s voice.
“There is much about this dagger which makes it exceptionally valuable to me.”
“But my dear sir, do you know anything about the dagger?”
“Its value is not visible to the naked eye, but if one looks into the coal scrying glass ...”
Lipotin was so startled and went so deathly pale that there would have been no point in his trying to conceal his consternation. He was clearly aware of this himself, for he suddenly changed his tone and attitude:
“How on earth ...? But you cannot look into the glass. You need the red powder. Unfortunately my supply has run out.”
“No need, my friend”, I interjected. “Fortunately there was a pinch left over.” And I pointed at the ashtray.
“And you ...? Without assistance ...? Impossible!” Lipotin had sprung up from his armchair and was staring at me dumbfounded. The surprise and fear were so patent that I was tempted to reveal all:
“Yes: I have inhaled the incense! Without the assistance of the red-cap monk – and without any help of yours!”
“Anyone who dares to do that – and is still alive to tell the tale – has overcome death.”
“Perhaps. But it does mean that I know of the nature, origin and value of the dagger – and of its future; or at least I have a strong intuition as to what it will be. Let us say that I am just as superstitious as the Princess or as you.”
Lipotin slowly sat down beside me. He was completely calm, but his whole being seemed changed. He took the half-smoked cigarette from his mouth and stubbed it out in the onyx bowl, which was back on duty as an ash-tray. Then he ceremoniously lit a fresh one, as if to indicate that what was past, was past, and that a new round had begun. For a long time he sucked on the cigarette and puffed out the fragrant Russian smoke. I did not interrupt his enjoyment; I was determined to wait and see what would come. When he realised this he lowered his lids and started:
“True, true. Well, that changes the whole situation. You know about the dagger. You intend to keep the dagger. You have won the first round.”
“You are not telling me anything new”, I said, completely relaxed. “Anyone who, like myself, has come to understand the nature of time and to see things in it not from outside but from within, anyone who has progressed beyond dreams to fate, beyond fate to where reality appears in its pure forms, will find the right names at the right moment of the conjuration and the demons will obey.”
“O..b..ey?” Lipotin drew out the word. “May I give you a piece of advice? The most dangerous demons are the ones that you call up yourself. Take that from someone who knows of old – of very old – these shadow worlds that cling to relics of past days. But the truth is, sir, that you have been called, for you have made yourself master over death; that much I can see. I can also see, to my astonishment, that you have resisted a number of challenges; but that does not mean that you have been chosen, by any means. The worst enemy of the victor is arrogance.”
“Thank you for your honest opinion, Lipotin. I must admit that I assumed you were with the enemy.”
Lipotin raised his heavy eyelids in his usual languid manner:
“I, my dear sir, am on no side at all, for I am only a ... Mascee: I support whoever is the stronger.”
The expression on the desiccated features of the old antiques dealer was an indescribable mixture of sceptical irony and profound sorrow, yes, even disgust.
“And you think I am ...?” I crowed.
“For the moment I think you are the stronger. And that is why I am ready to serve you.”
I did not respond but just stared into space.
With a swift movement he sat up:
“So you want to thwart Princess Shotokalungin? But, my dear Sir, that is impossible. It is true that she is a woman possessed; but are not you a man possessed? If you don’t know that yourself, then the worse it is for you. And she comes from Colchis; most likely one of her ancestors was called Medea.”
“Or: Isaïs,” I added in a matter-of-fact voice.
“Isaïs is her spiritual mother.” Lipotin’s swift response was just as factual in tone. “You must learn to distinguish clearly if you want to master her.”
“Do not worry; I shall master her.”
“Do not overestimate your strength. Since the world began woman has always proved the stronger.”
“And where is that written?”
“If it were not so, the world would not endure.”
“What do I care about the world! Am I not Lord of the Spear?”
“Anyone who withholds the Spear spurns half the world. Half of the world, dear sir, but the problem is that half is always the whole world, grasped half-heartedly.”
“What do you know of my heart?!”
“Much; much indeed. – Did you not see the Thracian Isaïs?”
My cheeks burnt under Lipotin’s mocking glance. I had
no defence against his biting scorn. I knew for certain that the Russian could read my thoughts. Had he not read what was in my mind at the Princess’ house and on the drive to Elsbethstein? I blushed like a schoolboy.
“There we are!” said Lipotin in his best bedside manner. I looked away in shame.
“No-one has ever avoided it, my friend”, Lipotin continued in a murmur, “and no-one is ever likely to. Only mysteries should be veiled. Woman is all-pervading, profane reality; naked she burns in our blood, and when we do battle with her our best tactic is to strip her naked, in the mind or in fact. Otherwise no hero has ever defeated Dame World.
I tried to wriggle off the hook: “You know much, Lipotin.”
“Much indeed. Much, much,” he replied like a robot nodding off to sleep.
I could feel anxiety beginning to claw at my throat and felt the need to hear the sound of my own voice:
“You imagine I spurn the Princess, Lipotin. That is not true. I do not spurn her; I want to know her. To know her – do you understand? If necessary in the straightforward physical sense it is used in the Bible. I want to settle with her once and for all.”
“My dear sir!” Lipotin gripped his cigarette in his teeth as he croaked; his eyelids popped open like those of an old parrot. “You underestimate the power of women. And when it appears in the form of a Circassian princess ... I – I would rather not be in your shoes!” With an expression worthy of Chidher, the eternal Wanderer, wiping the scum of the earth from his lips, Lipotin removed a few strands of tobacco from his mouth. Abruptly he went on: “And even if you could kill her, that would only transfer the battle to another field – and to one that would be much more dangerous for you, since there your view would be even more restricted than here and you could very easily find yourself on a slippery slope. Woe to you if you slip on the ‘other side’.”
“Lipotin!” – I shouted; I was almost beside myself with impatience, sensing that my nerves were about to give way. “Lipotin, if you really are ready to help me: what is the true way to victory?”
“There is only one way.”
Again I noticed that Lipotin’s voice had the monotonous tone that had already struck me several times. Did I really control him? Was he really the instrument of my commands? Was he a medium compelled to obey me like ... like? Jane, too, had once shut her eyes and answered me in the same way when this unaccountable power within me began to ask its questions. I pulled myself together and concentrated my gaze on a point between the old Russian’s eyebrows:
“How do I find the Way? How?”
Pale, leaning back in his chair, Lipotin answered:
“The Way is prepared by ... a woman. Only a woman can overcome our Lady Isaïs.”
“A woman?” The disappointment deflated me.
“A woman that has the virtue of ... the dagger.”
His words were so delphic that I went numb. Distraught, eyes flickering to and fro, mumbling incomprehensibly to himself like a senile old man, features haggard, Lipotin began the struggle to regain consciousness. He had regained control of himself remarkably quickly when the doorbell rang and a second later Jane appeared in the doorway with a gigantic figure towering behind her – my cousin, John Roger! ... I mean, of course, the Princess’ chauffeur. I was puzzled to see that Jane was dressed ready to go out. She came in and made way for the tall chauffeur. The Princess had sent him to collect us all for the second trip to Elsbethstein that we had arranged. The car was at the door. The Princess was sitting below, waiting.
Jane expressed her thanks. She was ready; one could not reject the Princess’ charming offer and the weather was so beautiful. What objection could I have raised?
The uncanny chauffeur had sent a chill through my veins; vague, dark forebodings weighed on my chest. Without quite knowing why, I took Jane by the hand. Enunciating slowly, with difficulty, I said:
“If ... you do not ... genuinely want to go, Jane...”
She interrupted with a firm squeeze of the hand and a remarkably radiant look on her face:
“I genuinely do want to go.”
It sounded like some secret accord; about what I had no idea.
Briskly, Jane walked over to the desk and picked up the dagger. Without a word, she put it in her handbag. I watched her in silence. Finally I forced myself to ask the question:
“The dagger, Jane? What are you going to do with the dagger?”
“Give it to the Princess. I’ve made up my mind.”
“To the ... Princess?”
Jane gave her childlike laugh: “I think we have kept our charming hostess waiting long enough.”
Lipotin stood, silent, behind his chair. With a tired air, he looked from one to the other of us, undecided, now and then gently shaking his head, as if sunk in mute astonishment.
Not much was said. We collected our hats and coats and put them on with a feeling of dismay which numbed both body and soul.
We went down; the tall chauffeur darted on ahead, silent and supple.
The Princess waved to us from the back of the car. It was a strangely wooden gesture.
We climbed in.
My skin prickled and every cell in my body seemed to whisper: Don’t go! Don’t go!
Paralysed in heart and voice, we settled down in the car, like marionettes obedient to the strings, for our pleasure trip to Elsbethstein.
That journey to Elsbethstein has etched itself for ever on my soul: steep vineyards sweep down to a river which has scoured out tight curves in the valley; we careered wildly round them. In between, spread out like smooth cloth, shone the soft green of the meadows waving through the dust and glittering light. Villages flashed past, fluttering in our wake. Thoughts and fears were torn apart, blown away like autumn leaves dancing in the gale; the soul cried inaudible warnings; the senses, too weary for amazement, merely registered a blur of images.
The limousine raced up the slope towards the crumbling buttresses of Elsbethstein, skidded round in a screaming curve, which threatened to land us all in the river below, and screeched to a halt before the gate of the outer wall; its flanks seemed to heave with the effort.
We got out and entered the inner courtyard in twos. I led the way with Lipotin and the women followed slowly, trailing farther and farther behind. I turned back and saw Jane in animated conversation with the Princess whose characteristic peal of laughter rang out. I felt reassured to see them chatting happily together with no signs of any dispute.
There is little left to see of the steaming springs; they have been led into stone basins with ugly wooden huts above them. Sleepy workmen were pottering about the courtyard. We inspected everything, but there was a voice deep within me saying that all this keen interest was only a thin pretext for the quite different things which had brought us here and which we were all waiting for with concealed trepidation. As if by tacit agreement, we all began to make our way to the keep whose massive door, as at our last visit, was ajar. In my mind I was already hurrying on up the steep, dark, rotting stairs to the feeble-minded old gardener’s kitchen. And I knew why I wanted to visit him: I wanted to ask the strange old man ... Suddenly Lipotin stopped and grabbed my arm:
“Look, over there! We are spared a visit to the kitchen. Here comes our Ugolino from his tower. The lord of the dagger has seen us already.”
At the same moment we heard a faint cry from the Princess. We turned round. With a half laugh and a wave of the hand she called to us:
“Not the old madman, not now.” She turned away with Jane. We automatically followed the two ladies and caught them up. Jane had a serious look on her face; the Princess laughed and said:
“I don’t want to see him again. I find people who are not right in the head rather creepy. And he won’t give me any of his dilapidated ... kitchen utensils, will he?” It was meant as a joke, but I felt there was an undertone of injured pride or jealousy of Jane.
The old gardener was standing there by the door of the keep and seemed to be watching us in the distance. H
e raised his hand, as if he were waving to us. The Princess saw it and pulled her coat tighter around her, as if she felt a shiver of cold. An odd gesture on this warm, late summer’s day.
“Why have we come back to this creepy old ruin? The very stones are hostile,” I heard her murmur to herself.
“But you were in favour of it yourself,” I replied innocently. “It would be a good opportunity to ask him where he got the dagger.”
The Princess’ reply was curt:
“What do I care for the ramblings of an old fool! – – Jane, my dear, I suggest we leave these gentlemen to satisfy their curiosity whilst we find a more comfortable spot from which to admire the picturesque charms of this spooky ruin.” She took Jane by the arm and set off with her towards the gate of the courtyard.
“You want to leave already?” I asked in astonishment and Lipotin also looked rather bewildered.
The Princess nods; Jane turns to me with a strange smile:
“That’s what we’ve arranged. We are going to take a round trip together. Now, as you know, a round trip ends where it started. We’ll see ...” The wind blew away her final words.
Lipotin and I were so nonplussed that we just stood there. By the time we had come back to our senses the women were too far away to hear our objections. We hurried after them, but the Princess was already in the car and Jane about to get in. I was gripped by an inexplicable fear and called to her:
“Jane, where are you going? He waved to us. We must go and talk to him.” Somehow the words came to my lips, any words just to stop Jane.
Jane seemed to hesitate a second; she turned her face towards me and said something that I could not hear: for some reason the chauffeur revved up the car and the engine roared like some primeval monster in its death throes; the hellish racket drowned out every word. Then the car shot forward so abruptly that Jane was jolted back into the seat; the Princess pulled the door shut. I screamed over the roar of the engine:
“Jane! Don’t go! What are you ...” – it was a wild cry from the depths of my heart. But the car plunged down the track with a screech of tyres; the last thing I saw was the figure of the chauffeur leaning back from the wheel as the machine-gun fire of the exhaust faded; in the distance it looked like a glider sweeping down the precipitous slope.
The Angel of the West Window Page 36