The Woman Who Had Imagination

by H. E. Bates

  ‘Jakob!’

  Everyone burst out laughing and a very excited falsetto voice giggled from behind the door. The monkey vanished and suddenly an enormous fat face peeped round the door, very jovial and beaming and excited, and after it the gigantic figure of a man. He was holding up the dried skin of the monkey on his fingers; he worked his fingers and made the monkey dance and wave its hands. He stood in the doorway like a caricature of a man, enormous, droll, powerful, giggling with excitement like a girl. His face was glorious and round and his head went back with the shape and surface of an egg, absolutely bald and shining. His left eye was missing but the right had a wonderful blue vitality. He was wearing a kind of Norfolk jacket which would not meet across his chest and a pair of pale coffee-coloured trousers of some thin material which stretched like a tight bladder over the curve of his belly.

  He towered above the guests like some huge clown. He waved the monkey and rattled the chain and giggled and joked and panted. When Karl arrived he seized his hand and half-embraced him and tried to kiss him. Karl introduced Richardson and then said:

  ‘This is the innkeeper himself. Herr Jakob Müller.’

  Richardson shook hands and the honour of meeting a young Englishmen seemed to overwhelm the innkeeper. He half-bowed and smiled a shy, beatific, almost frightened smile. And then he spoke volubly to Karl and Karl translated:

  ‘He says perhaps you would like to see your room. He will take you up.’

  Richardson said he would like to see the room and he followed the innkeeper upstairs. Above the first landing another set of stairs went up and beyond was his room, among the rafters. The innkeeper switched on the electric light and Richardson had an impression of a clean white room, a big German bed draped in dark crimson and above the bed a picture of Christ wearing the crown of thorns. There was a smell of clean linen and old, dark wood that filled him with pleasure.

  He answered all the innkeeper’s questions with ‘Ja, ja!’ and followed him downstairs again. As they were coming down the last flight of stairs Richardson looked over Müller’s shoulder and saw someone standing at the foot, as though waiting to come up. It was a young girl of twenty-one or two. She was fair-skinned and slender and her hair was as pale as ripened wheat-straw and her eyes were vividly blue and candid and shining. She carried herself in a straight, alert fashion, but she looked ready to bound away up the stairs and vanish out of sheer timidity. She was dressed in a cream-coloured dress and white stockings, with a girdle of pale blue silk about her waist.

  Richardson regarded her steadily and she returned his look at first furtively but a second later with a flash of something quite bold and almost wild, as though she were trying desperately to conquer her shyness. He reached the foot of the stairs and the innkeeper turned to him and made a long excited speech, patting the girl’s shoulder. Richardson stood looking at her with timid solemnity, until at last she shook his outstretched hand and hurried upstairs.

  As he went back with Herr Müller into the room where the guests had gathered it suddenly came to him that she was the girl who had hurried across the courtyard with his bag. He had caught only one word of all her father had said. It was her name: Anna. He went along the passage and into the brilliantly lighted room and joined Karl and the family. He was introduced to Frau Müller and another daughter, whose name he did not catch, a girl of twenty-nine or thirty. The woman and the girl were very blonde and a little frowzy. There was a priest there also, rather muscular and heavy-faced, his dark hair cropped very close, the colour of his grey eyes faded and dissipated. There was a great deal of handshaking. The priest kept looking at Frau Müller from the corners of his eyes. He drank a glass of hock with Karl and Richardson and then shook hands again and bowed himself away.

  Herr Müller began to run in and out with bottles of wine and glasses of lager, panting and giggling with delight. He saw with consternation that Richardson was still standing. He humbled himself at once and escorted Richardson to a seat by the piano and brought him a glass of hock. It was all very charming and courteous. The piano was a sacred thing. The walnut was beautifully polished and the lid was locked and it was evidently an honour to sit there. Everyone stared at Richardson until he felt odd and isolated. As soon as he had drunk half of the hock Herr Müller ran forward with the bottle and filled up his glass. Everyone stood up and drank a toast to something. He did not understand until afterwards that the toast was for himself. The wine made him feel strange and elated and happy. A peasant came in with an accordion, a fair-haired, elegant young man in a suit of large brown checks and squeaky, tea-coloured shoes. He shook hands with excessive politeness and unrolled a great deal of music. The party seemed to grow suddenly vivacious, everyone laughing and chatting and drinking, the air thick with the smoke of cigars and the smell of wine, the young peasant playing a tune on the accordion and all the guests stamping their feet and singing to the tune.

  The peasant had finished playing and Richardson was drinking a glass of cherry-brandy when he saw over the edge of his glass the figure of Anna. She had come into the room with her father and they were coming towards the piano. Beside the immense droll figure of Müller she looked extremely delicate and more than ever shy and naive and slender. She was carrying some music in her hands. Her father, like a man performing a religious ceremony, unlocked the piano and dusted the yellow keys and the pale rose fabric behind the fretted woodwork.

  When he had finished dusting he turned to Richardson and made a long speech, evidently about the girl. Richardson listened, bewildered, until Karl came up.

  ‘What does he say?’ asked Richardson.

  ‘He is telling you all about the girl. She went to school in Kreuznach and now she goes down there once a week to take music lessons.’

  ‘Tell him he may well be proud of her.’

  Karl spoke to Müller and Müller said something and Karl translated.

  ‘He is very honoured. He wants to know if you can sing.’

  ‘I can’t sing. But tell him I am very honoured, too.’

  Karl spoke to Müller again and while he was speaking Richardson looked at the girl. She was standing with her hip against the piano and she returned his look with a quick, embarrassed flash of her eyes and then lowered her lids quickly again. He thought she had about her in that moment, with her downcast eyes and the electric light very gold on her fine thick hair, a loveliness that was inexplicably impressive and thrilling. He had an extraordinary feeling also that she was not a stranger to him, like the peasants, and that it was not strange for him to stand and gaze at her while she found some music and arranged it on the piano and sat down to play.

  He sat down at last also and she began to play. He saw at once that she did not play brilliantly, but rather methodically and timidly, and he felt quite relieved. Her fingers were very long and delicate and she struck the keys very softly and the piano sounded thin and reedy. She played something that Richardson did not know, a simple, rather formal air with variations, which he thought might have been written about springtime by a ghost of Schumann. The peasants were quiet, with a kind of reverence, as though it were a great honour to listen to Anna Müller, who had been well-educated and went every week to take music lessons in Kreuznach. When she had finished they applauded and smiled on her with the same sort of deference, plainly looking up to her as someone above them. She half-turned on the piano stool and smiled and Richardson gazed straight into her face and without thinking what he was doing shouted:

  ‘Bravo! Bravo!’

  He let the pleasure she had given him come unmistakably into his voice. He felt that he wanted to impress her and he smiled too. She flashed him a single look half of fear, half of delight, and at once lowered her head over the piano and her music again.

  After that she played several other pieces and the peasants sang. Müller kept bringing Richardson cherry brandies, which he drank straight off, and he began to feel strange and dreamy.

  A little later Herr Müller came running in and spok
e to Karl in great excitement. Karl translated for Richardson:

  ‘The village choir are outside and they want to sing for us. He says they are very good singers and we ought to treat them.’

  ‘Tell him we’re very honoured.’

  Karl spoke with Müller.

  ‘He says everyone will be very amused if we have the beer brought in one big glass.’

  Richardson thought it would be amusing, too, and Karl told Müller, who ran out of the room and came back a moment later, leading the choir. There were ten or twelve brown, fair, smiling young peasants, who looked like a group of English country labourers. They grinned and made a line at the end of the room and were ready to sing when Herr Müller rushed in with an enormous boot-shaped glass running over with pale-gold beer. All the singers laughed and took long drinks and were very boisterous. Karl and Richardson drank also. Karl took a mighty drink that left the peasants gasping and at last applauding with delight. Finally the singers were ready. They began to sing, very low and in unison, a kind of ballad with a long string of verses. They sang magnificently, their voices soft and rich and humorous, the song itself something like a mountain stream, bright and gentle at first and then faster and stronger and finally deep and gorgeous and abandoned, like a torrent plunging splendidly down to a deep ravine. They ended the song on a shout and the guests laughed and applauded, and Müller ran hastily in with another boot of beer.

  A little later Müller was pouring Richardson another cherry brandy. He was called suddenly away and forgot the bottle. Richardson seized another glass and filled it and then leaned over and held out the glass to Anna.

  She had been looking at some music. She raised her head and looked at him with a startled expression, and then very slowly stretched out her hand and took the glass from him. He looked straight into her face with an expression of unmistakable delight. She looked irresistible and he wanted suddenly to reach out and touch her. He sat there for a moment in a sort of faintness, overcome by his own delight and the sensation of being so near to her. She lifted up her glass and took a sip of the brandy. He watched her without a flicker of his eyes.

  Suddenly someone switched out the electric light and put the room in darkness. For a moment or two he was conscious of nothing but blackness and of people laughing and groping about the room. But a second later he was aware also of something soft and warm moving very close to him and lastly of someone kissing him. The lips were warm and sensitive and the kiss itself was tremulous and eager, with a brief, unmistakable hint of tenderness. He had not time to move his hands and a second or two later the lights were on again and the lips had been drawn away.

  He came to himself like a man in another world. He felt queer and intoxicated in a way that was different from the intoxication brought about by the wine. He looked straight at Anna. She was sitting half-turned to him and he thought her eyes were fixed as with a kind of tremulous, almost painful admiration.

  He did not know what to do. He felt dazzled and his hands were trembling, and he felt his heart beating in a foolish, unaccountable way. He felt almost glad that he could not speak to her or make any other sign than a long, intent look at her. And they sat absolutely motionless, gazing at each other softly and steadfastly, like two people playing a strange game of endurance with each other. A long time seemed to pass. He was vaguely conscious of the choir singing again and drinking another boot of beer and finally bowing themselves through the doorway.

  At last, very suddenly, the girl got up and walked out of the room. He sat back and very slowly finished his brandy and thought in astonishment of the darkness, the soft movement of Anna’s arms and lastly the kiss itself.

  He finished another brandy and another hock. The elegant young man played the accordion again and five or six peasants danced across the floor. The rhythmical, swirling figures made him feel sleepier than ever. The girl did not come back. He recalled over and over again the moment of the kiss with her.

  Finally the party began to break up. He shook hands with everyone, and Karl, who was a little drunk, promised to call at the inn for him in the morning.

  ‘We’ll go up into the forest,’ he said. ‘Like to see the forest, wouldn’t you? The forest is lovely — lovely! My God, it’s lovely!’

  As the guests were trooping out Müller sprang from behind a door and terrified the women with the monkey again. There was a great deal of shrieking and shouting and laughter as the party trailed away up the dark street.

  Richardson went back into the inn. Herr Müller and his wife shook hands with him and smiled on him with great broad smiles. He did not see Anna. He lingered about in the guest-room, pretending to look for something, but she did not come, and finally he went slowly upstairs and into his room and shut the door.

  IV

  He awoke between seven and eight o’clock and got out of bed and went to the window. He knew at once from the look of the sky, very soft, cloudless and tranquil, that the day would be hot again. The sun was already brilliant on the painted white walls of the inn and the flags of the courtyard beyond the shade of the mulberry tree. The shadows of the tall houses zigzagged across the street and up the white walls of the houses opposite with dark, sharp angles, as though cut out with scissors. He leaned out of the window and saw on the flags the red smears of the mulberries that the guests had crushed under their feet the night before. He remembered Anna. The courtyard and the street were deserted, but voices were talking downstairs and there was a fragrance of fresh bread and coffee.

  He went downstairs and Frau Müller gave him his coffee in a little room adorned with yellowing family portraits and big oleographs of battle-scenes and bright coloured paintings on glass. While he was drinking his coffee Herr Müller came in and smiled on him and shook hands. He looked more jovial and droll and potbellied than ever.

  He finished his breakfast and went out into the courtyard. There was no sign of Anna. He lingered about in the sunshine, hoping she would come out, but she did not come. Once or twice he thought he could hear her voice but he was never sure and at last he walked slowly away up the street to look for Karl. He met no one but a few children and an old peasant woman and a youth with a reaping-machine drawn by an old bony red cow. They all said ‘Guten morgen’ and the youth raised his hat to him.

  He recognised the house with the grape-vine and went into the courtyard and up the steps to the kitchen door. The young girl and Maria were in the kitchen, scraping a big earthenware bowl of potatoes. Maria got up at once and wiped her hands on her skirt and smiled. He smiled at her in return and said in a questioning tone:

  ‘Karl?’

  She nodded and ran at once to the stairs and shouted ‘Karl! Karl!’ but there was no answer, and finally she beckoned him and led him upstairs and showed him into a bedroom.

  Karl was lying in a huge wooden bed. His dark head was just visible. The pillows had fallen to the floor and the great covering bolster was lying askew and crumpled and the rest of the bedclothes were tangled about his body. He looked as though he had spent the night struggling and wrestling with something. When Richardson bent down and shook his shoulder he groaned and buried his face in the sheets and told him to go away.

  ‘What about the forest?’ said Richardson.

  ‘God, what about it?’

  ‘What’s the matter with you? You didn’t drink very much at the inn.’

  ‘We had another party here afterwards.’

  ‘You look like ten parties.’

  His hair was tangled and matted over his forehead and his eyes looked swollen and unhappy. ‘How far is the forest? I’ll go myself.’

  ‘Two miles.’

  ‘I’ll go and be back for you soon. Is that all right?’

  ‘God, I don’t care what you do.’

  He groaned again and struggled with the sheets and turned away.

  Richardson went downstairs and through the courtyard and down the street again. The crimson mattresses hanging out of the bedroom windows looked brilliant in the sunsh
ine. The sky was wonderfully blue and cloudless and the sun itself was hot and dazzling on his face.

  When he reached the inn again a door in the wall of the courtyard was standing open and beyond he could see an orchard and a patch of flower-garden. He thought he could hear voices also and out of curiosity he walked in. The orchard was very small and the trees were old and strangely shaped and stooping. In the flower-garden nothing but a few ragged crimson dahlias were growing and a scarlet salvia or two, very handsome and brilliant by the wall in the sunshine. The dahlias had been staked and tied and the stakes were hooded with flower-pots for earwigs. He touched the heavy heads of the dahlias as he passed along the path into the orchard itself. The grass under the trees, very long and thick, was scattered with fallen plums and pears. The air was full of a smell of the dank grass and a heavy scent, like wine, of the fruit that lay rotting everywhere in the bright sunshine.

  As he went forward under the trees he heard voices again, and coming suddenly to an open space he found Anna and her sister gathering the fruit of a giant pear tree. They were standing on a ladder, the elder girl just under the lowest branches and Anna at the ladder head, only her blue-striped skirt and stockings visible among the leaves.

  He stood still and watched them. He had come up quite noiselessly and for a minute or two they chattered to each other among the branches without knowing he was there. But suddenly he moved and the elder girl turned and saw him and uttered a little cry.

  A moment later she was climbing hastily down the ladder. He gave her one quick smile and then looked up at Anna. She was climbing down also, step by step, very slowly, with her back against the ladder, the basket of pears half-resting against her knees. She had to come down a step or two before the leaves had swung clear of her face and the first sight of Richardson at the foot of the ladder was so sudden that she stopped involuntarily and stared at him in shy astonishment before breaking into a little smile. He smiled also. Against the curtain of dark shining pear-leaves she looked pale, fair and curiously far away. He thought she looked very happy and entrancing too. He felt a strange sensation of pleasure surge up in him at the mere sight of her, a faint, delicious feeling of the most perfect joy.