Downstairs, after washing and breakfasting on a slice of bread and brown soup dotted with black caraway seeds, as the evening before, everyone was turned out into the dark and the cold, and each went his separate way. It was half past five. Gurdweill started strolling unhurriedly towards the city centre, and by the time he reached the Ring it was morning and the streets were full of commotion. By some miracle he found a forgotten schilling in one of his pockets, and hurried into a little café, glad as a traveller returning from foreign parts to be back home again. After sitting there for about an hour, he was suddenly overcome by an inner restlessness that impelled him to leave the café, even though he had no idea of where to go. He turned into Kärntner Strasse, gazed uninterestedly into shop windows, saw on a clock in a watchmaker’s shop that it was nine o’clock, and unthinkingly quickened his pace. At the entrance to Johannesgasse he stopped automatically, then came to again with a jerk, as if recovering from a hard slap on the back, but continued along the same pavement nevertheless, his head bowed and his hands in his coat pockets. Just as he was wondering whether to go home again as he had done the previous day, his way was barred. He raised his eyes and saw Thea standing in front of him and smiling. Deeply embarrassed, he tried to step aside, but she gripped him by the arm.

‘What’s the matter, rabbit?’ she asked, as if nothing had happened between them. ‘Where did you disappear to? Why don’t you come home?’

Gurdweill stammered, his eyes downcast, ‘I … I thought … That’s to say, I was just on my way …’

A mocking expression appeared on her face. She stared at him without saying anything.

Gurdweill blurted out, ‘Have you got a cigarette?’ Perhaps he meant it as a hint that he bore no resentment against her.

Thea opened her purse and handed him a cigarette. ‘Come along, walk with me to Johannesgasse, and then you can go home.’

Gurdweill obeyed. Small, confused, he walked next to his wife, his mind empty of thoughts. Then he turned away in the direction of Kleine Stadtgutgasse.

32

32

A few days later he received a note from Lotte, asking him to come and see her that afternoon, as she was suffering from a cold and was afraid of going out. At three o’clock he rang the doorbell. Lotte herself opened the door and showed him into the salon. Her face was pale and elongated; her big eyes seemed bigger than usual and glittered feverishly. She pointed him to an armchair, and she herself lay down on the sofa, where she had evidently been reclining before he arrived.

‘It’s nothing!’ she said with a weak smile. ‘A mild throat infection. Nothing dangerous. And a bad mood to boot …’