Night Games: And Other Stories and Novellas (10 page)

An elderly person that he didn't know opened the door when he
rang. Willi gave his name. His uncle-yes, he really was Mr. Wilram's
nephew-his uncle should excuse him, but it was a matter of great urgency, and he wouldn't disturb him very long. The woman, at first undecided, withdrew, and then came back surprisingly quickly, in a much
friendlier manner, and Willi-he took a deep breath of relief-was admitted at once.

X

His uncle was standing near one of two high windows. He was not wearing the monkish dressing gown in which Willi had expected to find him,
but a well-cut, though somewhat worn, light summer suit and patent
leather shoes that had lost some of their luster. With a broad but tired gesture he motioned his nephew to approach. "Hello, Willi. Nice of you to
think of visiting your old uncle again. I thought you had completely forgotten me!"

Willi was on the point of replying that he had not been admitted on
his last few visits and that his letters had not been answered, but he
thought it better to express himself more circumspectly. "You live such a
secluded existence," he said, "that I had no way of knowing whether you
would welcome a visit from me."

The room was unchanged. Books and papers were lying on the
desk; the green curtain over the bookcase was half drawn so that a few
old leather volumes were visible; the same Persian rug was spread out
over the sofa, and the same embroidered cushion lay on it. On the wall
hung two yellowed engravings of Italian landscapes, and family portraits
in matte gold frames. The sister's picture stood in its place, as before, on
the desk. Willi recognized it from the rear by its shape and frame.

"Won't you sit down?" Robert Wilram asked.

Willi was standing with his cap in his hand, his sword strapped to
his side, stiffly, as though on an official visit. In a tone that didn't quite
match his posture, he began, "To tell the truth, dear Uncle, I probably
wouldn't have come today either, if I didn't-well, in a word, if it didn't
concern a very, very serious matter."

"You don't say," remarked Robert Wilram in a friendly manner,
though without any particular sympathy.

"At least it's very serious for me. In short, without beating about the
bush, I've committed a stupidity, a great stupidity. I-I gambled and lost
more money than I have."

"Hmm, that's a bit more than just a stupidity," said the uncle.

"It was thoughtless," Willi agreed, "criminally thoughtless! I don't want to put a good face on it. But the fact of the matter unfortunately is:
if I don't pay my debt by this evening at seven, I'm-I'm-" He
shrugged his shoulders and paused like a stubborn child.

Robert Wilram shook his head regretfully but made no reply. The
silence in the room became at once so unbearable that Willi immediately
began to speak again. Quickly he reported his experiences of the day before: he had gone to Baden to visit a sick comrade, had met other officers, good old friends, there, and had let himself be seduced into a card
game, which had started innocently enough but had changed, without his
having had anything to do with it, into a wild gambling spree. He would
rather not reveal the names of the participants with the exception of the
one who had become his creditor, a wholesale merchant, a South American consul, a certain Herr Schnabel, who was unfortunately leaving for
America tomorrow morning and had threatened to report him to the commander of his regiment if the debt were not paid by this evening. "You
know what that means, Uncle!" Willi concluded, and suddenly sank exhausted onto the sofa.

The uncle, looking over Willi's head at the wall, but still in a
friendly manner, asked, "How large is the sum in question?"

Willi hesitated again. First he thought he would add the thousand
for Bogner as well, but then he was suddenly convinced that precisely
this extra amount would jeopardize the outcome, and so he named only
the amount that he owed.

"Eleven thousand gulden," repeated Robert Wilram, shaking his
head, and it sounded almost as if there were a tone of admiration in his
voice.

"I know," Willi interjected quickly, "it's a small fortune. I won't
even try to justify myself. It was an act of unspeakable thoughtlessness, I
think the first-certainly the last of my life. And I can't do anything but
swear to you, Uncle, that I'll never touch another card in my whole life,
that I'll make an effort to show you my eternal gratitude by leading a
most strict and solid life. I'm even prepared-I declare it formally-to
forever forswear whatever claims our family relationship might entitle
me to later, if you could just this time, this one time-Uncle-"

Until now Robert Wilram had shown no emotion, but he seemed gradually to feel some agitation. He had already raised one hand in a dismissive gesture, but now he raised the other one as well, as though with
this highly dramatic gesture he hoped to silence his nephew, and in an
unaccustomedly high, almost shrill voice, he interrupted: "I'm very
sorry, really very sorry, but with the best intentions in the world, I can't
help you!" And when Willi opened his mouth to reply, he added, "I absolutely can't help you, it's useless to say anything else, so spare yourself
the effort." And he turned toward the window.

Willi, who felt at first as though struck on the head, collected himself and considered that he could not actually have expected to win over
his uncle on the first try. And so he began anew: "I'm not trying to deceive myself, Uncle. I know that my request is an effrontery, an unspeakable effrontery. And I should certainly never have dared to approach you,
if I had the slightest chance of getting the money in some other way.
Only put yourself in my place, Uncle! Everything, everything is at stake,
not only my position as an officer. What else should I, can I, do? I
haven't studied anything else, I don't know anything else. And as a dismissed officer I just couldn't just yesterday I chanced to meet a former
comrade, who also-no, no, better a bullet in the head. Don't be angry,
Uncle. Just imagine it! Remember, my father was an officer, my grandfather died as a lieutenant field marshal! For God's sake, I can't end up this
way. That would be too hard a punishment for a thoughtless prank. I'm
not a compulsive gambler, you know I've never let myself be tempted,
even though I was often encouraged. True, it's so much money that I
don't believe I could ever get such an amount, even from a usurer. And
what would happen if I could? In half a year I would owe twice as much,
in a year ten times-and-"

"Enough, Willi," Wilram finally interrupted him, in a still shriller
voice. "Enough, I can't help you-I'd like to, to be sure, but I can't.
Don't you understand? I don't have anything myself; I don't even have a
hundred gulden to my name as I am standing before you! Here,
here...." He opened one drawer after another, the desk drawers, the
dressing table drawers, as if it were proof of the truth of his words that
there were neither bills nor coins there but only papers, boxes, linen, and
all sorts of other items. Then he threw his wallet on the table, "Look for yourself, Willi, and if you find more than a hundred gulden, you can
judge me-for what you will." And suddenly he sank into his desk chair
and let his arms fall heavily on the surface of the table, so heavily that a
few sheets of paper fluttered to the floor.

Willi picked them up quickly, then looked around the room as if
searching for some changes here and there that would testify to his
uncle's so incomprehensibly altered circumstances. But everything
looked just as it had two or three years ago. And he asked himself
whether what his uncle said could really be true. Wasn't the peculiar old
man who had so suddenly and so unexpectedly left him stranded two
years ago also capable of trying to protect himself from his nephew's
continuing pleas with a lie which he sought to make more believable by
acting a role? How could it be that someone who lived in such a wellordered house in the central part of the city with a housekeeper, and had,
as before, beautiful leather volumes in his bookcase and matte-giltframed pictures hanging on all the walls-how could the owner of such
things have become a pauper? What could have happened to his fortune
in the last two or three years? Willi didn't believe him. He had not the
slightest reason to believe him, and still less reason to give up and acknowledge himself beaten, since he had nothing to lose in any case. So
he determined to make one last attempt, which, however, was not as bold
as he had intended, for suddenly, to his own surprise and to his shame, he
found himself standing before his Uncle Robert with clasped hands and
pleading, "It's a matter of life and death, Uncle. Believe me, it's about
my life. I beg you, I-" His voice failed him, but, following a sudden impulse, he seized the photograph of his mother and held it up to his uncle,
as though he were conjuring him on her behalf. His uncle, however,
merely wrinkled his brow lightly, and, gently grasping the picture,
calmly put it back in its place, and softly, not angrily, he remarked, "Your
mother has nothing to do with this. She can't help you-any more than
she can help me. If I didn't want to help you, Willi, I wouldn't need to
think up an excuse. I don't recognize any duties, especially in such a situation. And, in my opinion, it's possible to be an honorable man-or become one-even in civilian life. Honor is lost in other ways. But you
can't understand that at this point in your life. And therefore I'll tell you again: if I had the money, you can be certain I would give it to you. But I
don't have it. I have nothing! I don't have my fortune anymore. I only
have an annuity now. Yes, on the first and on the fifteenth I get so and so
much, and today"-he pointed to his wallet with a sad smile-"today is
the twenty-seventh." And since he saw in Willi's eyes a sudden gleam of
hope, he immediately added, "Oh, you think I could make a loan on the
strength of my annuity'? Well, my dear Willi, that depends on how and
under what circumstances the annuity was obtained!"

"Maybe, Uncle, maybe it would be possible after all, maybe together we could-"

But Robert Wilram interrupted him vehemently. "Nothing is possible, absolutely nothing!" And as though in deep contemplation, "I can't
help you, believe me, I can't." And he turned away.

"Well," answered Willi after short reflection. "Then nothing remains for me other than to beg your forgiveness that I-goodbye,
Uncle." He was already at the door when Robert's voice stopped him
cold. "Willi. come back, I don't want you to think that-I might as well
tell you that, to be blunt about it, that I have made what fortune I had-it
wasn't so much anymore anyway-over to my wife."

"You're married?" cried Willi in astonishment, and a new hope
gleamed in his eyes. "Well, if your wife has the money, then there should
be a way-I mean, if you said to your wife that it's--

Robert Wilram interrupted him with an impatient wave of his hand.
"I won't tell her anything. Don't urge me any further. It would be useless." He stopped.

But Willi, unwilling to relinquish this last hope so quickly, attempted to press the subject again and began, "Your-wife-evidently
doesn't live in Vienna?"

"Oh yes, she lives in Vienna, but not with me, as you see." He
paced up and down the room a few times, and then, with a bitter laugh,
he said, "Yes, I've lost more than a sword belt, and I'm still alive. Yes,
Willi-" He suddenly interrupted himself but immediately began again,
"A year and half ago I made over my entire fortune to her-of my own
free will. And I did it really more for my sake than for hers.... For I'm
not very economical, and she-she is very frugal, I have to admit, and also very good at business, and she's managed the money much better
than I would have. She's invested it in some kinds of enterprises-I
haven't been kept informed of the exact circumstances-I wouldn't understand anyway. And the income which I receive amounts to twelve and
a half percent. That isn't so small, so that I really haven't the right to
complain ... twelve and a half percent. But not a kreuzer more! Every
attempt that I made at the beginning to get an occasional advance was
useless. After the second attempt I wisely gave up trying. For after that I
didn't get to see her for six weeks, and she swore under oath that I would
never see her again if I were ever to come to her with such a request
again. And that-I didn't want to risk that. For I need her, Willi, I can't
exist without her. Every week I see her, she comes to me once a week.
Yes, she keeps our agreement; she's really the most dependable creature
in the world. She's never failed to come, and the money has always arrived promptly on the first and the fifteenth of every month. And in the
summer, every year, we go away together to the country for two whole
weeks. That's in our contract, too. But the rest of the time is her own."

"And you yourself, Uncle, you never visit her?" asked Willi, a little
embarrassed.

"But of course, Willi. On the first day of Christmas, on Easter Sunday, and every Whitmonday. That comes on the eighth of June this year."

"And if you-excuse me, Uncle-if you should happen to want to
visit her on some other day-why, you're her husband, after all, Uncle,
and who knows if she wouldn't even be flattered if you sometimes-"

"Can't risk it!" interrupted Robert Wilram. "Once-since I've already told you everything-well, one evening I walked up and down the
street near her house for two hours-"

"And?"

"I didn't see her. But the next day I received a letter from her which
contained only the message that I would never see her again in my entire
life if I ever had the notion of promenading up and down in front of her
house again. Yes, Willi, that's the way it is. And I know that even if my
own life depended upon it, she'd rather let me die than give me even a
tenth of what you're now asking me for before it was due. You stand a much better chance of persuading the consul to be lenient than I do of
ever softening my wife's heart!"