Journey Into the Past

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Book: Read Journey Into the Past for Free Online
Authors: Stefan Zweig
Tags: Classics
it had to be cleared out of the way before his emotions could flow freely. Very cautiously, he made his way towards that dark place in the depths of his emotion, he knew already what it meant, yet he dared not touch it. But the current kept driving him back to that one place, that one question. And it was this: was there not—he dared not say love, but at least liking for him on her part, shown in all those small attentive acts, a mild affection, if without passion, in the way she listened for his presence and showed concern for him? That sombre question went through him, heavy, black waves rose in his blood, breaking again and again, but they could not roll it away. If only I could think clearly, he said to himself, but his thoughts were in too much passionate turmoil, mingling with confused dreams and wishes, and pain was churned up again and again from the uttermost depths of his being. So he lay there on his bed for perhaps an hour or two hours, entirely outside himself, sensations dulled by his numbing mixture of emotions, until suddenly a gentle tapping at his door brought him back to himself. The cautious tapping of slender knuckles; he thought he recognized their touch. He jumped up and ran to the door.
    There she stood before him, smiling. “Oh, doctor, why don’t you come down? The bell has rung for dinner twice.”
    She spoke almost in high spirits, as if she took a little pleasure in catching him out in a small act of negligence. But as soon as she saw his face, with his hair clinging around it in damp strands, his dazed eyes shyly avoiding hers, she herself turned pale.
    “For God’s sake, what has happened to you?” she faltered, and the tone of horror in her breaking voice went through him like desire. “Nothing, nothing,” he said, quickly pulling himself together. “I was deep in thought, that’s all. The whole thing was too much for me, too sudden.”
    “What? What whole thing? Tell me!”
    “Don’t you know? Didn’t the Councillor tell you anything about it?”
    “No, nothing!” she urged him impatiently, almost driven mad by the nervous, burning, evasive expression in his eyes. “What’s happened? Tell me, please tell me!”
    Then he summoned up all the strength in him to look at her clearly and without blushing. “The Councillor has been kind enough to give me an important and responsible mission, and I have accepted it. In ten days’ time I’m sailing for Mexico, to stay there for two years.”
    “Two years! Dear God!” It was a cry rather than words, as her own horror shot up from deep within her. And she put out her hands in instinctive denial. It was useless for her to try, next moment, denying the feeling that had burst out of her, for already (and just how had that happened?) he had taken the hands she so passionately reached out to fend off her fear in his own, and before they knew it their trembling bodies were both aflame. Countless hours and days of unconscious longing and thirst were quenched in an endless kiss.
    He had not drawn her to him, she had not drawn him to her. they had met as if driven together by a storm, falling clasped together into a bottomless abyss of the unconscious, and sinking into it was like a sweet yet burning trance—emotions too long pent up poured out in a single second, inflamed by the magnetism of chance. Only slowly, as the lips that had clung together parted, as they were still shaken by the unreality of it all, did he look into her eyes and saw a strange light behind their tender darkness. And only then was he overwhelmed by the realization that this woman, the woman he loved, must have loved him in return for a long time, for weeks, months, years, keeping tenderly silent, glowing with maternal feeling, until a moment such as this struck through her soul. The incredible nature of the realization was intoxicating. To think that he was loved, loved by the woman he had thought beyond his reach—heaven opened up, endless and flooded with light.

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