Read The Successor for Free Online Page B

bad to worse for us!”
    That morning as he was getting ready to go out, his tearful wife had reminded him again, “Be careful about that door business! You’re the architect. But you’re not at fault in any way. Only one thing can bring your downfall: your having seen that door.”
    Throughout the inspection of the Successor’s residence, the architect kept repeating in his mind: Thank you, Lord, it’s nearly over, this torture will soon be finished! But as luck would have it, at the very last moment, just as he was about to be on his way, the minister came out with that “What say we take a quick trip into the basement?” — and the evil trap snapped shut. An invitation to step downstairs into hell would not have been any more frightening to him.
    The architect realized he had reached the building where he lived. His wife must be worrying herself sick in the meantime. He ran up the stairs. The door of his apartment opened the very moment he put his finger on the bell. His wife was actually standing just behind, waiting for him and shaking like a leaf. He kissed her and put her head to his cheek. He spoke to her through her hair: “It’s over, over at last,” he kept on saying. She looked up and noticed how pale he was. “Come in and calm down …”
    They went into the bedroom. He lay down on his back and resumed his sighing prayer: Lord, it’s over at last! She sat at the head of the bed and stroked his hair as he told the tale. He was very precise when he drew up plans for buildings, but a complete muddle when it came to words. When he got to the point where they had gone down the steps to the basement, his wife grasped his wrists. An old Muslim prayer for the dead came back to her: Be not afraid now that you must cross the darkness all alone …
    So he had followed the minister’s steps down the stairs, alert for the moment when the door would appear. But all of a sudden, in its stead and place, they had come upon a smooth-clad wall. The smell of plaster and new cement meant that the surfacing had been done very recently. “Two or three days ago, definitely not more than that. But for me it was the most beautiful finish in the whole wide world. Blessed wall! I thought. Wall of my hopes and prayers! I wanted to bow down to it like a Jew at the Western Wall. I wanted to weep and to chant. I don’t know how I contained myself. The minister definitely had his eye on me. He was testing me, that much was obvious. What he was going to put in his report flashed through my head: ‘The architect, when confronted with the wall, displayed no surprise; likewise when I mentioned the underground passageway to him.’“
    His wife went on stroking his hair. “It’s over, thank the Lord, it’s over,” she said from time to time. “Now it’s shut for good …” “As far as we’re concerned, yes indeed,” he replied. “From our point of view the door is done for, but not for whoever installed it in the first place. Those poor guys must be shaking in their boots, if they’ve not been taken care of already.”
    She felt that her husband was getting ready to tell her something else, but was still unsure.
    “Have a nap,” she suggested. “Do you want me to lie down with you?”
    “Come here, darling.”
    She took off her clothes and snuggled up to him. “Sleep, my dear, relax,” she whispered in his ear. But his mind did not seem to be at rest. He clearly wanted to say something else.
    “Is anything wrong?” she asked after a while.
    He grunted. “Well, yes, there is something … that I just can’t keep to myself.”
    His wife stiffened. “But you did tell me everything, didn’t you?” she said sweetly and softly. “Besides all that, nothing else really matters. Now get some sleep!”
    “No,” the architect said. “It’s better to bring it all up. That way it’ll be off my chest … That door …”
    His wife heard herself screaming out loud, “That damn door again! But you said it had been