I do not
love her."
"Will you come with me for a few moments? I live here."
The Wanderer made a gesture of assent. In a few moments they found
themselves in a large room furnished almost in Eastern fashion, with few
objects, but those of great value. Israel Kafka was alone in the world
and was rich. There were two or three divans, a few low, octagonal,
inlaid tables, a dozen or more splendid weapons hung upon the wall,
and the polished wooden floor was partly covered with extremely rich
carpets.
"Do you know what she said to me, when I helped her into the carriage?"
asked Kafka.
"No, I did not attempt to hear."
"She did not mean that you should hear her. She made me promise to send
you to her with news of myself. She said that you hated her and would
not go to her unless I begged you to do so. Is that true?"
"I have told you that I do not hate her. I hate her cruelty. I will
certainly not go to her of my own choice."
"She said that I had fainted. That was a lie. She invented it as an
excuse to attract you, on the ground of her interest in my condition."
"Evidently."
"She hates me with an extreme hatred. Her real interest lay in showing
you how terrible that hatred could be. It is not possible to conceive of
anything more diabolically bad than what she did to me. She made me her
sport--yours, too, perhaps, or she would at least have wished it. On
that holy ground where my people lie in peace she made me deny my faith,
she made me, in your eyes and her own, personate a renegade of my race,
she made me confess in the Christian creed, she made me seem to die for
a belief I abhor.
Pages:
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304