The Red Room by August Strindberg (ready player one ebook TXT) 📕

she was concocting replies to these and similar reproaches; and as her common sense during the long period of their mutual acquaintance had never been clouded by any intoxication of the senses, she had it well in hand and knew how to use it. The sounds of her husband’s return filled her with unalloyed pleasure. Presently the dining-room door was slammed; a tremendous bellowing became audible; she pushed her head underneath the bedclothes to smother her laughter. Heavy footsteps crossed the adjacent room and the angry husband appeared on the threshold, hat on head. His wife, who was turning her back to him, called out in her most dulcet tones:

“Is that you, little lubber? Come in, come in!”

The little lubber⁠—this was a pet name, and husband and wife frequently used others, even more original ones⁠—showed no inclination to accept her invitation, but remained standing in the doorway and shouted:

“Why isn’t the table laid for lunch?”

“Ask the girls; it isn’t my business to lay the table! But it’s customary to take off one’s hat on coming into a room, sir!”

“What have you done with my cap?”

“Burnt it! It was so greasy, you ought to have been ashamed to wear it.”

“You burnt it? We’ll talk about that later on! Why are you lying in bed until all hours of the morning, instead of supervising the girls?”

“Because I like it.”

“Do you think I married a wife to have her refusing to look after her house? What?”

“You did! But why do you think I married you? I’ve told you a thousand times⁠—so that I shouldn’t have to work⁠—and you promised me I shouldn’t. Didn’t you? Can you swear, on your word of honour, that you did not promise? That’s the kind of man you are! You are just like all the rest!”

“It was long ago!”

“Long ago? When was long ago? Is a promise not binding for all times? Or must it be made in any particular season?”

The husband knew this unanswerable logic only too well, and his wife’s good temper had the same effect as her tears⁠—he gave in.

“I’m going to have visitors tonight,” he stated.

“Oh, indeed! Gentlemen?”

“Of course! I detest women.”

“Well, I suppose you’ve ordered what you want?”

“No, I want you to do that.”

“I? I’ve no money for entertaining. I shall certainly not spend my housekeeping money on your visitors.”

“No, you prefer spending it on dress and other useless things.”

“Do you call the things I make for you useless? Is a smoking-cap useless? Are slippers useless? Tell me! Tell me candidly!”

She was an adept in formulating her questions in such a way that the reply was bound to be crushing for the person who had to answer them. She was merely copying her husband’s method. If he wanted to avoid being crushed, he was compelled to keep changing the subject of conversation.

“But I really have a very good reason for entertaining a few guests tonight,” he said with a show of emotion; “my old friend, Fritz Levin, of the Post Office, has been promoted after nineteen years’ service⁠—I read it in the Postal Gazette last night. But as you disapprove, and as I always give way to you, I shall let the matter drop, and shall merely ask Levin and schoolmaster Nyström to a little supper in the countinghouse.”

“So that loafer Levin has been promoted? I never! Perhaps now he’ll pay you back all the money he owes you?”

“I hope so!”

“I can’t understand how on earth you can have anything to do with that man! And the schoolmaster! Beggars, both of them, who hardly own the clothes they wear.”

“I say, old girl, I never interfere in your affairs; leave my business alone.”

“If you have guests downstairs, I don’t see why I shouldn’t have friends up here!”

“Well, why don’t you?”

“All right, little lubber, give me some money then.”

The little lubber, in every respect pleased with the turn matters had taken, obeyed with pleasure.

“How much? I’ve very little cash today.”

“Oh! Fifty’ll do.”

“Are you mad?”

“Mad? Give me what I ask for. Why should I starve when you feast?”

Peace was established and the parties separated with mutual satisfaction. There was no need for him to lunch badly at home; he was compelled to go out; no necessity to eat a poor dinner and be made uncomfortable by the presence of ladies; he was embarrassed in the company of women, for he had been a bachelor too long; no reason to be troubled by his conscience, for his wife would not be alone at home; as it happened she wanted to invite her own friends and be rid of him⁠—it was worth fifty crowns.

As soon as her husband had gone, Mrs. Falk rang the bell; she had stayed in bed all the morning to punish the housemaid, for the girl had remarked that in the old days everybody used to be up at seven. She asked for paper and ink and scribbled a note to Mrs. Homan, the controller’s wife, who lived in the house opposite.

Dear Evelyn⁠—the letter ran:

Come in this evening and have a cup of tea with me; we can then discuss the statutes of the “Association for the Rights of Women.” Possibly a bazaar or amateur theatricals would help us on. I am longing to set the association going; it is an urgent need, as you so often said; I feel it very deeply when I think about it. Do you think that her Ladyship would honour my house at the same time? Perhaps I ought to call on her first. Come and fetch me at twelve and we’ll have a cup of chocolate at a confectioner’s. My husband is away.

Yours affectionately,

Eugenia.

P.S. My husband is away.

When she had despatched the letter, she got up and dressed, so as to be ready at twelve.

It was evening.

The eastern end of Long Street was already plunged in twilight, when the clock of the German church struck seven; only a faint ray of light from Pig Street fell into Falk’s flax-shop, as Andersson