The Severed Hand: From "German Tales" Published by the American Publishers' Corporation — John Shaqi
The Severed Hand: From "German Tales" Published by the American Publishers' CorporationHauff, Wilhelm
Science
The Severed Hand: From "German Tales" Published by the American Publishers' Corporation
Hauff, Wilhelm
Fiction; Short stories
I took my instruments, which I as surgeon always carried about with me,
and approached the bed. Only the head of the corpse was visible, and it
was so beautiful that I experienced involuntarily the deepest sympathy.
Dark hair hung down in long plaits, the features were pale, the eyes
closed. At first I made an incision into the skin, after the manner of
surgeons when amputating a limb. I then took my sharpest knife, and with
one stroke cut the throat. But oh, horror! The dead opened her eyes, but
immediately closed them again, and with a deep sigh she now seemed to
breathe her last. At the same moment a stream of hot blood shot towards
me from the wound. I was convinced that the poor creature had been
killed by me. That she was dead there was no doubt, for there was no
recovery from this wound. I stood for some minutes in painful anguish
at what had happened. Had the "red-cloak" deceived me, or had his
sister perhaps merely been apparently dead? The latter seemed to me more
likely. But I dare not tell the brother of the deceased that perhaps a
little less deliberate cut might have awakened her without killing her;
therefore I wished to sever the head completely; but once more the dying
woman groaned, stretched herself out in painful movements, and died.
Fright overpowered me, and, shuddering, I hastened out of the room. But
outside in the passage it was dark; for the light was out, no trace of
my companion was to be seen, and I was obliged, haphazard, to feel
my way in the dark along the wall, in order to reach the staircase. I
discovered it at last and descended, partly falling and partly gliding.
But there was not a soul downstairs. I merely found the door ajar,
and breathed freer on reaching the street, for I had felt very
strange inside the house. Urged on by terror, I rushed towards my
dwelling-place, and buried myself in the cushions of my bed, in order to
forget the terrible thing that I had done.
But sleep deserted me, and only the morning admonished me again to take
courage. It seemed to me probable that the man who had induced me to
commit this nefarious deed, as it now appeared to me, might not denounce
me. I immediately resolved to set to work in my vaulted room, and
if possible to assume an indifferent look. But alas! an additional
circumstance, which I only now noticed, increased my anxiety still more.
My cap and my girdle, as well as my instruments, were wanting, and I
was uncertain as to whether I had left them in the room of the murdered
girl, or whether I had lost them in my flight. The former seemed indeed
the more likely, and thus I could easily be discovered as the murderer.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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