The World's Illusion, Volume 2 (of 2): RuthWassermann, Jakob
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The World's Illusion, Volume 2 (of 2): Ruth
Wassermann, Jakob
German fiction -- Translations into English
She released him, and he left her. Behind him she locked the door
again. It was a curious circumstance that she took off her shoes and
thus approached the treasure. When she was not beholding it, she still
doubted its presence. With disconnected gestures, full of fear, she
finally lifted the pearls from their case. At every soft clink she
sighed and looked around. The unexpected length and weight of the
chain amazed her utterly. Gently she let it glide upon the floor, then
followed it first on her knees, then with her whole body, until she
had brought her lips, her breath, her eyes as near as possible to that
gleaming splendour. She counted the pearls, and counted them again.
She made an error. Once she counted one hundred and thirty-three, and
another time one hundred and thirty-seven. Then she counted no more,
but looked at single pearls and breathed upon them, or moistened her
finger and touched them.
She started at a rustling in the outer hall; then she again sunk her
whole self into the act of seeing. She dreamed herself into rooms which
had known the glow of these marvels, into the bodies of women whom they
had adorned, into coils of events in which they had played a part.
Shivers ran over her body. She fought with the desire to place the
pearls about her own neck. First it seemed blasphemous rashness; then
it seemed conceivable after all. She arose softly, held the necklace in
her hand, and slipped it over her head. On tip-toe she walked to the
mirror, and peered at her image from half-closed lids. It was here,
here with her, and she wore it like that woman in the picture. The
pearls were on her body--the pearls!
Evening came upon her, then night, but it brought no sleep. The pearls
were in bed with her, close to her breast, warm by her skin. She felt
them to assure herself of their presence; she listened to vague noises
in the house, which were like threats of robbery to her. Then she lit a
lamp and gazed at the pearls, and already she knew some of them. They
turned faces upon her, and whispered to her, and were distinguishable
through a warmer glow or a more pallid tint. Some of these were
familiar and some quite strange, but they were all here--a shimmering
wonder and a new life.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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