Chapter 25 twenty five

After a while we left there.Dirk came home for supper, and I volunteered to find a doctor and bring him in to see what was wrong with Strickland.When we got out into the street—the air was so fresh coming out of that stuffy attic—the Dutchman told me to go to his studio at once.He has something on his mind, but he just refuses to tell me.He insisted that I go home with him.I thought that even if the doctor were sent at once there would be nothing more to be done for the time being than what we had done for Strickland, so I consented.We found Blanche Stroeve setting the table for supper.Dirk walked up to her and held her hands.

"Honey, I beg you to do one thing," he said. She looked at him with a kind of seriousness in the joy that was so charming about her.Stroeve's face was glistening with sweat, and his face was comically agitated by the agitation, but there was an eager gleam in his round, frightened eyes. "Strickland is very ill, and may be dying. He lives alone in a dirty garret, and has no one to take care of him. I beg you to allow me to bring him to our house." She withdrew her hand quickly—I had never seen her move so quickly—and her cheeks flushed. "Ah, no." "Why, my dear, don't say no. I can't bear to have him there alone. I shall never be able to sleep thinking of him."

"I have no objection to you taking care of him." Her voice sounded very cold and distant. "But he will die." "Let him die." Stroeve gasped and wiped his face.He turned and asked me for help, but I didn't know what to say. "He's a great painter." "What does that matter to me? I hate this man." "Oh, my darling, my darling, you don't mean that! I beg you, let me get him into our house. We can make him more comfortable. Maybe we can save his life. He won't give you trouble. I'll do everything. We can build him a bed in the studio. We can't let him die like a stray dog. It's inhuman."

"Why can't he go to the hospital?" "Hospital! He needs caressing hands. It takes great tenderness to nurse him." I found it strange that Blanche Stroeve was so fluctuating.She continued to set the tableware, but her hands were shaking. "I'm just getting impatient with you. Do you think he'd lift a finger to help you if you were sick?" "What does that matter? I've got you to take care of me. I don't need his help. Besides, I'm not like him; I don't matter at all." "You're not as bloody as a mongrel puppy! You lie on the ground and have people step on you."

Stroeve smiled.He thought he understood his wife's attitude. "Oh, poor darling, you're thinking about that time he came to see my paintings. What does it matter if he thinks my drawings aren't good? I shouldn't have shown him that day, I daresay I don't draw very well." He looked around the studio dejectedly.On an easel stood an unfinished painting of a smiling Italian peasant holding a bunch of grapes above the head of a dark-eyed little girl. "Even if he doesn't like your painting, he should be polite. He doesn't need to insult you. His attitude clearly shows that he has a lot of contempt for you, but you still want to lick his hand. Ah, I hate this man .”

"My dear boy, he has genius. Don't think I believe I have genius. I wish I had. But I can see who is genius in others, and I respect such people with all my heart. Genius is the greatest genius in the world." Wonderful stuff. For them themselves, genius is a great burden. We have to be very tolerant, very patient with these people." I stood and listened, a little embarrassed by the family conflict.I don't understand why Stroeve insisted that I come with him.I saw his wife was about to shed tears. "But I beg you, let me bring him not just because he's a genius. I want to do it because he's a man, and because he's sick, and because he's got no money."

"I'll never let him in our house—never." Stroeve turned to face me. "Tell her that it's a matter of life and death. There's no way he can be left in that wretched place." "It's perfectly clear that it would be much better to have him here for recuperation," I said, "but of course it will be a great inconvenience to you. I think he must be watched by someone day and night." "My dear, you are not the kind of person who is afraid of trouble and refuses to help." "If he comes here, I'll go," said Frau Stroeve angrily.

"I hardly recognized you. Haven't you always been soft-hearted?" "Oh, for God's sake don't make me. You're driving me crazy." Finally, she finally shed tears.She was slumped in a chair, her face in her hands, her shoulders twitching.Dirk suddenly knelt beside her, hugged her, kissed her, and called her all kinds of intimate names, and cheap tears flowed down his cheeks.After a while, she broke free from his embrace and wiped away her tears. "Leave me alone for a while," she said, her tone much smoother.Then, she forced a smile and said to me: "I am like that just now, I really don't know what kind of person you will take me as."

Stroeve looked at her in perplexity, not knowing what to do.He frowned tightly and pursed his red mouth.His strange appearance reminded me of a flustered guinea pig. "Then you won't say yes, my dear?" he said at last. She waved her hand feebly.She is exhausted. "The studio is yours. This home is yours. If you want him to move here, how can I stop him?" Stroeve's fat face broke into a smile at once. "So you agree? I know you will. Oh, my dear." But she immediately restrained herself again.She looked at him with dull eyes, and pressed her fingers together on her chest, as if her heart was beating too hard for her.

"Oh, Dirk, I haven't begged you to do anything since we met." "You also know that as long as you say a word, there is nothing in the world that I will not do for you." "I beg you, don't ask Strickland to come here. You can call anyone, whether it's a thief, a drunk, or a street bum. I promise, I will serve them all and do everything in my power." Serve them. But I beg you, don't take Strickland home." "But why?" "I'm afraid of him. I don't know why, he's the man I'm scared to death. He's going to do us harm. I know it all too well. I can feel it. If you get him, it won't end well. of."

"You really don't make sense." "No, no, I know I'm right. Something terrible is going to happen to our family." "Why? Because we did a good thing?" She was breathing very rapidly, and there was an unexplainable fear on her face.I don't know what she was thinking.It seemed to me that she was being seized by an invisible terror, and she had completely lost her ability to control herself.She had always been calm and stable, and now she was startlingly frightened.Stroeve looked at her for a moment with perplexity and amazement. "You are my wife, and you are more valuable to me than anything else. No one comes to our house without your full consent." She closed her eyes for a moment, and I thought she might faint.I'm a little impatient with her.I didn't expect her to be such a neurotic woman.Then I heard Stroeve's voice again, and the silence seemed strangely broken by his voice. "Have you ever been in a very miserable situation yourself, and someone just happened to offer you a helping hand? You know how important that is to you. Wouldn't you like to help someone else if that happened to you? ?” His remark was not new at all, and I even felt that there was some lesson in it; I almost laughed out loud.But its effect on Blanche Stroeve surprised me.She shuddered and stared at her husband for a long time.Stroeve kept his eyes on the ground.I don't know why he looks so embarrassed.Frau Stroeve's face was flushed with a faint blush, and then turned pale--pale; you felt the blood in her body shrink back from the surface, and even the color of her hands was gone.She trembled all over.The studio is silent, as if the silence has become a reality, as long as you stretch out your hand, you can feel it.I couldn't be more surprised. "Bring Strickland, Dirk. I'll take care of him as best I can." "My dear," he smiled. He wanted to hug her, but she avoided it. "Stop being so sentimental in front of strangers, Dirk," she said, "it's too much to get down." Her expression had become perfectly natural; no one would have dared to say that a few minutes before she had been agitated by a powerful emotion.