Chapter 26 Twenty-six

Next day we went to move Strickland.Persuading him to move to Stroeve's house required great fortitude and much more patience, but luckily Strickland was too ill to respond to Stroeve's entreaties and my resolution. of resistance.Amidst his feeble curses we dressed him, helped him down the stairs, put him in a carriage, and at last carried him to Stroeve's studio.When we arrived he was so exhausted that we put him on a bed without a word.His illness lasted six weeks.There were days when it looked as if he would not survive even a few hours, and I have no doubt that his survival was entirely due to the industrious care of the Dutch painter.I have never met a more difficult patient.Not that he was critical or complaining; on the contrary, he never complained, never made demands, and just lay there without saying a word.But he seems to resent your taking care of him very much; if anyone asks him how he feels and what he needs, he will make a sarcasm at you at least, or swear at you at worst.I found this man so repulsive that I told him my thoughts as soon as he was out of danger.

"Go to hell, you," he snapped back at me, not at all sarcastic. Dirk Stroeve left his work to attend to the sick all day long, with consideration and concern.He was very agile in his hands and feet, and made the patient comfortable.The doctor prescribes the medicine, and he always coaxes and tricks the patient to take it on time. I never thought his method was so clever.No matter what he does, he doesn't bother him.Although his income had never been sufficient to support the husband and wife, he was now profligate, buying out-of-season and expensive delicacies, and trying to get Strickland to eat more (his appetite Good times and bad times are unpredictable).I shall never forget the patience and tact with which he persuaded Strickland to increase his nutrition.However rude Strickland was to him, he never lost his temper.If the other party is just depressed, he pretends not to see it; if the other party contradicts him, he just laughs it off.When Strickland's health was better and his spirits were high, and he laughed at him a few words, he made some funny moves, deliberately giving the other party more opportunities to laugh.He would happily give me a few winks to let me know that the patient has improved a lot.Stroeve was really a good man.

But it was Blanche who surprised me more.She proved herself to be not only a competent but also a dedicated nurse.It never occurred to you that she had once vehemently disapproved of her husband's taking Strickland home.There are many places where patients need to be cared for, and she insists on fulfilling her part of the responsibility.She made the patients' beds and tried not to disturb the patients when changing the sheets.She bathes the sick.When I complimented her on her competence, she gave me her usual smile and told me that she once worked in a hospital.She gave no sign that she had disliked Strickland so much.She didn't talk to him much, but whenever he needed anything, she was quick to know.For two weeks Strickland needed to be watched all night, and she and her husband worked shift vigils.I wondered what was going through her mind as she sat by the hospital bed through the long night.Strickland lay in bed looking strange and frightening, his body even thinner than usual, his red beard tangled up, his eyes gazing excitedly into space; But the light seemed unnatural.

"Did he talk to you at night?" I asked her once. "there has never been." "Do you still dislike him as much as you used to?" "Better than before." She looked at me with serene, gray eyes.Her expression was very peaceful, and it was hard for me to believe that she could lose her temper as I saw that time. "You did so much for him, did he thank you?" "No." She smiled. "This man is really unreasonable." "Simply abominable." Stroeve was naturally very pleased with her.She had thus taken up the task he had given her, and performed her duties with all her heart, and he could not have done anything to express her gratitude to her.But he was somewhat puzzled by the relationship between Blanche and Strickland.

"You know, I've seen them sit together for hours and neither of them said a word." I was once sitting in the studio with the family when Strickland was on the verge of recovery, and was due to rise in a day or two.Dirk chatted with me.Mrs. Stroeve is mending something; she is sewing something I recognize, a Strickland shirt.Strickland lay on his back, not saying a word.Once I saw his eyes rest on Blanche Stroeve with a strange irony.Blanche, feeling that he was looking at him, raised his eyes, and they gazed at each other for a moment.I don't know why she has that look on her face.There was a strange confusion in her eyes, perhaps—but why? ——A terrified look.Strickland immediately averted his eyes, and began to survey the ceiling leisurely; but she kept looking at him, with an expression still more inexplicable.

A few days later, Strickland went to the ground.He was so thin that only skin and bones remained, and his clothes looked like a scarecrow wearing a tattered coat.His beard was disheveled, his hair was very long, his nose and eyes, which were already larger than the average person's, had been made larger by the disease;His clumsy figure gives people a sense of tallness and austerity.I really don't know how to express exactly the impression he made on me.The most striking point is not necessarily his naked spiritual world (although the body shielding his spirit is almost transparent), but the savage desire on his face.It may be absurd to say, but this kind of carnal desire seems to be ethereal, which makes you feel very strange.He exudes a kind of primitiveness; the Greeks once used the image of half man and half beast, like the god of the satyr with a ponytail, and the faun with horns and legs of sheep, to express this mystery of nature. power, such a power was in Strickland.He reminds me of Marcias, who was skinned alive because he dared to compete with the gods in music.Strickland seemed to harbor strange chords and unexplored pictures in his mind.I foresaw his end in torment and despair.I had a feeling in my heart that he was possessed by the devil; but you can't say that this is an evil devil, because this is a primitive force that existed before the chaos of the universe and before the distinction between good and evil.

He was still too weak to paint.He sat in the studio in silence, God knows what was going on in his head.Sometimes he also reads.His favorite books were strange; sometimes I caught him reading Mallarmé.He read like a child, moving his lips to spell out word by word.I wondered what strange feelings those delicate rhymes and obscure lines gave him.Other times I found him immersed in Gaborio's detective novels.I think that his choice of books shows irreconcilable aspects that make up his grotesque character; I amused myself by the idea.Despite his physical frailty, he was, as usual, never concerned about comfort, which was his strange personality.Stroeve liked to make his living environment comfortable, and there were a pair of very soft armchairs and a divan in the studio.Strickland never sat in these chairs; not as an affectation of willingness to suffer, but because he disliked them.Once when I came to see him, he was alone in the studio, and I found him sitting on a three-legged stool.Given his choice, he'd like a hard-backed chair without armrests.This habit of his often annoys me.I have never seen a person so indifferent to the surrounding living environment.