Chapter 28 Twenty-eight

A week later I knew the answer.On this day, I had dinner out alone, and returned to my residence after dinner.At about ten o'clock, I was sitting in the living room reading a book, when suddenly the doorbell rang dully.I went out into the passage, opened the door, and in front of me was Stroeve. "Can I come in?" he asked. The light at the stairs was so dark that I couldn't see him clearly, but his voice surprised me.I knew he never drank to excess, otherwise I would have thought he was drunk.I led him into the living room and told him to sit down. "Thank goodness I found you," he said.

"What's the matter?" I asked; I was very surprised by his agitation. Once inside the room, I could see him clearly.Usually he is always dressed clean and tidy, but this time he is disheveled, giving people a sudden look of slovenliness.I have no doubts anymore, he must be drunk.I smiled at him, ready to make fun of him. "I don't know where to go," he said abruptly, "I came here just now, and you weren't here." "I'm late for dinner today," I said. My mind changed; he obviously wasn't drunk to be in such a dismay.His face is usually flushed red, but now it has one patch of red, one patch of white, and spots, which looks very strange.His hands were shaking all the time.

"Is something wrong?" "My wife left me." It took him a lot of effort to say those words.He sobbed, and tears trickled down his chubby cheeks.I do not know what to say.My first thought was that her husband's bewildered love for Strickland was too much for her to bear, and that, together with Strickland's constant sneering, she insisted on drive him away.I know that although Blanche is dignified and calm on the surface, if his temper comes up, he can be stubborn.If Stroeve still refused her request, she would probably leave the family in a fit of rage, vowing never to return.But no matter what the truth is, I just can't bear to laugh at this little fat man when he sees his suffering.

"My dear friend, don't be sad. She'll come back. Don't take the women's words too seriously." "You don't understand. She's in love with Strickland." "What!" I was startled; but before I had time to think about it, I felt that the matter was ridiculous. "How can you be so stupid? Do you mean you're jealous of Strickland?" I almost laughed. "As you know, Strickland is simply intolerable to her." "You don't understand," he moaned. "You're a hysterical ass," I said impatiently. "Let me get you a whiskey and soda and you'll be better."

I guess, for some reason—God knows how people try to torture themselves—Dilke had no reason to suspect that his wife was in love with Strickland, because he couldn't handle things, probably Annoyed her.In order to anger him, his wife deliberately tried her best to increase his doubts. "Listen," I said to him, "let's go back to your studio together. If you've made a mess of yourself, you'll have to take the blame now. I don't think your wife is the kind of woman to hold a grudge." "How can I go back to the studio?" he said feebly. "There they are. I gave them the room."

"So it's not your wife who left you, it's you who lost her." "For God's sake, don't talk to me like that." I still can't take his words seriously.I don't believe what he tells me at all, but his pain is real. "Well, since you've come here to talk to me about it, tell me all about it." "This afternoon I could bear it no longer. I went up to Strickland and told him that I thought he was quite well enough to go to his lodgings. I would use my studio myself. " "Only Strickland needs to be told plainly," I said. "What did he say?"

"He smiled. You know the way he smiles, it doesn't look like he thinks something's funny, it makes you feel like a big fool. He said he'd be gone in a minute, and just Started packing. You remember I brought from his lodgings some things I thought he might use. He asked Blanche to find him a piece of paper and a piece of string for packing a bag." Stroeve stopped, panting, and I thought he was going to faint.That was not at all the story I wanted him to tell me. Her face was pale, but she still brought the paper and string.Strickland said nothing, and whistled while he baked, and paid no attention to either of us.There was a mocking smile in the corner of his eye.My heart is as heavy as a block of lead.I feared that something must happen, and regretted very much that I had just proposed to let him go.He looked around for his hat.Then Blanche spoke:

"I'm going with Strickland, Dirk," she said. "I can't live with you anymore." "I tried to say something, but I couldn't utter a word. Strickland didn't say a word either. He went on whistling as if it didn't concern him at all." Stroeve stopped again and began to wipe his sweat.I am silent.I believe him now, and I'm amazed.But I still can't understand. At this time, his face was full of tears, and his voice tremblingly told me how he came to her and wanted to hold her in his arms, and how she avoided her body so that he would not touch her.He begged her not to leave, told her how much he loved her, and told her to think about how much he really felt for her.He talked about their happy life.He wasn't mad at her at all.He didn't blame her in the slightest.

"Please let me go quietly, Dirk," she said at last. "Don't you know that I love Strickland? I'll go with him wherever he goes." "But you must know that he will never make you happy. For your own sake, don't go. You don't know what awaits you." "It was your fault that you insisted on calling him." Stroeve turned to Strickland. "Have pity on her," he begged, "you can't make her do such crazy things." "She can do as she pleases," said Strickland. "I'm not forcing her to follow me."

"I've made up my mind," she said in a flat tone. Strickland's infuriating composure made Stroeve no longer able to control himself.A fit of rage seized him; and without knowing what he had done, he flung himself upon Strickland.Strickland, not expecting this move, was taken aback and staggered back a step, but in spite of his long illness he was still much stronger than Stroeve.In less than a minute, Stroeve found himself lying on the ground without realizing what had happened. "You buffoon," Strickland swore. Stroeve struggled to his feet.He found his wife standing there impassive, and he was even more humiliated by this ugliness in her presence.During the fight with Strickland his spectacles had slipped to the ground, and for a moment he could not see where they had landed.Blanche picked it up and handed it to him without a word.He seemed to realize his misfortune suddenly, although he also knew that this would only make him more ashamed, so he began to cry.He covered his face with his hands.The other two looked at him without saying a word, and stood aside without moving a footstep.

"Oh, my dear," he moaned at last, "how can you be so cruel?" "I can't help myself, Dirk," she replied. "I adore you, and no woman in the world has ever been so adored. If I do something to displease you, why don't you tell me? If you do, I will make it right. For you, I did everything I could." She didn't answer.There was no expression on her face, and he saw that he was only annoying her.She put on a coat and hat, and went to the door.Knowing that he would not see her again in another minute, he went quickly in front of her, fell on his knees, and took her by both hands; he did not care what face he had. "Oh, don't go, honey. I can't live without you, I'll kill myself. If I did anything to annoy you, I beg you to forgive me. Give me one more chance. I'll try harder make you happy." "Stand up, Dirk. You've made a fool of yourself." He stood up unsteadily, but still wouldn't let her go. "Where are you going?" he asked hastily. "You don't know what kind of place Strickland lives in. You can't live there. It's terrible." "If I don't care about myself, what does it matter to you?" "Stay a little longer and let me finish. Anyway, you can let me do this." "What good is that? I've made up my mind. Nothing you say will change my mind." He gasped and pressed a hand to his chest, for his heart was beating so hard he couldn't bear it. "I'm not asking you to change your mind, I'm just asking you to listen to me a few more words. This is the last thing I ask of you. Don't say no to me." She stopped, and looked at him for a moment with her pensive eyes, now so cold and unfeeling.She walked back into the studio and leaned against the table. "Say it!" Stroeve managed to calm himself down a little. "You must calm down. You can't live on air. Strickland has no money, you know." "I know." "If you don't eat enough or drink enough, you will suffer a lot. Do you know why it took him so long to recover? He has been living a half-starved life!" "I can earn money to support him." "How to make money?" "I don't know. I'll find a way." A horrific thought crossed the Dutch painter's mind, and he shuddered. "I think you must be crazy. I don't know what you're obsessed with." She shrugged. "Can I go now?" "Wait another second." He looked wearily around his studio; he loved it, because of her presence, the room looked so beautiful, so full of family atmosphere.He closed his eyes for a moment, and then his eyes lingered on her for a while, as if trying to imprint her image forever in his mind.He stood up and took up his hat. "No, tell me to go." "you?" She was taken aback.She didn't understand what he meant. "I can't bear the thought of you living in such a filthy, horrible attic. After all, this place is as much my home as yours. You'll be more comfortable here. At least you won't have to." suffer the most terrible crime." He went to the money drawer and took out some bills. "I'll give you half of the little money I have here." He puts money on the table.Neither Strickland nor his wife said anything. Then he remembered another thing. "Can you straighten up my clothes and put them in the concierge down below? I'll pick them up tomorrow." He smiled wryly. "Goodbye, dear. You have given me so much happiness in the past, and I thank you." He went out and closed the door behind him.In my imagination I saw Strickland throwing his hat on the table, sitting down, and smoking a cigarette.