Accident by Mihail Sebastian Read Free Book Online Page A

remained with her hand extended in the unfinished gesture with which she had offered him the chair.
    â€œPlease leave,” he said. He crossed to the other side of the study and gripped her arm. “Please leave now. Don’t make me do things I’ll be ashamed of tomorrow. Just leave. I’m tired. I have to be alone.”
    But as her silence went on and she continued to look at him with the same expression, which asked no questions, he changed
his tone. With an effort at warmth, a voice that he would have liked to be warm and which succeeded only in being muted, he pleaded with her slowly, as if choking: “I know I owe you an explanation. I’ve behaved sickeningly with you. You have the right to ask questions. I have the obligation to reply. But not now. I beg you, not now. I just can’t talk. We’ll meet another time, any time you like, tomorrow if you want, but now leave.”
    Nora moved away from his side. “All right, I’m leaving. But not right away. I promise you that five minutes from now I won’t be here. But listen to me for the next five minutes. With your eyes on the clock.”
    With a loyal gesture she loosened the watch from her wrist and set it on the desk between them. She raised her glance to look at him. “I’m afraid you may do something stupid ... That’s why I came.”
    He kept his eyes fixed on the small watch, following the movement of the second hand around the dial and waiting as if nothing mattered to him but the passing of those five minutes.
    â€œI’m afraid you’ll kill yourself.”
    â€œWhy?” he asked, with a slight shudder, and without looking up.
    â€œI don’t know why. Your gaze that doesn’t take anything in. Your crushed smile. Your way of lifting your shoulders. And finally you flee ... since ... you fled. Also, when you leave your apartment you don’t even check that you’ve closed the door. If you only knew what fear you left behind you ...”
    She stopped for an instant. She had uttered the final words in a murmur, as though speaking to herself. But she returned immediately to her usual clarity of speech.
    â€œAt the beginning I didn’t know what was happening. I watched you from my window as you ran away, and everything struck me as ridiculous, like a stupid joke. I think I shouted at you, but I don’t remember. Nor do I remember how long I stood there at the window. Above all, I’d like to think that I wasn’t hurt. I’m thirty-two years old and I have a few memories. Enough for an event like that not to be a disaster ... But I felt as though your departure was a step towards death. Four years ago a girlfriend of mine committed suicide.
She had your smile. Details like that are a little ridiculous before the event, but they’re unbearable afterwards ... I made up my mind to look for you, to find you. I told myself I couldn’t leave you alone on a night like this ... I found your address in the telephone book, I came over here almost breathless, and I found the door locked. I decided to go back down to the street and wait downstairs until I saw you return. I don’t know where I got the idea to look under the doormat: that’s where I put the key in the morning when I go out, so that the cleaning lady can find it when she comes to mop and dust. In that at least we’re similar. I opened the door, I entered, I waited for you. I’d made up my mind to wait as long as it took.”
    She stopped speaking again and looked at the clock.
    â€œI’ve still got two minutes. Too little for the rest of what I wanted to say. Even so, I’d like to say one more thing to you. You should know that if I came here, if I committed the lunacy of coming here, it wasn’t only for you. It was also a little bit for me.”
    She seemed about to say more. She stopped, hesitated, but finally, with a decisive gesture, she picked up her watch from the table