Burning Secret by Stefan Zweig Read Free Book Online Page A

jailer, with fists surreptitiously clenched. The child wasn’t really doing anything, but with every passing minute he became more intolerable to them—he and his watchful gaze, wet as his eyes were with tears grimly suppressed, his resentful ill humour, the way he rejected all attempts at conciliation with a growl.
    “Go on ahead,” said his mother, suddenly angry, and made uneasy by his constant close attention. “Don’t keep dancing about in front of my feet like that, it makes me nervous.”
    Edgar obeyed, but after every few steps he turned and stood there waiting for them if they had lagged behind, his gaze circling around them like Mephistopheles in the shape of the black dog, spinning a fiery web of hostility and entangling them hopelessly in it.
    His malice and silence corroded their good humour like acid, his gaze soured their conversation. The Baron dared not utter another word of gallantry, he felt with annoyance that the woman was slipping away from him again, and the flames of passion that he had so laboriously fanned were cooling again in her fear of that irritating, horrible child. They kept tryingto converse, and their exchanges kept dying away. In the end, they were all three marching along the path in silence, a silence unbroken except by the rustling whisper of the trees and their own dragging footsteps. The child had throttled any conversation.
    By now all three felt irritation and animosity. The betrayed child was delighted to realize that the helpless anger of the adults was all directed against his own existence, which they had ignored. Eyes sparkling with derision, he now and then scanned the Baron’s grim face. He saw that the man was muttering curses between his teeth, and had to exercise self-control himself to keep from spitting them out at him. At the same time, with diabolical pleasure, he observed his mother’s rising anger, and saw that they were both longing for some reason to turn on him, send him away, or in general render him harmless. But he offered them no chance, he had worked on his hostility for hours and he wasn’t going to show any weakness now.
    “Let’s go back,” said his mother suddenly. She felt that she wouldn’t be able to stand this much longer, she must do something, must at least scream under the torture.
    “What a pity,” said Edgar calmly. “It’s so nice here.”
    They both realized that the child was mocking them, but they dared not say anything. In the space of two days the little tyrant had learned to control himself expertly. Not a muscle moved in his face to betray hisirony. Without a word, they walked the long way back. Edgar’s mother was still in an agitated state when the two of them were alone in her room. She threw her sunshade and gloves angrily down. Edgar saw at once that her nerves were on edge, her temper was demanding release, but as an outburst was just what he wanted, he stayed in the room on purpose to provoke it. She paced about, sat down, drumming her fingers on the table, and then leaped to her feet again. “What a sight you look, going around all dirty and untidy like that! In front of other people too, it’s a shame. Aren’t you ashamed of yourself, at your age?”
    Without a word in answer, the boy went over to the mirror to comb his hair. His silence, his obstinate cold silence and the scornful smile playing round his lips infuriated her. She could have hit him. “Go to your room!” she cried. She couldn’t bear his presence any more. Edgar smiled, and went.
    How they were both trembling before him now, how afraid she and the Baron were, afraid of every hour they all spent together, fearing his pitilessly hard eyes! The more uncomfortable they felt, the more satisfaction and pleasure there was for him in staring, and the more challenging was his delight. Edgar was now tormenting the defenceless couple with all the cruelty natural to children, which is still almost animal in nature. The Baron was able to restrain his