# Krakatit/Chapter 7

CHAPTER VII
There was nothing; only when the mist lifted, as it were, for a time, there appeared the pattern which was painted on the walls, the carved cornice of a cupboard, the top of the curtains or the frieze on the ceiling. Or somebody's face bent over him as if over the mouth of a well; but its features were not to be discerned. Things were happening, somebody from time to time moistened his hot lips or raised his helpless body, but everything disappeared in snatches of dreaming which continued to drift away from him. And there were landscapes, patterns of carpets, differential calculations, balls of fire, chemical formule. From time to time something rose to the surface and took the form for a moment of a clearer dream, but immediately afterwards it dissolved again into the wide current of unconsciousness.
Finally there came moments when he awoke fully. Then he saw above him the warm ceiling with its stucco pattern; his eyes lighted on his own thin, deathly white hands, resting on the coloured coverlet. Beyond there appeared the frame of the bed, the cupboard and a white door; everything somehow pleasant, quiet and already familiar. He had not a notion where he was. He wanted to consider this problem; but his head was hopelessly weak. Everything began to grow confused again and he ​closed his eyes and rested, resigning himself to his weakness.
The door opened gently. Prokop opened his eyes and sat up a little in bed, as if something had raised him up. And there at the door was standing a girl, slender and bright, with clear eyes with an extraordinarily astonished look in them, lips half open with surprise, and holding to her breast a pile of white linen. Embarrassed, she remained motionless, only moving her long lashes, while her rosy face began shyly and uncertainly to smile.
Prokop’s face darkened. He made an effort to find something to say, but his head was completely empty. He moved his lips voicelessly and looked at the girl with severe eyes that were trying to recall something.
“I supplicate thee, O Queen,” came from his lips rapidly and involuntarily in Greek, “if indeed thou art a goddess of them that keep the wide heaven; to Artemis, then, the daughter of great Zeus, I mainly liken thee, for beauty and stature and shapeliness. But if thou art one of the daughters of men who dwell on earth, thrice blessed are thy father and thy lady mother, and thrice blessed thy brethren. Surely their souls ever glow with gladness each time they see thee entering the dance, so fair a flower of maidens.”
The girl made no movement. As if she were turned to stone, she listened to this greeting in an unknown language. On her smooth forehead there was so much confusion, her eyes blinked so childishly and with so much apprehension that Prokop continued with increased warmth to deliver the speech ​of Odysseus when cast on the shore , himself only vaguely realizing the meaning of the words.
“But he is of heart the most blessed,” he continued quickly, “beyond all other who shall prevail with lips of wooing , and lead thee to his home. Never have mine eyes beheld such an one among mortals, neither man nor woman; great awe comes upon me as I look on thee.”
The girl blushed deeply as if she understood the greeting of the Greek hero. An invincible and delightful embarrassment held her limbs. Prokop, twisting his hands on the coverlet, spoke as if he were praying.
“Yet in Delos,” he continued rapidly, “once I saw as goodly a thing; a young sapling of a palm tree springing by the altar of Apollo. For thither too I went, and much people with me, on that path, where my sore troubles were to be. Yea, and when I looked thereupon, long time I marvelled in spirit for never grew there yet so goodly a shoot from ground,—even in such wise as I wonder at thee, lady, and am astonished and do greatly fear to touch thy knees, though grievous sorrow is upon me.”
Yes, he was terribly frightened; but the girl was frightened too, and continued to press the linen to her breast without taking her eyes from Prokop, who hastened to continue his invocation.
“Yesterday, on the twentieth day, I escaped from the wine-dark deep, but all that time continually the wave bare me, and the vehement winds drave, from the isle Ogygia . And now some god has cast me on this shore, that hereto, methinks, some evil may betide me; for I trow not that trouble will cease. ​The gods ere that time will yet bring many a thing to pass.”
Prokop sighed deeply and raised his wasted hands in fear. “But, Queen, have pity on me, for after many trials and sore to thee first of all am I come, and of the other folk, who hold this city and land, I know no man. Nay, show me the town, give me an old garment to cast about me, if thou hadst, when thou camest here, any wrap for the linen.”
Now the girl’s face became a little brighter, her moist lips opened. Perhaps Nausicaa was speaking, but Prokop still wanted to bless her for the cloud of sympathy which made her face so rosy. “And may the gods grant thee all thy heart’s desire; a husband and a home, and a mind at one with his may they give—a good gift, for there is nothing mightier and nobler than when man and wife are of one heart and mind in a house, a grief to their foes and to their friends great joy, but their own hearts know it best.”
Prokop scarcely more than breathed the concluding words. He himself only understood with difficulty what he was saying; effortlessly it flowed out from some forgotten corner of memory. It was almost twenty years since he had heard that sweet melody of the Sixth Book. It afforded him almost physical relief to let it reel itself off in this manner; his head became lighter and clearer, he was almost in ecstasy in this pleasant weakness. An embarrassed smile trembled on his lips.
The girl smiled too, made a slight movement and said: “Well?” She made a step towards him and then burst out laughing. “What did you say?”
​“I don’t know,” said Prokop uncertainly.
Then the door, which had not been completely closed, was burst open and there dashed into the room something small and shaggy which whined with delight and jumped on to Prokop’s bed.
“Honzik!” cried the girl apprehensively. “What are you doing?” But the little animal was already licking Prokop’s face and in excited joy had snuggled down into the coverlet. Prokop wiped his face with his hand and was disconcerted to find that he had a full beard. “Bu—but,” he stammered, and became silent with surprise. The dog was in the seventh heaven; with overflowing devotion he bit at Prokop’s hands, yelped, and snorted, thrusting his wet muzzle up to his chest.
“Honzik!” cried the girl, “you’re mad! Leave the gentleman alone!” and she ran to the bed and took the dog in her arms. “Honzik, you are stupid!”
“Leave him alone,” said Prokop.
“But you’ve got a bad hand,” objected the girl with great seriousness, pressing the struggling dog to her breast.
Prokop regarded his right hand doubtfully. Across the palm there stretched a broad scar covered with a new, thin, red membrane which was pleasantly itching. “Where deep where am I?” said he in surprise.
“At our house,” said the girl, as if it were the most self-evident thing in the world, and Prokop was reassured at once. “At your house,” he said with relief, although he had no idea where that might be. “And how long?”
​“Three weeks. And all the time——”, she wanted to say something but stopped herself. “Honzik has been sleeping with you,” she added hurriedly, and for some reason or other blushed, holding the dog as if it were a little child. “Do you know about it?”
“I don’t,” replied Prokop. “Have I been asleep?”
“All the time,” she said quickly. “You were able to have a full sleep.” Then she put the dog down on the ground and drew nearer to the bed. “Do you feel better. . . . Do you want anything?”
Prokop shook his head; he could think of nothing which he wanted.
“What's the time?” he asked doubtfully.
“Ten. I don’t know what you are allowed to eat; wait till father comes. . . . Father will be so glad. . . . Don’t you want anything then?”
“A mirror,” said Prokop hesitatingly.
The girl burst out laughing and ran off.
There was a humming in Prokop’s head; he was continually trying to recall what had happened and it was continually escaping him. And now here was this girl again, she said something and handed him a mirror. Prokop tried to lift his hand; but it couldn’t be done. The girl placed the handle between his fingers but the mirror fell on to the coverlet. Then the girl suddenly became pale, grew anxious, and herself put the mirror in front of his eyes. Prokop looked and saw a face covered with hair and almost unrecognizable; he looked and was unable to understand and his lips began to tremble.
“Lie down, lie down again at once,” she ordered ​him in a tiny voice, almost crying, and quickly her hands placed the pillow ready for him. Prokop let himself fall on to his back and closed his eyes; just for a moment he would doze, he thought to himself, and then there would be a deep, lovely silence.