The Moon and Sixpence by W. Somerset Maugham (free biff chip and kipper ebooks TXT) 📖

“I tried to speak, but the words wouldn’t come. Strickland didn’t say anything. He went on whistling as though it had nothing to do with him.”

Stroeve stopped again and mopped his face. I kept quite still. I believed him now, and I was astounded. But all the same I could not understand.

Then he told me, in a trembling voice, with the tears pouring down his cheeks, how he had gone up to her, trying to take her in his arms, but she had drawn away and begged him not to touch her. He implored her not to leave him. He told her how passionately he loved her, and reminded her of all the devotion he had lavished upon her. He spoke to her of the happiness of their life. He was not angry with her. He did not reproach her.

“Please let me go quietly, Dirk,” she said at last. “Don’t you understand that I love Strickland? Where he goes I shall go.”

“But you must know that he’ll never make you happy. For your own sake don’t go. You don’t know what you’ve got to look forward to.”

“It’s your fault. You insisted on his coming here.”

He turned to Strickland.

“Have mercy on her,” he implored him. “You can’t let her do anything so mad.”

“She can do as she chooses,” said Strickland. “She’s not forced to come.”

“My choice is made,” she said, in a dull voice.

Strickland’s injurious calm robbed Stroeve of the rest of his self-control. Blind rage seized him, and without knowing what he was doing he flung himself on Strickland. Strickland was taken by surprise and he staggered, but he was very strong, even after his illness, and in a moment, he did not exactly know how, Stroeve found himself on the floor.

“You funny little man,” said Strickland.

Stroeve picked himself up. He noticed that his wife had remained perfectly still, and to be made ridiculous before her increased his humiliation. His spectacles had tumbled off in the struggle, and he could not immediately see them. She picked them up and silently handed them to him. He seemed suddenly to realise his unhappiness, and though he knew he was making himself still more absurd, he began to cry. He hid his face in his hands. The others watched him without a word. They did not move from where they stood.

“Oh, my dear,” he groaned at last, “how can you be so cruel?”

“I can’t help myself, Dirk,” she answered.

“I’ve worshipped you as no woman was ever worshipped before. If in anything I did I displeased you, why didn’t you tell me, and I’d have changed. I’ve done everything I could for you.”

She did not answer. Her face was set, and he saw that he was only boring her. She put on a coat and her hat. She moved towards the door, and he saw that in a moment she would be gone. He went up to her quickly and fell on his knees before her, seizing her hands: he abandoned all self-respect.

“Oh, don’t go, my darling. I can’t live without you; I shall kill myself. If I’ve done anything to offend you I beg you to forgive me. Give me another chance. I’ll try harder still to make you happy.”

“Get up, Dirk. You’re making yourself a perfect fool.”

He staggered to his feet, but still he would not let her go.

“Where are you going?” he said hastily. “You don’t know what Strickland’s place is like. You can’t live there. It would be awful.”

“If I don’t care, I don’t see why you should.”

“Stay a minute longer. I must speak. After all, you can’t grudge me that.”

“What is the good? I’ve made up my mind. Nothing that you can say will make me alter it.”

He gulped, and put his hand to his heart to ease its painful beating.

“I’m not going to ask you to change your mind, but I want you to listen to me for a minute. It’s the last thing I shall ever ask you. Don’t refuse me that.”

She paused, looking at him with those reflective eyes of hers, which now were so different to him. She came back into the studio and leaned against the table.

“Well?”

Stroeve made a great effort to collect himself.

“You must be a little reasonable. You can’t live on air, you know. Strickland hasn’t got a penny.”

“I know.”

“You’ll suffer the most awful privations. You know why he took so long to get well. He was half starved.”

“I can earn money for him.”

“How?”

“I don’t know. I shall find a way.”

A horrible thought passed through the Dutchman’s mind, and he shuddered.

“I think you must be mad. I don’t know what has come over you.”

She shrugged her shoulders.

“Now may I go?”

“Wait one second longer.”

He looked round his studio wearily; he had loved it because her presence had made it gay and homelike; he shut his eyes for an instant; then he gave her a long look as though to impress on his mind the picture of her. He got up and took his hat.

“No; I’ll go.”

“You?”

She was startled. She did not know what he meant.

“I can’t bear to think of you living in that horrible, filthy attic. After all, this is your home just as much as mine. You’ll be comfortable here. You’ll be spared at least the worst privations.”

He went to the drawer in which he kept his money and took out several bank-notes.

“I would like to give you half what I’ve got here.”

He put them on the table. Neither Strickland nor his wife spoke.

Then he recollected something else.

“Will you pack up my clothes and leave them with the concierge? I’ll come and fetch them to-morrow.” He tried to smile.” Goodbye, my dear. I’m grateful for all the happiness you gave me in the past.”

He walked out and closed the door behind him. With my mind’s eye I saw Strickland throw his hat on a table, and, sitting down, begin to smoke a cigarette.