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He saw in her face that her anger was not subsiding, and he wondered less at it after hearing Kafka's insulting speech. It was a pity, he thought, that any one should take so seriously a maniac's words, but he was nevertheless resolved that they should not be repeated.
If again you anger me, your life shall not be spared you." The visions had all vanished. Again the wilderness of gravestones and lean, crooked trees appeared, wild and desolate as before. The Wanderer roused himself and saw Unorna standing before Israel Kafka's prostrate body.
A low cry broke from her lips, a stormy sob, another and another, like quick short waves breaking over the bar when the tide is low and the wind is rising suddenly. The Wanderer was in sore straits, for the minutes were passing quickly and he remembered the last look on Kafka's face, and how he had left the Moravian standing before the weapons on the wall.
Israel Kafka's nature was eastern, violently passionate and, at the same time, long-suffering in certain directions as only the fatalist can be.
A man less sound originally in bodily constitution would have broken down sooner, and it was a proof of Israel Kafka's extraordinary vigour and energy that he did not lose his senses in a delirious fever at the moment when he felt that his strength could bear no further strain. But his thoughts, such as they were, did not lack clearness.
In the third place I shall undoubtedly satisfy my curiosity." "In what respect, if you please?" "I shall discover the secret of your wonderful interest in Israel Kafka's welfare. I always like to follow the workings of a brain essentially different from my own, philanthropic, of course. How could it be anything else? Philanthropy deals with a class of ideas wholly unfamiliar to me.
"If so I will wake him by all means; I am always at your service, you know." "Will he suffer, if he wakes naturally?" "Horribly in the head." Unorna knelt down and let her hand rest a few seconds on Kafka's brow. The features, drawn with pain, immediately relaxed. "You have hypnotised the one," grumbled Keyork as he bent down again.
For instance, what was the immediate cause of Kafka's extremely theatrical and unreasonable rage? That would interest me very much. Of course, he is mad, poor boy! But I take delight in following out the workings of an insane intellect. Now there are no phases of insanity more curious than those in which the patient is possessed with a desire to destroy what he loves best.
Instantly Israel Kafka's energy returned. He rose quickly and hid himself in the shrubbery, in a position from which he could observe the door.
There was something not wholly disagreeable in the hazy character of the retrospect, especially to a nature such as Kafka's, full of undeveloped artistic instincts and of a passionate love of all sensuous beauty, animate and inanimate.
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