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Updated: May 26, 2025
You slept before me, out there by the river that very afternoon. And in your sleep I bade you forget. And you forgot wholly, your love, the woman, her very name, even as Israel Kafka forgot to-day what he had suffered in the person of the martyr. You told him the story, and he believes you, because he knows me, and knows what I can do. You can believe me or not; as you will. I did it."
The Wanderer was advancing quickly, and Keyork Arabian, who had again fallen behind, peered at Kafka from behind his tall companion with a grotesque expression in which bodily fear and a desire to laugh at the captive were strongly intermingled. "It is of no use to resist," said the Wanderer quietly. "We are too strong for you."
"I cannot answer your question," he said, at length. "Ah she told me that you hated her," said Kafka, turning his dark eyes to his companion. "But, yet," he added, "that is hardly a reason why you should not tell me what happened." "I could not tell you the truth without saying something which I have no right to say to a stranger which I could not easily say to a friend." "You need not spare me "
"You see," the Wanderer said gently, "I am to blame for it all." "For it all? No not for the thousandth part of it all. What blame have you in being what you are? Blame God in Heaven for making such a man. Blame me for what you know; blame me for all that you will not let me tell you. Blame Kafka for his mad belief in me and Keyork Arabian for the rest but do not blame yourself oh, no! Not that!"
If you will watch, watch with me." Then neither spoke again. Unorna bent her head as she had done before. The Wanderer leaned back resting comfortably against the cushion of the high carved chair, his eyes directed towards the place where Israel Kafka lay. The air was warm, the scent of the flowers sweet but not heavy. The silence was intense, for even the little fountain was still.
There were two or three divans, a few low, octagonal, inlaid tables, a dozen or more splendid weapons hung upon the wall, and the polished wooden floor was partly covered with extremely rich carpets. "Do you know what she said to me, when I helped her into the carriage?" asked Kafka. "No, I did not attempt to hear." "She did not mean that you should hear her.
In that time Israel Kafka would be in safe custody, and she could re-enter her house with nothing to fear. But he counted without Unorna's unyielding obstinacy. She threatened if he left her for a moment to go back to Israel Kafka. A few minutes earlier she had carried out her threat and the consequence had been almost fatal.
The modern Hebrew of Western Europe might be indifferent in such a case, as though he had spoken in the delirium of a fever, but the Jew of the less civilised East is a different being, and in some ways a stronger. Israel Kafka represented the best type of his race, and his blood boiled at the insult that had been put upon him.
To his great surprise he found the door securely fastened. Keyork Arabian had undoubtedly locked him in, and to all intents and purposes he was a prisoner. He suspected some treachery, but in this he was mistaken. Keyork's sole intention had been to insure himself from being disturbed in the course of the night by a second visit from the Wanderer, accompanied perhaps by Kafka.
When Keyork answered his first remark, he turned and looked at the old man. "I suppose you are tougher than I," he said, languidly. "You will hardly believe it, but I have been dozing already, here, in the carriage, since we left the station." "No harm in that. Sleep is a great restorative," laughed Keyork. "Are you so glad to be in Prague again?" asked Kafka. "It is a melancholy place.
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