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Updated: May 26, 2025
There seemed to be no way out of the terrible dilemma, and the Wanderer stood still in deep thought. He knew that if he could but free himself from her for half an hour, he could get help from the right quarter and take Israel Kafka red-handed and armed as he was.
Israel Kafka walked the length of the room and then came back and stood before the Wanderer and looked into his eyes. His face was very calm and resolute, the flush had vanished from his thin cheeks, and the features were set in an expression of irrevocable determination. Then he spoke, slowly and distinctly. "You are mistaken. I love her with all my heart. I will therefore kill her."
The Wanderer had intended to free himself from her as soon as Kafka regained his senses, but he had not been prepared for such a sudden change. He saw, now, that he could not exchange a word with her without exciting the man's suspicion, and he was by no means sure that the first emotion might not produce a sudden and dangerous effect.
"Yes," he assented, "he is more exhausted than I thought. He is not very dangerous now." Then he went in search of what was needed. The Individual retired to a distance and stood looking on with folded arms. "Do you hear me?" asked the Wanderer, speaking gently. "Do you understand what I say?" Israel Kafka nodded, but said nothing. "You are very ill.
The deaf and dumb man had received his instructions by means of a couple of quick signs, and not a whisper had betrayed the measures taken. Kafka struggled desperately, for he was within three feet of the door and still believed an escape possible.
"You are a stranger in the city and in this country, and I am rich. I shall easily prove that you love Unorna, and that you wish to get rid of me out of jealousy." "That is true," said the Wanderer, thoughtfully. "I will go." "Go quickly, then," said Israel Kafka, "for I shall follow soon."
Good-night. I am tired of all this nonsense, and I do not mean to lose my night's rest for all the Israels in Jewry or all the Jews in Israel. You can stay with him if you please." Thereupon he turned on his heel, making a sign to the Individual, who had not moved from his place since Kafka had lost consciousness, and who immediately followed his master.
He found himself wondering what encouragement Unorna had given the seed of passion that it should have grown to such strength, and he traced the madness back to the love, instead of referring the love to the madness. But he said nothing. "So she was born," continued Kafka, dreaming on. "She was born amid the perfume of the roses, under the starlight, when the nightingale was singing.
"The people who do what they mean to do are not always talking about will." But Kafka had closed his eyes again. This time, however, his breathing was apparent and he was evidently returning to a conscious state. The Wanderer arranged the pillow more comfortably under his head and covered him with his own furs.
The Wanderer drew back, not understanding what was passing, nor why Unorna was so long-suffering. "Say all you have to say," she repeated, coming forward so that she stood directly in front of Israel Kafka. "And you," she added, speaking to the Wanderer, "leave him to me. He is quite right I can protect myself if I need any protection." "You remember how we parted, Unorna?" said Kafka.
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