He must have been about forty years old, but his closely cropped hair and smoothly shaven face made him look younger. Little was known about his past. His father had owned a large brewery in Russia, and had left him a substantial inheritance when he died. For years he had lived off the interest from the capital without ever feeling the compulsion to pursue any vocation. His rough personality, in no way softened by good nature, had not hindered his inclination to solitude. An unknown accident had brought him together with Karla, but his outer being had been little affected by it. In the apartment they shared his door was usually closed even to her. For that reason the few people he was in casual contact with were surprised when Nathan suddenly, with enthusiasm and dedication, pursued his idea of opening a tavern. Perhaps Karla had provided the initial impetus because her restless spirit sought a diversion from the unbearable monotony of their life together. But he greeted her suggestions with a fanaticism that remained inexplicable even to her, who knew better than others the energies he wasted in pointless brooding. He had also discovered Mylada and, rubbing his hands together, had guaranteed her success. But when everything was in motion and the enterprise got off to a very promising start, he resumed his old habits and no longer gave the business any thought.

At least it appeared that way. Because no one saw the contented smile that appeared on his lips when the sound of the music from the wine bar penetrated into his room. The window was open and Nathan Meyer sat at his desk with his head raised, listening closely. The quiet lane caught all the sounds between its high walls and brought them to his room. He heard how the glasses clinked together and how Mylada’s coy laughter impassioned the men. He heard the shrill and ecstatic voices of people who became intoxicated with wine and conversation. An expression of satisfaction crossed his smooth face, and he nodded. On many evenings there rose a frenzied roar that lasted for several minutes, the hissing and gurgling of an unbridled and overflowing lust that lost sight of itself and could not be contained. The fiery chords of the piano sounded in the midst of it, reeling. Heavy hands dug jubilant melodies and waltzes and marches from the keys. Then Nathan Meyer took his coat and hat from the wardrobe and descended the stairs. Unseen and unrecognized he stood next to the wine bar and counted the guests who disappeared inside. The arc lamp drew a bright circle in the darkness of the lane and lit the faces of those who went in with a harsh white beam. For an instant Nathan could see into the souls of the people who stopped before the door and lingered for a while, blinded. The lamplight drew all the faces more deeply than they appeared by day, leaving less concealed. The cavities in which fear was buried, the furrows and wrinkles around staring eyes that blazed with nighttime fantasies. Nathan wore his hat low on his forehead and the collar of his coat upturned. Motionless, he stood in the shadows and kept watch over the building.


Severin still remembered Nathan Meyer from the day of Doctor Konrad’s burial. His mind retained the image of the man’s tall, large-boned frame and cruel mouth as he had seen him walking next to Karla among the mourners in the cold twilight of the winter afternoon.