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Chapter 6

When the appointed time for the rendezvous approached, Anna stood in front of her looking glass, nervously fumbling though at her hair. Her heart thumped in fear; it was not as she were going to meet her beloved, but rather to meet a doom to which her own pulsing blood had condemned her Her one glance in the mirror brought a flushed desire to her veins. Her thoughts far off, she remained motionless, as though her feet were glued to the floor.


She had set the alarm clock earlier, to remind her of the time, that had stopped dead in her soul. Now it rang shrilly, awakening her from her dreamlike state. To drive away her thoughts she began to talk aloud. . Where's my black skirt, the white blouse! Oh, dear God, what a beautiful whiteness. Like gleaming snow on the wide field . . . No, not like snow Like your fingers, Eric, when you pass them through your hair absent-mindedly. Oh, Eric, Eric! Who says tonight is a bridal night? My beautiful white blouse has a yellow stain, a yellow burn here at the very heart.. Scorched with an iron-and now it is too late. Everyone will see, everyone-here, here at the very heart, this yellow stain But no, I will hide it. I will cover it. With my coat will I cover it, so that no one will see it. No one will even suspect it, there . . . once I saw swiftly racing fingers. Swiftly they raced across the black and white piano keys. Bravely they played-magical melodies, heavenly harmonies.

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