FullReads

I hate you, hate you, hate you! And you only sit there silent–silent and indifferent; indifferent whether it’s new moon or waning moon, Christmas or New Year’s, whether others are happy or unhappy; without power to hate or to love; as quiet as a stork by a rat hole–you couldn’t scent your prey and capture it, but you could lie in wait for it! You sit here in your corner of the cafê–did you know it’s called “The Rat Trap” for you?–and read the papers to see if misfortune hasn’t befallen some one, to see if some one hasn’t been given notice at the theatre, perhaps; you sit here and calculate about your next victim and reckon on your chances of recompense like a pilot in a shipwreck. Poor Amelie, I pity you, nevertheless, because I know you are unhappy, unhappy like one who has been wounded, and angry because you are wounded. I can’t be angry with you, no matter how much I want to be–because you come out the weaker one. Yes, all that with Bob doesn’t trouble me. What is that to me, after all? And what difference does it make whether I learned to drink chocolate from you or some one else. [Sips a spoonful from her cup.]

Besides, chocolate is very healthful. And if you taught me how to dress–tant mieux!–that has only made me more attractive to my husband; so you lost and I won there. Well, judging by certain signs, I believe you have already lost him; and you certainly intended that I should leave him–do as you did with your fiancê and regret as you now regret; but, you see, I don’t do that–we mustn’t be too exacting. And why should I take only what no one else wants?

Perhaps, take it all in all, I am at this moment the stronger one. You received nothing from me, but you gave me much. And now I seem like a thief since you have awakened and find I possess what is your loss. How could it be otherwise when everything is worthless and sterile in your hands? You can never keep a man’s love with your tulips and your passions–but I can keep it. You can’t learn how to live from your authors, as I have learned. You have no little Eskil to cherish, even if your father’s name was Eskil. And why are you always silent, silent, silent? I thought that was strength, but perhaps it is because you have nothing to say! Because you never think about anything! [Rises and picks up slippers.]

Now I’m going home–and take the tulips with me–your tulips! You are unable to learn from another; you can’t bend–therefore, you broke like a dry stalk. But I won’t break! Thank you, Amelie, for all your good lessons. Thanks for teaching my husband how to love. Now I’m going home to love him. [Goes.]