Death in Venice and Other Stories by Thomas Mann Page B

agreed not to let on about the whole business; it felt uncommonly good to be in the position of showing a little pity and consideration. But even among those who could well have taken part in the fun, there were several who opted not to. Miss von Osterloh, for her part, was immediately excused. No one as overburdened with duties as she was could seriously consider going on a sleigh ride. The maintenance of the house absolutely required her presence, and to make a long story short,she stayed behind at Einfried. Moreover, there was universal disappointment among those concerned when Mr. Klöterjahn’s wife announced that she, too, wished to stay at home. In vain Dr. Leander argued for the benefits of a refreshing trip; she declared that she wasn’t in the mood, that she had a migraine and felt exhausted, and he finally gave in. The cynical joker, however, took the opportunity to remark:
    â€œYou watch, now the Rotten Infant won’t come either.”
    And he was proven right, for Mr. Spinell let it be known that he intended to work that afternoon—he was quite fond of using the word “work” for his dubious activity. Not a single soul mourned his absence, and equally little regret was expressed when Mrs. Spatz decided to keep her young friend company since, as she said, sleigh rides always made her seasick.
    Immediately after the main meal, which had been moved forward that day to around twelve o’clock, the sleighs pulled up in front of Einfried, and the patients, wrapped up warmly, full of curiosity and excitement, made their way in lively groups through the garden. Mr. Klöterjahn’s wife stood with Mrs. Spatz behind the glass door leading to the terrace, Mr. Spinell at the window of his room, to watch their departure. They saw how the guests laughed and argued briefly with one another over the best seats, saw how Miss von Osterloh ran with a fur boa around her neck from one sleigh to the next, shoving baskets of provisions under the seats, saw how Dr. Leander, a fur hat pulled over his forehead, his glasses reflecting the sunlight, surveyed the situation one last time, then too took his seat and gave the signal to depart . . . The horses started, a couple of ladies shrieked and toppled backwards, the bells jingled, the short-handled whips cracked and their long lashes dragged in the snow behind the runners. Miss von Osterloh stood at the garden gate waving her handkerchief until the party glided out of sight around a bend in the road and their gleeful shouts died away. Then she went back through the garden to catch up with her duties. The two ladies left the glass door, and almost simultaneously Mr. Spinell stepped back from his point of vantage.
    Silence prevailed at Einfried. The expedition was not expected to be back before nightfall. The “serious cases” lay in their rooms, suffering. Mr. Klöterjahn’s wife and her mentor went on a short walk, after which both returned to their quarters. Mr. Spinell stayed in his room as well, occupying himself in his own way. At around four o’clock the ladies were each brought a half-liter of milk, while Mr. Spinell took his usual weak tea. A short time later, Mr. Klöterjahn’s wife tapped on the wall separating her room from Mrs. Spatz’s and said:
    â€œShould we go down to the sitting room, Mrs. Spatz? I just don’t know what to do with myself any more up here.”
    â€œJust a second, dear!” answered the magistrate’s wife. “I’ll just put on my boots, if you don’t mind. I’ve been lying on my bed, you see.”
    As was only to be expected, the sitting room was empty. The ladies sat down by the fireplace. Mrs. Spatz stitched flowers on a piece of evenweave, and Mr. Klöterjahn’s wife, too, completed a couple of stitches, whereupon she let her needlework drop into her lap and sat staring out over the armrest of her chair, daydreaming. Finally she made a remark