XX
One chilly autumn day, the three sat together in a gloomy bar-room, just as formerly they had done in the small mining town. And, also, the fourth one was there, but in a pitiable condition.
Keesje lay in Markus’ lap, under a covering of faded, old red baize. His little black face was as full of folds as an old shoe, his body wasted away, and he was panting and gasping for breath. A hairy little arm came out from under the red baize, and a long, slim black hand clasped Markus’ thumb; and whenever Markus had occasion to use his hand, one could see the little black monkey-hand stretch out and feel around, while the brown eyes looked restlessly backward, as if now all safety were gone.
They were in the total-abstainers’ coffee-house, for Roodhuis continued to proffer hospitality to Markus, although this did not help his business. After that indignation meeting Markus’ stay with Roodhuis was made an excuse by all his friends for their avoidance of the coffee-house. Except Van Tijn and a few other independent ones, none of the old customers returned; but Roodhuis would not permit Markus to go away on that account.
“Now, you must never again lower yourself for that rabble that doesn’t understand you, anyway, and isn’t worth the trouble,” said Marjon, with the pride of one who knows what takes place in high circles, and esteems one’s self of better origin.
“Tell me, Johannes, what you would do,” said Markus, kindly, while he warmed Keesje’s little hand in his own.
“I do not know, Markus,” replied Johannes. “It was a wretched evening, for I could not endure that it should cost you so dearly. But if they had done it to me I would not have cared.”
“That is right,” said Markus. “And now, my dear Johannes, do not think that I am less submissive than yourself. Did you indeed fancy it?”
Johannes shook his head.
“Well, then, it is not scorn which humiliates, but the doing of unworthy deeds. And those people are not less worthy of my help than they were before. Evil inclinations are good inclinations gone astray.”
“Then are there not any wicked people?” asked Marjon.
“Ay, ay! Because there is not a black light, is there therefore no night? Calmly call a villain a villain, but take care that you are not one yourself, Marjon.”
“But are there not, for the Father, any evil-doers?” asked Johannes.
“Why should there not be for the Father what there is for us? But He knows—what we do not know—the why and the wherefore.”
“But, Markus, I saw what you endured that wretched evening. And it must not be. Must you, then, let what is high and noble be so misunderstood and defiled?”
Markus bowed his head in silence over the coughing monkey. Then he said gently:
“I have suffered, my two dear ones, because my Father has not given me strength enough. Did you not see how they listened to me, and trusted, for an instant? But then my Father, in His own way, which is beyond our comprehension, gave power again to the Evil One. Had I more wisdom I should have been able so to speak that they would have understood me. Thus I suffered doubly: on account of their dulness and wickedness, and from shame, not of them, but because of my own weakness. And this I say, Johannes, that you may know what weakness also there is in one who is stronger than you yourself will ever be.”
Johannes, his chin upon his clasped hands, looked at him long and thoughtfully, and then whispered:
“Dear Brother, I believe I understand.”
In this way they lived together for some time, and saw one another frequently. Johannes and Marjon performed their daily tasks in the boarding-house, and Markus went out every day to look for work. But Johannes was sad and troubled to see that Markus looked more pale and weary than formerly; and as Johannes lay awake in the night, he heard his brother, who slept beside him, sigh often, and softly moan.
One morning Markus did not go out, for Keesje lay still, looking, and could neither get up nor eat. When Markus took away his hand Keesje began to whine; and this brought on a paroxysm of coughing. Markus set him in a patch of sunshine that fell upon the counter from an upper window. There he brightened up a bit, and looked at the flies that, chilled with the cold, crept over the counter near his head. But toward night, when Marjon came, it was all over with Keesje.
He was all shriveled up, and as light as a handful of straw. They put him into a cigar box, and the trio buried him at night, by the light of a lantern, in the bit of soggy, black ground between the foul fences that had to represent a garden, and where shavings and papers supplied the place of flowers and trees.
Marjon and Johannes tried to control themselves, but did not succeed. First one and then the other began to cry.
“Truly, it is silly,” said Johannes, “sobbing over such a creature, when so many thousands of people are starving every day.”
Said Markus, “There are thousands starving here, and infinitely many more in all parts of my Father’s world, but yet none cry a tear too much who cry as you do now. The tears that the angels will shed for Johannes, he will need as much as Keesje needs these tears of his.”