Let come what may—I suppose I should go mad if I lost her—but she was there, she was there now—what else mattered? To hell with it.
What was the use trying to make safe and sure our little life?
Sooner or later the great wave must come and sweep all away.
"What about a drink with me, Fred?" I asked.
"Sure," said he.
We had two absinths.
Then we tossed for two more.
I won. That didn't seem to me right.
So we went on tossing. But it was five times before I lost. Then I did so three times in succession. . . .
"Am I drunk or is it thundering outside?" I asked.
Fred listened.
"It's thunder all right.
The first storm this year."
We went to the door and looked at the sky.
There was nothing to be seen.
It was merely warm, with now and then a roll of thunder.
"We'd better have one on the strength of it," I suggested.
Fred was all for it.
"Damned liquorice water," said I putting down the empty glass again on the bar.
Fred also thought we might now try something with a bit more kick in it. He suggested cherry brandy—I was for rum.
In order not to quarrel we drank both by turns.
That Fred should not have to work so hard pouring out, we took larger glasses.
We were now in fine fettle.
Off and on we would go out to see if there wasn't lightning as well.
We should have liked very much to see some lightning, but we had no luck.
It would flash the moment we were inside again.
Fred told me about his girl, whose father owned a Cafeteria.
But he wasn't marrying till the old man was dead and he was quite sure that she would get the restaurant as well.
I thought he was a bit overcautious, but he argued that the old man was such an untrustworthy old blighter, he was quite capable of making over the restaurant, at the last minute, to the Methodist Church.
At that I yielded my point.
For the rest Fred was fairly hopeful.
The old chap had caught cold and Fred was of opinion it might prove to be influenza, which was pretty dangerous at his age.
I felt obliged to say that unfortunately influenza meant nothing at all to alcoholics, quite the contrary, an old soak might be on his last legs and get influenza and thrive on it and put on weight even.
Fred thought it did not signify, in that case he might get run over by a bus.
I agreed that that was more than likely, especially on wet asphalt.
Fred thereupon went out to see if it were raining yet.
But it was still dry.
Only the thunder was a bit louder.
I gave him a glass of lemon juice to drink and went to the telephone.
At the last moment I remembered that I did not want to telephone.
I waved my hand at the instrument and made to raise my hat.
But then I observed that I hadn't it on.
When I returned Koster and Lenz were there.
"Breathe on me," said Gottfried.
I breathed.
"Rum, cherry-brandy and absinth," said he. "Absinth, you dirty pig." "If you mean to suggest I'm drunk, you are mistaken," said I. "Where have you come from?"
"A political meeting.
But it was too silly for Otto.
What's that Fred's drinking?"
"Lemon juice."