Page:Evgenii Zamyatin - We (Zilboorg translation).pdf/147

fending her abdomen with her crossed arms. She disappeared as if washed away by a wave, or else I simply forgot her because . . .

This was not on the screen any more but within me, within my compressed heart, within the rapidly pulsating temples. Over my head, somewhat to the left, R-13 suddenly jumped upon a bench, all sprinkling, red, rabid. In his arms was I-330, pale, her unif torn from shoulder to breast, red blood on white. She held him firmly around the neck, and he with huge leaps from bench to bench, repellent and agile, like a gorilla, was carrying her upward, away.

As if it were in a fire of ancient days, everything became red around me. Only one thing in my head: to jump after them, to catch them. At this moment I cannot explain to myself the source of that strength within me, but like a battering-ram I broke through the crowd, over somebody’s shoulders, over a bench, and I was there in a moment and caught R-13 by the collar.

“Don’t you dare! Don’t you dare, I say! Immediately—”

Fortunately no one could hear my voice, as everyone was shouting and running.

“Who is it? What is the matter? What-” R-13 turned around; his sprinkling lips were trembling. He apparently thought it was one of the Guardians.

“I do not want—I won’t allow—Put her down at once!”

But he only sprinkled angrily with his lips, shook his head, and ran on. Then I—I am terribly ashamed to write all this down but I believe I must, so that you, my unknown readers, may make a complete study of my disease—then I hit him over the head with all my might. You understand? I hit him. This I remember distinctly. I remember also a feeling of liberation that followed my action, a feeling of lightness in my whole body.

I-330 slid quickly out of his arms.

“Go away!” she shouted to R-. “Don’t you see that he—? Go!”