Page:Evgenii Zamyatin - We (Zilboorg translation).pdf/163

“How do I know? Man is like a novel: up to the last page one does not know what the end will be. It would not be worth reading otherwise.”

She was stroking my head. I could not see her face, but I could tell by her voice that she was looking somewhere far into the distance; she had hooked herself on to that cloud which was floating silently, slowly, no one knows where to.

Suddenly she pushed me away with her hand, firmly but tenderly.

“Listen. I came to tell you that perhaps we are now . . . our last days . . . You know, don’t you, that all Auditoriums are to be closed after tonight?”

“Closed?”

“Yes. I passed by and saw that in all Auditoriums preparations are going on: tables, medics all in white . . .”

“But what does it all mean?”

“I don’t know. Nobody knows as yet. That’s the worst of it. I feel only that the current is on, the spark is jumping, and if not today, then tomorrow. . . . Yet perhaps they will not have time. . . .”

It has been a long while since I ceased to understand who they are and who we are. I do not understand what I want; do I want them to have or not to have enough time? One thing is clear to me: I-330 is now on the very edge, on the very edge, and in one second more . . .

“But it is folly,” I said. “You, versus the United State! It's the same as if you were to cover the muzzle of a gun with your hands and expect that way to prevent the shot. . . . It is absolute folly!”

A smile.

“We must all go insane—as soon as possible go insane.' It was yesterday, do you remember?”

Yes, she was right; I had even written it down. Consequently, it really had taken place. In silence I looked into her face. At that moment die dark cross was especially distinct.