Page:Evgenii Zamyatin - We (Zilboorg translation).pdf/166

torturingly perpetual motion. Our, or rather your ancestors, the Christians, worshiped entropy like a God. But we are not Christians, we . . .”

At that moment a slight whisper was suddenly heard, a knock at the door, and in rushed that flattened man with the forehead low over his eyes, who several times had brought me notes from I-330. He ran straight to us, stopped, panting like an air pump, and could say not a word, as he must have been running at top speed.

“But tell me! What has happened?” I-330 grasped him by the hand.

“They are coming here,” panted the air pump, “with guards. . . . And with them that what’s-his-name, the hunchback . . .”

“S-?”

“Yes. They are in the house by this time. They’ll soon be here. Quick, quick!”

“Nonsense, we have time!” I-330 was laughing, cheerful sparks in her eyes. It was either absurd, senseless courage, or else there was something I did not understand.

“I-, dear, for the sake of the Well-Doer! You must understand that this . . .”

“For the sake of the Well-Doer!” The sharp, triangle smile.

“Well . . . well, for my sake, I implore you!”

“Oh, yes, I wanted to talk to you about some other matters. . . . Well, never mind. . . . We’ll talk about them tomorrow.”

And cheerfully (yes, cheerfully) she nodded to me; the other came out for a second from under his forehead’s awning and nodded also. I was alone.

Quick! To my desk! I opened this manuscript and took up my pen so that they should find me at this work, which is for the benefit of the United State. Suddenly I felt every hair on my head living, separated, moving. “What if they should read even one page of these most recently written?”