Page:Evgenii Zamyatin - We (Zilboorg translation).pdf/37

“It is I, I-330. I shall run over to you immediately. We shall go together to the Ancient House. Agreed?”

I-330! . . . This I- irritates me, repels me. She almost frightens me; but just because of that I answered, “Yes.”

In five minutes we were in an aero. Blue sky of May. The bright sun in its own golden aero buzzed behind us without catching up and without lagging behind. Ahead of us a white cataract of a cloud. Yes, a white cataract of a cloud, nonsensically fluffy like the cheeks of an ancient cupid. That cloud was disturbing. The front window was open; it was windy; lips were dry. Against one’s will one passed the tongue constantly over them and thought about lips.

Already we saw in the distance the hazy green spots on the other side of the Wall. Then a slight involuntary sinking of the heart, down—down—down, as if from a steep mountain, and we were at the Ancient House.

That strange, delicate, blind establishment is covered all around with a glass shell, otherwise it would undoubtedly have fallen to pieces long ago. At the glass door we found an old woman all wrinkles, especially her mouth, which was all made up of folds and pleats. Her lips had disappeared, having folded inward; her mouth seemed grown together. It seemed incredible that she should be able to talk, and yet she did.

“Well, dear, come again to see my little house?”

Her wrinkles shone, that is, her wrinkles diverged like rays, which created the impression of shining.

“Yes, Grandmother,” answered I-330.

The wrinkles continued to shine.

“And the sun, eh, do you see it, you rogue, you! I know, I know. It’s all right. Go all by yourselves—I shall remain here in the sunshine.”

Hmm. . . . Apparently my companion was a frequent guest here. Something disturbed me; probably that unpleasant optical impression, the cloud on the smooth blue surface of the sky.