Page:Evgenii Zamyatin - We (Zilboorg translation).pdf/99

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Record Sixteen
87

He looked at me closely. What was he alluding to? To whom?. . . Is it possible?. . .

“Listen.” I jumped up from my seat. But he had already changed the subject. In a loud, metallic tone:

“. . . As for the insomnia and the dreams you complain of, I advise you to walk a great deal. Tomorrow morning you must begin taking long walks . . . say, as far as the Ancient House.”

Again he pierced me with his eyes and he smiled thinly. It seemed to me that I saw enveloped in the tender tissue of that smile a word, a letter, a name, the only name . . . Or was it only my imagination? I waited impatiently while he wrote a certificate of illness for today and tomorrow. Once more I gently and firmly pressed his hand; then I ran out.

My heart now feels light and swift like an aero; it carries me higher and higher. . . .I know joy will come tomorrow. What joy?. . .

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