We - Yevgeny Zamyatin (whitelam books txt) 📗

here! I thought, I⁠—”

“Who?”

“S-, a second ago, in the crowd.”

The ends of the thin coal-black, brows moved to the temples⁠—a smile like a sharp triangle. I could not see clearly why she smiled. How could she smile?

“But you understand, I-330, don’t you, you understand what it means if he, or one of them is here?”

“You are funny! How could it ever enter the heads of those within the Wall that we are here? Remember; take yourself. Did you ever think it was possible? They are busy hunting us there⁠—let them! You are delirious!”

Her smile was light and cheerful and I too, was smiling; the earth was drunken, cheerful, light, floating.⁠ ⁠…

Record Twenty-Eight

Both of them⁠—Entropy and energy⁠—The opaque part of the body.

If your world is similar to the world of the ancients, then you may easily imagine that one day you suddenly come upon a sixth or a seventh continent, upon some Atlantis, and you find there unheard of cities, labyrinths, people flying through the air without the aid of wings or aeros, stones lifted into the air by the power of a gaze⁠—in brief, imagine that you see things that cannot come to your mind even if you suffer from dream-sickness. That is how I feel now. For you must understand that no one has ever gone beyond the Green Wall since the Two Hundred Years’ War, as I already have told you.

I know that it is my duty to you, my unknown friends, to give more details about that unsuspected strange world which opened to me yesterday. But for the time being I am unable to return to that subject. Everything is so novel, so novel it is like a rainstorm, and I am not big enough to collect it all. I spread out the folds of my unif, my palms⁠—and yet pailfuls splash past me and only drops can reach these pages.⁠ ⁠…

At first I heard behind me, behind the door, a loud voice. I recognized her voice, the voice of I-330, tense, metallic⁠—and another one, almost inflexible, like a wooden ruler, the voice of U-. Then the door came open with a crack and both of them shot into the room. Shot is the right word.

I-330 put her hand on the back of my armchair and smiled over her shoulder but only with her teeth, at U-. I should not care to stand before such a smile.

“Listen,” she said to me, “this woman seems to have made it her business to guard you from me like a little child. Is it with your permission?”

“But he is a child. Yes! That is why he does not notice that you⁠ ⁠… that it is only in order.⁠ ⁠… That all this is only a foul game! Yes! And it is my duty.⁠ ⁠…”

For a second (in the mirror) the broken, trembling line of brows. I leaped, controlling with difficulty the other self within me, the one with the hairy fists; with difficulty, pushing every word through my teeth, I cried straight into her face, into her very gills:

“Get out of here at once! Out! At once!”

The gills swelled at first into brick-red lumps, then fell and became gray. She opened her mouth to say something but without a word she slammed it shut and went out.

I threw myself towards I-330.

“Never, never will I forgive myself! She dared! You⁠ ⁠… but you don’t think, do you, that you, that she.⁠ ⁠… This is all because she wants to register on me but I.⁠ ⁠…”

“Fortunately she will not have time for that now. Besides, even a thousand like her.⁠ ⁠… I don’t care.⁠ ⁠… I know you will not believe that thousand but only me. For after all that happened yesterday, I am all yours, all, to the very end, as you wanted it. I am in your hands; you can now at any moment.⁠ ⁠…”

“What, ‘at any moment?’ ” (But at once I understood what. My blood rushed to my ears and cheeks.) “Don’t speak about that, you must never speak about that! The other I, my former self⁠ ⁠… but now.⁠ ⁠…”

“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 very far into the distance; she hooked herself 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 is the worst of it. I only feel the current is on, the spark is jumping, and if not today, then tomorrow.⁠ ⁠… Yet perhaps they will not have time.⁠ ⁠…”

For a long while I have ceased to understand who are they and who we. 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 is the same as if you should 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 took place. In silence I looked into her face. At that moment the dark cross was especially distinct.

“I-, dear, before it is too late.⁠ ⁠… If you want⁠ ⁠…