Invitation to a Beheading Read Online Free PDF Page A

nothing (as one says to a child at the moment of an incredible disaster)—covering his heart and raising himself slightly, Cincinnatus listened. There was the shuffling of many feet, at various levels of audibility; there were voices, also at various depths; one surged up, with a question; another, closer, responded. Hastening from afar, someone whizzed by and started to slide over the stone as over ice. In the midst of the hubbubthe director’s bass uttered several words, indistinct but definitely imperative. The most frightening thing was that all this bustle was pierced by a child’s voice—the director had a small daughter. Cincinnatus distinguished both the whining tenor of his lawyer and the muttering of Rodion … And again somebody on the run asked a booming question, and somebody boomingly answered. A huffing, a crackling, a clattering, as if someone were probing with a stick under a bench. “Couldn’t find it?” the director inquired distinctly. Footsteps ran past. Footsteps ran past. Ran past and returned. Cincinnatus could not bear it any longer; he lowered his feet to the floor: they had not let him see Marthe after all.… Should I begin dressing, or will they come to costume me? Oh, have done with it, come in …
    However, they tortured him for another two minutes or so. Suddenly the door opened, and, gliding, his lawyer rushed in.
    He was ruffled and sweaty. He was fiddling with his left cuff and his eyes were wandering around.
    “I lost a cuff link,” he exclaimed, panting rapidly like a dog. “Must have—rushed against some—when I was with sweet little Emmie—she’s always so full of mischief—by the coattails—everytime I drop in—and the point is that I heard something—but I didn’t pay any—look, the chain must have—I was very fond of—well, it’s too late now—maybe I can still—I promised all the guards—it’s a pity, though—”
    “A foolish, sleepy error,” said Cincinnatus quietly. “I misinterpreted the fuss. This sort of thing is not good for the heart.”
    “Oh, thanks, don’t worry about it, it’s nothing,” absentmindedlymuttered the lawyer. And with his eyes he literally scoured the corners of the cell. It was plain that he was upset by the loss of that precious object. It was plain. The loss of the object upset him. The object was precious. He was upset by the loss of the object.
    With a soft groan Cincinnatus went back to bed. The other sat down at the foot of the cot.
    “As I was coming to see you,” said the lawyer, “I was so spry and cheerful … But now this trifle has distressed me—for, after all, it is a trifle, you will agree; there are more important things. Well, how are you feeling?”
    “In the mood for a confidential chat,” replied Cincinnatus with eyes closed. “I want to share with you some conclusions I have reached. I am surrounded by some sort of wretched specters, not by people. They torment me as can torment only senseless visions, bad dreams, dregs of delirium, the drivel of nightmares and everything that passes down here for real life. In theory one would wish to wake up. But wake up I cannot without outside help, and yet I fear this help terribly, and my very soul has grown lazy and accustomed to its snug swaddling clothes. Of all the specters that surround me, you, Roman Vissarionovich, are probably the most wretched, but on the other hand—in view of your logical position in our invented habitus—you are in a manner of speaking, an adviser, a defender …”
    “At your service,” said the lawyer, glad that Cincinnatus had at last become talkative.
    “So this is what I want to ask you: on what grounds do they refuse to tell me the exact execution date? Wait a minute, I am not finished yet. The so-called director avoids a straight answer, and refers to the fact that—wait a minute!I want to know, in the first place, who has the authority to appoint the day. I want to know, in the second place, how to get some