Invitation to a Beheading Read Online Free PDF Page B

you.”
    “In a few days?” asked Cincinnatus. “Then there
will
be a few more days?”
    “Listen to him,” chuckled the director. “He has to know everything. How do you like that, Roman Vissarionovich?”
    “Oh, my friend, you are so right,” sighed the lawyer.
    “Yes, sir,” continued the former, giving his keys a rattle. “You ought to be more cooperative, mister. All the time he’s haughty, angry, snide. Last night I brought him some of them plums, you know, and what do you think? His excellency did not choose to eat them, his excellency was too proud. Yes sir! I started to tell you about that there new prisoner. You will have your fill of chit-chat with him. No need to mope as you do. Isn’t that right, Roman Vissarionovich?”
    “That’s right, Rodion, that right,” concurred the lawyer with an involuntary smile.
    Rodion stroked his beard and went on: “I’ve got to feelingvery sorry for the poor gentleman—I come in, I look, he’s up on the table-and-chair, trying to reach the bars with his little hands and feet, like a sick monkey. And with the sky real blue, and the swallows a-flying, and cloudlets a-high—such bliss, such blessings! I take the gentleman down from the table like a baby, and meself I bawl—yes, just as I’m standing here—I bawl and bawl … I really went all to pieces, I was so sorry for him.”
    “Well, shall we take him upstairs, what do you think?” the lawyer suggested hesitantly.
    “Why, sure thing, that we can,” drawled Rodion with sedate benevolence. “We can always do that.”
    “Drape yourself in your dressing gown,” uttered Roman Vissarionovich.
    Cincinnatus said, “I obey you, specters, werewolves, parodies. I obey you. However, I demand—yes, demand” (and the other Cincinnatus began to stamp his feet hysterically, losing his slippers) “to be told how long I have left to live … and whether I shall be allowed to see my wife.”
    “You probably will,” replied Roman Vissarionovich, after exchanging glances with Rodion. “Just don’t you talk so much. All right, let’s go.”
    “If you please,” said Rodion, giving the unlocked door a shove with his shoulder.
    All three went out: first Rodion, bowlegged, in old faded breeches, baggy in the seat; behind him the lawyer, in a frock coat, with a smudge on his celluloid collar and an edging of pinkish muslin at the back of his head where the black wig ended; and finally, behind him, Cincinnatus, losing his slippers, wrapping himself more tightly in his dressing gown.
    At the bend in the corridor the other, nameless, guard gave them a salute. The pale stony light alternated with regions of darkness. They walked, and walked. One bend followed another. Several times they passed the very same design of dampness on the wall, looking like some dreadful ribby horse. Here and there it was necessary to turn on light; a dusty bulb, up above or at the side, would burst into bitter yellow light. Sometimes, also, it would be burned out, and then they would shuffle on through dense darkness. At one spot, where an unexpected and inexplicable sunbeam fell from above and glowed mistily as it broke on the eroded flagstones, Emmie, the director’s daughter, in a bright checkered frock and checkered socks—a mere child, but with the marble calves of a little ballerina—was bouncing a ball, rhythmically against the wall. She turned, brushing a blond lock from her cheek with the fourth and fifth fingers of her hand, and followed the brief little procession with her eyes. Rodion gave a playful jingle with his keys as he passed; the lawyer lightly stroked her glowing hair; but she was staring at Cincinnatus, who gave her a frightened smile. Upon reaching the next bend of the passage, all three glanced back. Emmie was gazing after them, while she lightly plopped the glossy red and blue ball in her hands.
    Again they walked in darkness for a long time, until they came to a dead end where a ruby bulb shone above a