Record Thirty-Eight

I Don’t Know What Title—Perhaps the Whole Synopsis May Be Called a Cast-off Cigarette-butt.

I Don’t Know What to Call It. Perhaps the Whole Synopsis Could Be Called a Discarded Cigarette Butt.

I awoke. A bright glare painful to look at. I half closed my eyes. My head seemed filled with some caustic blue smoke. Everything was enveloped in fog and through the fog:

I woke up. A bright glare hurt my eyes. I half closed them. My head seemed filled with a sharp blue smoke. Everything was shrouded in fog, and through the fog:

“But I did not turn on the light ... then how is it....”

“But I didn't turn on the light ... then how is it....”

I jumped up. At the table, leaning her chin on her hand and smiling, was I-330, looking at me.

I jumped up. I-330 was at the table, resting her chin on her hand. She was smiling and looking at me.

She was at the very table at which I am now writing. Those ten or fifteen minutes are already behind me, cruelly twisted into a very firm spring. Yet it seems to me that the door closed after her only a second ago and that I could still overtake her and grasp her hand,—and that she might laugh out and say....

She sat at the very table where I am writing now. Those ten or fifteen minutes are already behind me, cruelly twisted into a tight spring. Yet it seems she closed the door behind her only a second ago. I feel I could still catch up with her and take her hand, and she might laugh and say....

I-330 was at the table. I rushed towards her.

I-330 was at the table. I rushed toward her.

“You? You! I have been.... I saw your room.... I thought you....” But midway I hurt myself upon the sharp, motionless spears of her eyelashes and I stopped. I remembered: she looked at me in the same way before,—in the Integral. It was urgent to tell her everything in one second and in such a way that she should believe—or she would never....

“You? You! I have been.... I saw your room.... I thought you....” But halfway through, I hurt myself on the sharp, motionless spears of her eyelashes and stopped. I remembered that she had looked at me the same way before, in the Integral. I had to tell her everything in a second and make her believe me, or she would never....

“Listen, I-330, I must.... I must ... everything! No, no, one moment—let me have a glass of water first.”

“Listen, I-330, I must.... I must ... everything! No, no, wait. Let me have a glass of water first.”

My mouth was as dry as though it were lined with blotting paper. I poured a glass of water but I could not.... I put the glass back upon the table, and with both hands firmly grasped the carafe.

My mouth was as dry as if it were lined with blotting paper. I poured a glass of water, but I couldn't.... I put the glass back on the table and gripped the carafe firmly with both hands.

Now I noticed that the blue smoke was from a cigarette. She brought the cigarette to her lips and with avidity she drew in and swallowed the smoke as I did water; then she said:

I noticed now that the blue smoke came from a cigarette. She brought it to her lips and eagerly drew in and swallowed the smoke, as I did water. Then she said:

“Don’t. Be silent. Don’t you see it matters little? I came anyway. They are waiting for me below.... Do you want these minutes which are our last...?”

“Don’t. Be quiet. Don’t you see it hardly matters? I came anyway. They’re waiting for me downstairs.... Do you want these last minutes of ours...?”

Abruptly she threw the cigarette on the floor and bent backwards over the side of the chair to reach the button in the wall (it was quite difficult to do so), and I remember how the chair swayed slightly, how two of its legs were lifted. Then the curtains fell.

Suddenly, she threw the cigarette on the floor. She bent backward over the side of the chair to reach the button on the wall. It was quite difficult to reach. I remember the chair swaying slightly and two of its legs lifting off the floor. Then the curtains fell.

She came close to me and embraced me. Her knees, through her dress, were like a slow, gentle, warm, enveloping and permeating poison....

She came close and hugged me. Through her dress, her knees were like a slow, gentle, warm poison, enveloping and penetrating me....

Suddenly (it happens at times) you plunge into sweet, warm sleep—when all at once, as if something pricks you, you tremble and your eyes are again widely open. So it was now; there on the floor in her room were the pink checks stamped with traces of footsteps, one of them bore the letter F. and some figures.... Plus and minus fused within my mind into one lump.... I could not say even now what sort of a feeling it was but I crushed her so that she cried out with pain....

Sometimes you suddenly fall into a sweet, warm sleep. Then, all at once, you shudder as if something has pricked you, and your eyes open wide again. That was how it was now. There on her floor were the pink checks, marked with footprints. One of them bore the letter F. and some numbers.... Plus and minus merged into one lump in my mind.... Even now, I could not say what kind of feeling it was, but I held her so tightly that she cried out in pain....

One more minute out of these ten or fifteen; her head thrown back, lying on the bright white pillow, her eyes half closed, a sharp, sweet line of teeth.... And all this reminded me in an irresistible, absurd, torturing way about something forbidden, something not permissible at that moment. More tenderly, more cruelly, I pressed her to myself, more bright grew the blue traces of my fingers....

One more minute of those ten or fifteen. Her head was thrown back on the bright white pillow, her eyes half closed, her teeth a sharp, sweet line.... And all of it reminded me, irresistibly, absurdly, and painfully, of something forbidden, something not allowed at that moment. I held her closer, more tenderly, more cruelly. The blue marks of my fingers grew brighter....

She said, without opening her eyes (I noticed this), “They say you went to see the Well-Doer yesterday, is it true?”

She spoke without opening her eyes. I noticed this. “They say you went to see the Well-Doer yesterday. Is that true?”

“Yes.”

“Yes.”

Then her eyes opened widely and with delight I looked at her and saw that her face grew quickly paler and paler, that it effaced itself, disappearing,—only the eyes remained.

Then her eyes opened wide. I looked at her with delight and saw her face quickly grow paler and paler. Her face faded away until only her eyes remained.

I told her everything. Only for some reason, what I don’t know—(no, it is not true, I know the reason) I was silent about one thing: His assertion at the end that they needed me only in order....

I told her everything. But for some reason, I kept one thing to myself. (No, that’s not true. I know the reason.) I didn’t tell her his claim at the end that they needed me only in order....

Like the image on a photographic plate in a developing fluid, her face gradually reappeared; the cheeks, the white line of teeth, the lips. She stood up and went to the mirror-door of the closet. My mouth was dry again. I poured water but it was revolting to drink it; I put the glass back on the table and asked:

Like an image appearing on a photographic plate in developing fluid, her face gradually reappeared: her cheeks, her white teeth, her lips. She stood up and went to the mirrored closet door. My mouth was dry again. I poured a glass of water, but the thought of drinking it revolted me. I put the glass back on the table and asked:

“Did you come to see me because you wanted to inquire...?”

“Did you come to see me because you wanted to ask...?”

A sharp, mocking triangle of brows drawn to the temples looked at me from the mirror. She turned around to say something but said nothing.

A sharp, mocking triangle of eyebrows, drawn toward the temples, stared at me from the mirror. She turned to say something but said nothing.

It was not necessary; I knew.

It wasn't necessary. I knew.

To bid her good-bye, I moved my foreign limbs, struck the chair with them. It fell upside down, dead, like the table in her room. Her lips were cold ... just as cold was once the floor, here, near my bed....

To say goodbye to her, I moved my limbs, which felt foreign to me, and struck the chair. It fell upside down, dead, like the table in her room. Her lips were cold ... just as cold as the floor had once been, here, near my bed....

When she left I sat down on the floor, bent over the cigarette-butt....

When she left, I sat down on the floor and bent over the cigarette butt....

I cannot write any more—I no longer want to!

I can't write anymore. I don't want to anymore!