Record Thirty-Five

9 min

In a Ring A Carrot A Murder

I did not sleep all night. The whole night but one thought.... As a result of yesterday’s mishap my head is tightly bandaged,—it seems to me not a bandage but a ring, a pitiless ring of glass-iron, riveted about my head. And I am busy with the same thought, always the same thought in my riveted circle: to kill U-. To kill U- and then go to her and say: “Now do you believe?” What is most disquieting is that to kill is dirty, primitive. To break her head with something—the thought of it gives me a peculiar sensation of something disgustingly sweet in my mouth, and I am unable to swallow my saliva; I am always spitting into my handkerchief, yet my mouth feels dry.

I did not sleep all night. All night, I had only one thought.... Because of yesterday’s mishap, my head is tightly bandaged. It feels less like a bandage than a pitiless ring of glass-iron, riveted around my head. Inside that riveted circle, I keep thinking the same thought, over and over: to kill U-. To kill U- and then go to her and say: “Now do you believe?” What troubles me most is that killing is dirty and primitive. The thought of smashing her head with something gives me a strange, disgustingly sweet taste in my mouth. I cannot swallow my saliva. I keep spitting into my handkerchief, yet my mouth feels dry.

I had in my closet a heavy piston-rod which cracked during the casting and which I brought home in order to find out the cause of the cracking with a microscope. I made my manuscript into a tube (let her read me to the last letter!), pushed the broken piston into that tube and went downstairs. The stairway seemed endless, the steps disgustingly slippery, liquid. I had to wipe off moisture from my mouth very frequently. Downstairs ... my heart dropped. I took out the piston and went to the controller’s table, but she was not there; instead an empty, icy desk with ink-blots. I remembered that today all work was stopped; everybody was to go to be operated upon. Hence there was no need for her to stay here. There was nobody to be registered....

I had a heavy piston rod in my closet. It had cracked during casting, and I had brought it home to examine the cause under a microscope. I rolled my manuscript into a tube. (Let her read me to the last letter!) I pushed the broken piston rod into the tube and went downstairs. The stairway seemed endless. The steps were disgustingly slippery, liquid. I had to wipe moisture from my mouth again and again. Downstairs ... my heart sank. I took out the piston rod and went to the controller’s table, but she was not there. There was only an empty, icy desk covered in inkblots. I remembered that all work had stopped today. Everyone was supposed to go and have the operation. So there was no need for her to stay here. There was nobody to register....

The street. It was windy. The sky seemed to be composed of soaring panels of cast-iron. And exactly as it seemed for one moment yesterday, the whole world was broken up into separate, sharp, independent fragments, and each of these fragments was falling at full speed; each would stop for a second, hang before me in the air and disappear without trace. It was as if the black, precise letters on this page should suddenly move apart and begin to jump hither and thither in fright, so that there was not a word on the page, only nonsensical “ap,” “jum,” “wor.” The crowd seemed just as nonsensical, dispersed (not in rows), going forward, backward, diagonally, transversely....

The street. It was windy. The sky looked as if it were made of towering panels of cast iron. And just as it had seemed for a moment yesterday, the whole world had broken into separate, sharp, independent fragments. Each fragment was falling at full speed. Each would stop for a second, hang in the air before me, and disappear without a trace. It was as if the precise black letters on this page suddenly moved apart and began jumping around in fear. Then there would be no words on the page, only meaningless bits like “ap,” “jum,” “wor.” The crowd seemed just as meaningless, scattered (not in rows), moving forward, backward, diagonally, across....

Then nobody. For a second while I was dashing at full speed, suddenly stopping, I saw on the second floor in the glass cage hanging in the air,—a man and a woman—a kiss; she standing with her whole body bent backward brokenly: “This is for the last time, forever....”

Then nobody. I was running at full speed when I suddenly stopped. For a second, I saw a man and a woman kissing in the glass cage hanging in the air on the second floor. She stood with her whole body bent sharply backward: “This is for the last time, forever....”

At a corner a thorny, moving bush of heads. Above the heads, separate, floating in the air, a banner: “Down with the machines! Down with the Operation!” And (distinct from my own self) I thought: “Is it possible that each one of us bears such a pain, that it can be removed only with his heart.... That something must be done to each one, before he....” For a second everything disappeared for me from the world, except my beast-like hand with the heavy cast-iron package it held....

At a corner, a thorny, moving bush of heads. Above them, separate and floating in the air, a banner: “Down with the machines! Down with the Operation!” And I thought, apart from myself: “Could each of us carry such pain that it can only be removed with his heart.... That something must be done to each of us, before he....” For a second, everything in the world disappeared except my beast-like hand and the heavy cast-iron package it held....

A boy appeared. He was running, a shadow under his lower lip. The lower lip turned out like the cuff of a rolled-up sleeve. His face was distorted; he wept loudly; he was running away from somebody. Stamping of feet was heard behind him....

A boy appeared, running, with a shadow beneath his lower lip. His lower lip turned outward like the cuff of a rolled-up sleeve. His face was twisted, and he was crying loudly. He was running away from someone. Feet were stomping behind him....

The boy reminded me: “U- must be in school. I must hurry!” I ran to the nearest opening of the Underground Railway. At the entrance someone passed me and said, “Not running. No trains today ... there!” I descended. A sort of general delirium was reigning. The glitter of cut-crystal suns; the platform packed closely with heads. An empty, torpid train.

The boy reminded me: “U- must be at school. I must hurry!” I ran to the nearest entrance to the Underground Railway. Someone passed me at the entrance and said, “Not running. No trains today ... there!” I went down. A kind of general delirium reigned. Cut-crystal suns glittered. The platform was packed with heads. An empty, motionless train.

In the silence—a voice. I could not see her but I knew, I knew that intense, living, flexible, whip-like, flogging voice! I felt there that sharp triangle of brows drawn to the temples....

A voice broke the silence. I couldn't see her, but I knew, I knew that intense, living, flexible voice, lashing like a whip! I could sense the sharp triangle of her eyebrows, drawn toward her temples....

“Let me! Let me reach her! I must!...”

“Let me! Let me get to her! I have to!...”

Someone’s tentacles caught my arm, my shoulders. I was nailed. In the silence I heard:

Someone’s tentacles grabbed my arm and shoulders. I was pinned. In the silence, I heard:

“No. Go up to them. There they will cure you; there they will overfeed you with that leavened happiness. Satiated, you will slumber peacefully, organized, keeping time and snoring sweetly. Is it possible that you do not yet hear that great symphony of snoring? Foolish people! Don’t you realize that they want to liberate you from these gnawing, worm-like, torturing question marks? And you remain standing here and listening to me? Quick! Up! To the Great Operation! What is your concern, if I remain here alone? What does it matter to you if I want to struggle, hopelessly struggle? So much the better! What does it matter to you that I do not want others to desire for me? I want to desire for myself. If I desire the impossible....”

“No. Go up to them. They will cure you there. They will stuff you with that leavened happiness. Once you are full, you will sleep peacefully, organized and keeping time as you snore sweetly. Can’t you hear that great symphony of snoring yet? Fools! Don’t you realize they want to free you from those gnawing, worm-like, torturing question marks? And you’re still standing here listening to me? Quick! Go up! To the Great Operation! Why should you care if I stay here alone? What does it matter to you if I want to struggle, to struggle without hope? So much the better! Why should you care that I don’t want others to desire things for me? I want to desire things for myself. If I desire the impossible....”

Another voice, slow, heavy:

Another voice, slow and heavy:

“Ah, the impossible! Which means to run after your stupid fancies; those fancies would whirl from under your very noses like a tail. No, we shall catch that tail, and then....”

“Ah, the impossible! That means chasing your stupid fantasies. They would spin away right under your noses like a tail. No, we shall catch that tail, and then....”

“And then—swallow it and fall snoring; a new tail will become necessary. They say the ancients had a certain animal which they called ‘Ass.’ In order to make it go forward they would attach a carrot to a bow held in front of its nose, so that it could not reach it.... If it had caught and swallowed it....”

“And then, swallow it and fall asleep snoring. A new tail will be needed. They say the ancients had an animal they called an ‘Ass.’ To make it move forward, they attached a carrot to a bow held in front of its nose. The ass could not reach the carrot.... If it had caught and swallowed the carrot....”

The tentacles suddenly let me go; I threw myself towards the place she was speaking from; but at that very moment everything was brought to confusion. Shouts from behind: “They are coming here! Coming here!” The lights twinkled and went out,—someone cut the cable,—and everything was like a lava of cries, groaning, heads, fingers....

The tentacles suddenly let me go. I threw myself toward the place where she was speaking. But at that very moment, everything fell into confusion. People shouted from behind: “They are coming here! Coming here!” The lights flickered and went out. Someone had cut the cable. Everything was like a lava flow of cries, groans, heads, fingers....

I do not know how long we were rolled about that way in the underground tube. I only remember that steps were felt, dusk appeared, becoming brighter and brighter, and again we were in the street, dispersing fan-wise in different directions.

I don't know how long we were carried along like that in the underground tube. I only remember feeling steps beneath us and seeing dim light appear, growing brighter and brighter. Then we were back in the street, spreading out in different directions like a fan.

Again I was alone. Wind. Gray, low twilight crawling over my head. In the damp glass of the sidewalk, somewhere very deep, there were light topsy-turvy walls and figures moving along, feet upward. And that terribly heavy package in my hands pulled me down into that depth to the bottom.

I was alone again. Wind. Gray twilight hung low, creeping over my head. Deep in the wet glass sidewalk, I could see pale walls upside down and figures moving with their feet pointing up. The terribly heavy package in my hands pulled me down into those depths, to the bottom.

At the desk again. U- was not yet there; her room was dark and empty. I went up to my room and turned on the light. My temples tightly bound by the iron ring were pulsating. I paced and paced, always in the same circle: my table, the white package on the table, the bed, my table, the white package on the table.... In the room to my left the curtains were lowered. To my right: the knotty bald head over a book, the enormous parabolic forehead. Wrinkles on the forehead like a series of yellow, illegible lines. At times our eyes met and then I felt that those lines were about me.

At the desk again. U- was not there yet. Her room was dark and empty. I went up to my room and turned on the light. My temples throbbed, tightly bound by the iron ring. I paced and paced, always in the same circle: my table, the white package on the table, the bed, my table, the white package on the table.... In the room to my left, the curtains were drawn. To my right, a knobby bald head bent over a book, with an enormous parabolic forehead. The wrinkles on the forehead looked like rows of yellow, illegible writing. Sometimes our eyes met, and then I felt those lines were about me.

... It happened at twenty-one o’clock exactly. U- came in on her own initiative. I remember that my breathing was so loud that I could hear it and that I wanted to breathe less noisily but was unable to.

... It happened at exactly 9 p.m. U- came in on her own. I remember hearing my own loud breathing. I wanted to breathe more quietly, but I couldn’t.

She sat down and arranged the fold of her unif on her knees. The pinkish-brown gills were waving.

She sat down and smoothed the fold of her unif over her knees. The pinkish-brown gills were waving.

“Oh, dear, is it true that you are wounded? I just learned about it, and at once I ran....”

“Oh, dear, is it true you’re hurt? I just heard and ran here right away....”

The piston was before me on the table. I jumped up, breathing even louder. She heard, and stopped half-way through a word and rose. Already I had located the place on her head; something disgustingly sweet was in my mouth.... My handkerchief! I could not find it. I spat on the floor.

The piston lay on the table in front of me. I jumped up, breathing even louder. She heard me, stopped halfway through a word, and stood up. I had already picked a spot on her head. A disgustingly sweet taste filled my mouth.... My handkerchief! I couldn't find it. I spat on the floor.

The fellow with the yellow fixed wrinkles which think of me! It was necessary that he should not see. It would be even more disgusting if he could.... I pressed the button. (I had no right to do that, but who cared about rights then?) The curtains fell.

That fellow with the fixed yellow wrinkles, thinking about me! He must not see. It would be even more disgusting if he could.... I pressed the button. (I had no right to do that, but who cared about rights then?) The curtains fell.

Evidently she felt and understood what was coming for she rushed to the door. But I was quicker than she and I locked the door with the key, breathing loudly and not taking my eyes for a second away from that place on her head....

Apparently, she sensed and understood what was coming, so she rushed to the door. But I was faster. I locked the door with the key, breathing loudly and never taking my eyes off that spot on her head....

“You ... you are mad! How dare you....” She moved backward towards the bed, put her trembling hands between her knees.... Like a tense spring, holding her firmly with my gaze, I slowly stretched out my arm towards the table (only one arm could move), and I snatched the piston.

“You ... you’re mad! How dare you....” She backed toward the bed and put her trembling hands between her knees.... Tense as a spring, I held her firmly with my gaze. I slowly reached toward the table (only one arm could move) and snatched the piston.

“I implore you! One day—only one day! Tomorrow I shall go and attend to the formalities....”

“I’m begging you! One day, just one day! Tomorrow I’ll go and take care of the formalities....”

What was she talking about? I swung my arm.... And I consider I killed her. Yes, you my unknown readers, you have the right to call me murderer. I know that I should have dealt the blow on her head had she not screamed:

What was she talking about? I swung my arm.... And I believe I killed her. Yes, you, my unknown readers, have the right to call me a murderer. I know I would have struck her on the head if she hadn't screamed:

“For ... for the sake ... I agree.... I ... one moment....” With trembling hands she tore off her unif;—a large, yellow, drooping body, she fell upon the bed....

“For ... for the sake ... I agree.... I ... one moment....” With trembling hands, she tore off her unif. Her large, yellow body sagged as she fell onto the bed....

Then I understood; she thought that I pulled the curtains ... in order to ... that I wanted....

Then I understood. She thought I had pulled the curtains ... in order to ... that I wanted....

This was so unexpected and so stupid that I burst out laughing. Immediately the tense spring within me broke and my hand weakened and the piston fell to the floor.

This was so unexpected and so stupid that I burst out laughing. At once, the tense spring inside me snapped. My hand went weak, and the piston fell to the floor.

Here I learned from personal experience that laughter is the most terrible of weapons; you can kill anything with laughter, even murder. I sat at my table and laughed desperately; I saw no way out of that absurd situation. I don’t know what would have been the end if things had run their natural course, for suddenly a new factor in the arithmetical chain: the telephone rang.

Here I learned firsthand that laughter is the most terrible weapon. You can kill anything with laughter, even murder. I sat at my table and laughed desperately. I saw no way out of that absurd situation. I don’t know how it would have ended if things had taken their natural course. But suddenly, a new factor entered the chain of calculations: the telephone rang.

I hurried, grasped the receiver. Perhaps she ... I heard an unfamiliar voice:

I hurried and picked up the receiver. Perhaps she ... I heard an unfamiliar voice:

“Wait a minute.”

Annoying, infinite buzzing. Heavy steps from afar, nearer and louder like cast-iron, and....

Annoying, endless buzzing. Heavy footsteps in the distance, coming closer and growing louder, like cast iron, and....

“D-503? The Well-Doer speaking. Come at once to me.”

“D-503? This is the Well-Doer. Come to me immediately.”

Ding! He hung up the receiver. Ding! like a key in a keyhole.

Ding! He hung up the phone. Ding! Like a key in a keyhole.

U- was still in bed, eyes closed, gills apart in the form of a smile. I picked up her clothes, threw them on her and said through clenched teeth:

U- was still in bed with her eyes closed and her gills spread in a smile. I picked up her clothes, threw them onto her, and said through clenched teeth:

“Well. Quick! Quick!”

She raised her body on her elbow, her breasts hanging down to one side, eyes round. She became a figure of wax.

She propped herself up on her elbow, her breasts hanging to one side, her eyes wide. She became a wax figure.

“What?”

“Get dressed, that is what!”

“Get dressed, that’s what!”

Face distorted, she firmly snatched her clothes and said in a flat voice, “Turn away....”

Her face twisted, she grabbed her clothes firmly and said in a flat voice, “Turn away....”

I turned away, pressed my forehead against the glass. Light, figures, sparks, were trembling in the black, wet mirror.... No, all this was I, myself,—within me.... What did he call me for? Is it possible that he knows already about her, about me, about everything?

I turned away and pressed my forehead against the glass. Lights, figures, and sparks trembled in the black, wet mirror.... No, all of this was me, inside me.... Why did he call me? Could he already know about her, about me, about everything?

U-, already dressed, was at the door. I made a step toward her and pressed her hand as hard as though I hoped to squeeze out of it drop by drop what I needed.

U- was already dressed and standing at the door. I stepped toward her and squeezed her hand hard, as if I hoped to squeeze what I needed from it, drop by drop.

“Listen.... Her name, you know whom I am talking of,—did you report her name? No? Tell the truth, I must.... I care not what happens, but tell the truth!”

“Listen.... Her name. You know who I mean. Did you report her name? No? Tell me the truth, I have to know.... I don’t care what happens, but tell me the truth!”

“No.”

“No? But why not, since you....”

Her lower lip turned out like the lip of that boy and her face ... tears were running down her cheeks.

Her lower lip turned outward like the boy's, and her face ... tears ran down her cheeks.

“Because I ... I was afraid that if I did you might ... you would stop lov— Oh, I cannot, I could not!”

“Because I ... I was afraid that if I did, you might ... you would stop lov... Oh, I can’t, I couldn’t!”

I understood. It was the truth. Absurd, ridiculous, human truth. I opened the door.