Record Thirty-Three
This without a Synopsis, Hastily, the Last
This one has no summary, written in haste, the last.
The day.
The day.
Quick, to the newspaper! perhaps there.... I read the paper with my eyes (exactly; my eyes now are like a pen, or like a counting machine which you hold and feel in your hands like a tool, something foreign, an instrument). In the newspaper on the first page, in large print:
Quick, the newspaper! Perhaps there.... I read the paper with my eyes. (Exactly. My eyes are now like a pen or a counting machine, a tool you can hold and feel in your hands. Something foreign, an instrument.) On the front page of the newspaper, in large print:
“THE ENEMIES OF HAPPINESS ARE AWAKE! HOLD TO YOUR HAPPINESS WITH BOTH HANDS. TOMORROW ALL WORK WILL STOP AND ALL THE NUMBERS ARE TO COME TO BE OPERATED UPON. THOSE WHO FAIL TO COME WILL BE SUBMITTED TO THE MACHINE OF THE WELL-DOER.”
“THE ENEMIES OF HAPPINESS ARE AWAKE! HOLD ON TO YOUR HAPPINESS WITH BOTH HANDS. TOMORROW ALL WORK WILL STOP, AND ALL NUMBERS MUST COME FOR THE OPERATION. THOSE WHO DO NOT COME WILL BE SUBJECTED TO THE MACHINE OF THE WELL-DOER.”
Tomorrow! How can there be, how can there be any tomorrow?
Tomorrow! How can there be, how can there be a tomorrow?
Following my daily habit, I stretched out my arm (instrument!) to the bookshelf to put today’s paper with the rest in a cover ornamented with gold. While doing this: “What for? What does it matter? Never again shall I.... In this cover, never....” And out of my hands, down to the floor it fell.
As usual, I reached out my arm (instrument!) toward the bookshelf. I meant to put today’s paper with the others in the gold-decorated cover. As I did, I thought: “Why? What does it matter? Never again will I.... In this cover, never....” The paper fell from my hands to the floor.
I stood looking all around, over all my room; hastily I was taking away, feverishly putting into some unseen valise everything I regretted leaving here: my desk, my books, my chair. Upon that chair sat I-330 that day; I was below on the floor.... My bed.... Then for a minute or two I stood and waited for some miracle to happen; perhaps the telephone would ring, perhaps she would say that.... But no, no miracle....
I stood looking around my whole room. I hurriedly, feverishly packed an invisible suitcase with everything I regretted leaving here: my desk, my books, my chair. I-330 had sat in that chair that day. I was on the floor below her.... My bed.... Then I stood for a minute or two, waiting for a miracle. Perhaps the telephone would ring, perhaps she would say that.... But no, no miracle....
I am leaving, going into the unknown. These are my last lines. Farewell you, my unknown beloved ones, with whom I have lived through so many pages, before whom I have bared my diseased soul, my whole self to the last broken little screw, to the last cracked spring.... I am going....
I am leaving, going into the unknown. These are my last lines. Farewell, my unknown loved ones. We have lived through so many pages together. I have laid my diseased soul bare before you, my whole self, down to the last broken little screw and cracked spring.... I am going....