Me:
- Please, leave the room!
Doctor:
- What then? All right!
Then I go down and raging.
- Dr. Tagabat! The last warning: don't jest with me!
But my voice breaks and it’s gurgles in my throat. I jerk to grasp the mauser and on the spot finish off the doctor, but I suddenly feel myself wretch and worthless and understand, that I’m losing the last feeling of the liberty. I sit on the couch and plaintively as powerless beaten dog, look at Tahabat.
…But we are into the last minutes. I must go.
Again I pul myself together and for the last time look at the lordly portrait of princess.
Darkness.
… - Escort guard!
Guard entered and reported.
- The parts removed. Shooting appointed in the country: the beginning of the pine wood.
…Over far prison haunt the moon. Then sailed on calm blue streams, throw over the lemon splash. At midnight stroked zenith and stopped over the abyss.
…In the town was energetic slugging.
…We were walking the north road.
I will never forget this silent procession - dark crowd on the shooting.
Behind screaked the carts.
Advance guard - escort Communards, then - a crowd of nuns, in the advance guars me and once more the escorts Communards and Dr.Tagabat.
But we came across the real Versailles: all the way no nuns said anything. There were genuine fans.
I was walking along the road as then – to nowhere and on the side of me wandered the guards of my soul: doctor and degenerate. I looked into the crowd, but I didn’t see anything there.
But I felt:
- My mother was there
with her neck adroop. I felt: smells like mint.
I stroked her nice head tainted of silver gray.
But suddenly in front of me tramontane distance grew. Then again I painfully wanted to fall to knees prayerfully looking at hairy silhouette of the black tribunal of commune.
I pressed my head and went on the deadly road and behind of me the carts were screaked.
I suddenly denied: what is it? hallucination? Is this the voice of my mother?
And again I’m a miserable man: somewhere near the heart sick. Do not cry! However? I wanted to cry, to cry the tiny tears – like when I was a child.
And broke out:
- It is possible, that I drive her to the shooting?
What it is: reality or hallucination?
But it was a reality: predatory and cruel like a pack of hungry wolves. It was hopeless reality inevitable as death itself.
