In a Ring
A Carrot
A Murder
I did not sleep all night. But one thought the whole night... 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 had in my closet a heavy piston rod which had cracked during the casting， and which I had brought home in order to find out with a microscope the cause of the cracking. 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 moisture from off my mouth very frequently. Downstairs ...my heart dropped. I took the piston out and went to the controller"s table. But she was not there； instead， an empty， icy desk with ink blots. And then I remembered that today all work had stopped； everyone was to go to be operated on. There was no need for her to stay here. There was nobody to be registered...
The street. It was windy. The sky seemed to be composed of soaring panels of cast iron. And exactly as it had 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 a trace. It was as if the precise， black 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....
Then nobody. For a second， suddenly stopping in my mad dashing， I saw on the second floor， in the glass cage of a room 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..."
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
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 someone. The stamping of feet was heard 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..
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 trangle of brows drawn to the temples....
"Let reel Let me reach her！ I must！ ..."
Someone"s tentacles caught my arm， my shoulders. I was nailed， 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 hear yet 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... "
Another voice， slow， 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 ..."
"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..."