This was always the most magnificent moment of our celebration： all would remain sitting motionless， joyfully bowing their heads under the salutary yoke of that Number of Numbers. But now， to my horror again I heard a rustle—light as a sigh， yet it was even more distinct than the brass tube of the Hymn. Thus the last sigh in a man"s life， around him people with their faces pale and with drops of cold sweat upon their foreheads I lifted my eyes， and ...
It took one hundredth of a second only； I saw thousands of hands arise "opposed" and fall back. I saw the pale， cross-marked face of I-330 and her lifted hand. Darkness came upon my eyes.
Another hundredth of a second， silence. Quiet. The Pulse. Then， as if at the sign of some mad conductor， from all over the stands a rattling， a shouting， a whirl-wind of unifs lifted by the rush， the perplexed figures of the Guardians running to and fro. Someone"s heels in the air near my eyes， and close to those heels someone"s wide-open mouth tearing itself in an inaudible scream. For some reason this picture remains particularly distinct in my memory： thousands of mouths noiselessly yelling as if on the screen of a monstrous cinema. Also， as if on a screen， somewhere below at a distance， for a second， O-90， pressed against the wall in a passage， her lips white， defending her abdomen with her crossed arms. She disappeared as if washed away by a wave， or else I simply forgot her because ...
This was not on the screen any more but within me， within my compressed heart， within the rapidly pulsating temples. Over my head， somewhat to the left， R-13 suddenly jumped upon a bench， all sprinkling， red， rabid. In his arms was I-330， pale， her unif torn from shoulder to breast， red blood on white. She held him firmly around the neck， and he with huge leaps from bench to bench， repellent and agile， like a gorilla， was carrying her upward， away.
As if it were in a fire of ancient days， everything became red around me. Only one thing in my head： to jump after them， to catch them. At this moment I cannot explain to myself the source of that strength within me， but like a battering-ram I broke through the crowd， over somebody"s shoulders， over a bench， and I was there in a moment and caught R-13 by the collar.
"Don"t you dare！ Don"t you dare， I say！ Immediately—"
Fortunately no one could hear my voice， as everyone was shouting and running.
"Who is it？ What is the matter？ What—" R-13 turned around； his sprinkling lips were trembling. He apparently thought it was one of the Guardians.
"I do not want—I won"t allow— Put her down at once！"
But he only sprinkled angrily with his lips， shook his head， and ran on. Then I—I am terribly ashamed to write all this down but I behave I must， so that you， my unknown readers， may make a complete study of my disease—then I hit him over the head With all my might. You understand？ I hit him. This I remember distinctly. I remember also a feeling of liberation that followed my action， a feeling of lightness in my whole body.
I-330 slid quickly out of his arms.
"Go away！" she shouted to R-. "Don"t you see that he—？ Go！"
R-13 showed his white Negro teeth， sprinkled into my face some word， dived down， and disappeared. And I picked up I-330， pressed her firmly to myself， and carried her away.
My heart was beating forcibly. It seemed enormous. And with every beat it would splash out such a thundering， such a hot， such a joyful wave！ A flash： "Let them， below there， let them toss and rush and yell and fall； what matter if something has fallen， if something has been shattered to dust？ Little matter！ Only to remain this way and carry her， carry and carry ..."
The Same Evening， Twenty-two O"clock
I hold my pen with great difficulty. Such an extraordinary fatigue after all the dizzying events of this morning. Is it possible that the strong， salutary， centuries-old walls of the United State have fallen？ Is it possible that we are again without a roof over our heads， back in the wild state of freedom like our remote ancestors？ Is it possible that we have lost our Well-Doer？ "Opposed！" On the Day of Unanimity—opposed！ I am ashamed of， them， painfully， fearfully ashamed...But who are "they "？ And who am I？ "They，" "We"... ？ Do I know？
I shall continue.
She was sitting where I had brought her， on the uppermost glass bench which was hot from the sun. Her right shoulder and the beginning of the wonderful and incalculable curve were uncovered—an exceedingly thin serpent of blood. She seemed not to be aware of the blood， or that her breast was uncovered. No， I will say rather： she seemed to see all that and seemed to feel that it was essential to her， that if her unif had been buttoned she would have torn it open， she would have ...
"And tomorrow！" She breathed the words through sparkling white clenched teeth. "Tomorrow， nobody knows what ... do you understand？ Neither I nor anyone else knows； it is unknown！ Do you realize what a joy it is？ Do you realize that all that was certain has come to an end？ Now...things will be new， improbable， unforeseen！"
Below the human waves were still foaming， tossing， roaring， but they seemed to be very far away， and to be growing more and more distant. For she was looking at me. She slowly drew me into herself through the narrow golden windows of her pupils. We remained like that， silent， for a long while. And for some reason I recalled how once I had watched some queer yellow pupils through the Green Wall， while above the Wall birds were soaring （or was this another time？）.
"Listen， if nothing particular happens tomorrow， I shall take you there； do you understand？"
No， I did not understand， but I nodded in silence. I was dissolved， I became infinitesimal， a geometrical point...
After all， there is some logic—a peculiar logic of today— in this state of being a point. A point has more unknowns than any other entity. If a point should start to move， it might become thousands of curves， or hundreds of solids.
I was afraid to budge. What might I have become if I had moved？ It seemed to me that everybody， like myself， was afraid now of even the most minute of motions.
At this moment， for instance， as I sit and write， everyone is sitting hidden in his glass cell， expecting something. I do not hear the buzzing of the elevators， usual at this hour， or laughter， or steps； from time to time Numbers pass in couples through the hall， whispering， on tip-toe...
What will happen tomorrow？ What will become of me tomorrow？