road, ran in the heights, cut spaces, overflowed homes and raced and raced again. Stood like a vicious pre-storm.
…And here boomed cannons. Flow cavalier men. Northern carts.
…I forgot about everything. I heard nothing and – I can’t remember how I got to the cellar.
Shrapnel had broken plunk and it’s become empty outside. I came up to the door and just wanted to look through the small window, where my mother was sitting, than someone took me by the hand. I turned about –
- Degenerate.
- What a guard! All ran away!… he… he…
Me:
- You?
He:
- Me? Oh, me! – and knocked on the door.
Yes, he was a faithful dog of the revolution; He will stand on watch ever under worse fire! I’m remembering, I thought then:
- “this is the keeper of my soul” – and unthinking wandered to the urban wasteland.
…And in the evening the southern part of the outskirts were astir. We had to go to the northward, to leave the town. But insurgents were bidden staying here till night, and they were steadily dying on the earth walls, crossroads and silent outs of gateways.
…But what do I do?
…There was urgent evacuation, the clear fire-fight,
and I’m was finally off legs!
The documents were burning. A consignment of hostages was dispatching. Was taking the rest of the indemnities...
… I’m finally off legs!
…But my mother’s face popped up and again I heard sad and strong voice.
I brushed hair up and with open eyes was looking on the town tower. And again it is getting dark and once again southward was burning homes.
…The black tribunal of commune is going to escape. Load on carts, plod wagon-trains, the crowds harry to the northwards. Only our lonely battleship stands still in the recess of pinewood and hold back from right flank enemy regiments.
…Andrusha has disappeared somewhere. Dr. Tahabat was quietly sitting on the couch and drinking wine. He silently follows my orders and rarely ironical look at the portrait of lord. But this look I feel exactly on oneself and it make me nervous and worry.
…The sun is down. The evening is dying. The night is coming. On the earth walls going deserters and monotonously beat machine-gun. Empty lord rooms fade in waiting.
I look at the doctor and can’t stand this look at ancient portrait.
I jangle:
- Dr. Tagabat! In an hour I have to eliminate the last part of convicts. I cannot choose but accept the detached force.
Then he ironically and apathetically:
- What then? All right!
I'm worried, but the doctor gibingly looks at me and smiles. – Oh, he certainly understands what the matter is! It in this part of convicts my mother is.
