The red laugh: fragments of a discovered manuscriptAndreyev, Leonid
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The red laugh: fragments of a discovered manuscript
Andreyev, Leonid
Russian fiction -- Translations into English
And then--then I suddenly remembered my home: a corner of my room, a
scrap of light-blue wall-paper, and a dusty untouched water-bottle
on my table--on my table, which has one leg shorter than the others,
and had a small piece of paper folded under it. While in the next
room--and I cannot see them--are my wife and little son. If I had had
the power to cry out, I would have done so--so wonderful was this
simple and peaceful picture--the scrap of light-blue wall-paper and
dusty untouched water-bottle. I know that I stood still and lifted up
my arms, but somebody gave me a push from behind, and I quickly moved
on, thrusting the crowd aside, and hastening whither I knew not, but
feeling now neither heat nor fatigue. And I marched on thus for a long
time through the endless mute files, past red sunburnt necks, almost
touching the helplessly lowered hot bayonets, when suddenly the thought
of what I was doing, whither I was hastening, stopped me. I turned
aside in the same hasty way, forced my way to the open, clambered
across a gulley and sat down on a stone in a preoccupied manner, as if
that rough hot stone was the aim of all my strivings.
And then I felt it for the first time. I clearly perceived that all
these people, marching silently on in the glaring sun, torpid from
fatigue and heat, swaying and falling--that they were all mad. They
did not know whither they were going, they did not know what that sun
was for, they did not know anything. It was not heads that they had
on their shoulders, but strange and terrible globes. There--I saw a
man in the same plight as I, pushing his way hurriedly through the
rows and falling down; there--another, and a third. Suddenly a horse's
head appeared above the throng with bloodshot and senseless eyes and a
wide-open grinning mouth, that only hinted at a terrible unearthly cry;
this head appeared, fell down, and for an instant the crowd stopped,
growing denser in that spot; I could hear hoarse, hollow voices, then a
shot, and again the silent endless march continued.
An hour passed as I sat on that stone, but the multitude still moved
on past me, and the air and earth and the distant phantom-like ranks
trembled as before. And again the burning heat pierced my body and I
forgot what for an instant I had pictured to myself; and the multitudes
moved on past me, but I did not know who they were. An hour ago I was
alone on the stone, but now I was surrounded by a group of grey people:
some lying motionless, perhaps dead; others were sitting up and staring
vacantly at those passing by. Some had guns and resembled soldiers;
others were stripped almost naked, and the skin on their bodies was so
livid, that one did not care to look at it. Not far from me someone was
lying with his bared back upturned.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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