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
"I had better go there," said I to myself. "He is one of my own people
after all."
He was sitting in his armchair at his table, heaped with books, and
did not disappear as he did the last time, but remained seated. The
reddish light was making its way through the red drawn curtains into
the room, but did not light up anything, and he was scarcely visible. I
sat down at a distance from him on the couch and waited. All was still
in the room, while from outside the even buzzing noise, the crash of
something falling and disjointed cries were borne in upon us. And they
were nearing us. The livid light became brighter and brighter, and I
could distinguish him in his armchair--his black, iron-like profile,
outlined by a narrow stripe of red.
"Brother!" I said.
But he kept silence, immobile and black, like a monument. A board
cracked in the next room and suddenly all became so extraordinarily
still, as it is where there are many dead. All the sounds died away
and the livid light itself assumed a scarcely perceptible shade of
deathliness and stillness and became motionless and a little dim. I
thought the stillness was coming from my brother and told him so.
"No, it is not from me," he answered. "Look out of the window."
I pulled the curtains aside and staggered back.
"So that's what it is!" said I.
"Call my wife; she has not seen that yet," ordered my brother.
She was sitting in the dining-room sewing something and, seeing my
face, rose obediently, stuck her needle into her work and followed me.
I pulled back the curtains from all the windows and the livid light
flowed in through the broad openings unhindered, but somehow did not
make the room any lighter: it was just as dark and only the big red
squares of the windows burned brightly.
We went up to the window. Before the house there stretched an even,
fiery red sky, without a single cloud, star or sun, and ended at the
horizon, while below it lay just such an even dark red field, and
it was covered with dead bodies. All the corpses were naked and lay
with their legs towards us, so that we could only see their feet and
triangular heads. And all was still; apparently they were all dead, and
there were no wounded left behind in that endless field.
"Their number is growing," said my brother.
He was standing at the window also, and all were there: my mother,
sister and everybody that lived in the house. I could not distinguish
their faces, and could recognise them only by their voices.
"It only seems so," said my sister.
"No, it's true. Just look."
And, truly, there seemed to be more bodies. We looked attentively for
the reason and found it: at the side of a corpse, where there was a
free space, a fresh corpse suddenly appeared: apparently the earth was
throwing them up. And all the unoccupied spaces filled rapidly, and the
earth grew lighter from the light pink bodies, that were lying side by
side with their feet towards us. And the room grew lighter filled with
a light pink dead light.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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