But don't they tie a bandage across my eyes? Or won't they blindfold
me because I am so weak and tearful? But then everything will be dark,
and I shall lie blindly, unable even to count the threads in the cloth
before my eyes.
How stupidly mistaken I was when I hoped to be able to turn my eyes upward and behold the blessed vault of heaven. They will turn me over, on my stomach, with my neck in a clamp. And I shall be able to see nothing because of my bandaged eyes.
Probably there will be a small box suspended below me; and I cannot even see the little box which I know will catch my severed head.
Only night—a seething darkness around me. I blink my eyes and believe myself still alive—I have life in my fingers, even—I cling stubbornly to life. If they would only take off the bandage so I could see something—I might enjoy looking at the dust grains in the bottom of the box and see how tiny they were….
Silence and Darkness. Mute exhalations from the crowds….
Merciful God! Grant me one supplication—take off the bandage!
Merciful God! I am Thy creature—take off the bandage!
Everybody was silent when he was through. Ojen drank; Milde was busy with a spot on his vest, and did not understand a word of what he had heard; he lifted his glass to the Journalist and whispered:
"Your health!"
Mrs. Hanka spoke first; she smiled to Ojen and said, out of the goodness of her heart:
"Oh, you Ojen, you Ojen! How everything you write seems evanescent, ethereal! 'Mute exhalations from the crowds'—I can hear it; I can feel it! It is thrilling!"