Chapter 5 Chapter 2 Pain Before Dying

When the light of the sun and stars dimmed, dimmed... the two men with their hands folded in front of their stomachs dragged their heavy and slow steps, walking in circles one after the other beside the white tomb, The cacophony of voices sings mournful hymns. ...the soul leaves the body, Up to heaven, up to heaven... Someone died.Who is it?I tried to turn my head, maybe I could see the coffin of the dead man and the candle stuck next to his head. ...where there will be no more night, It's always bright there... I finally opened my eyes.But saw no one else, except them two and me,—no one here.Who are they giving their dying prayers to?

. . . the ever-shine star, It's Jesus, it's Jesus. It was a funeral, no doubt, a proper funeral.Who are they burying?who is hereJust the two of them and me.Ah, it's for me.Maybe it's my funeral?But people, listen, it's a misunderstanding.I am not dead.I'm alive.You see, am I looking at you and talking to you?stop now.Don't bury me. If anyone wants us to die forever, Eternal rest, eternal rest... They did not hear.Are they all deaf?Am I not talking loud enough?Maybe I'm really dead so they can't hear my non-physical voice?But here lies my body, and I am watching my own funeral.It's funny.

. . . put your fiery eyes on Turn to heaven, turn to heaven... I remember now.Someone once laboriously lifted me up, dressed me, and put me on a stretcher.Footsteps in hobnailed boots rattled down the corridor, and then...that was all.I don't know more.Can't remember either. ...there is the home of eternal light... And all this is so boring.I live.I feel a dull ache and thirst.The dead don't thirst after all.I tried my best to make a gesture, and finally a strange and unnatural voice came out of my mouth: "Drink water." It worked out.The two men stopped circling.They bent over me, and one of them raised my head and brought a jug of water to my mouth.

"My friend, you should eat something too. It's been two days, and you just keep drinking water, drinking water..." What did he say to me?It's been two days.What day of the week is it? "Monday." Monday.I was arrested on Friday.How heavy the head is! The water is so cool.sleep.A drop of water fell into the mountain spring, and ripples appeared on the clear water.This is the spring water in the meadow in the mountains, I know, it flows near the forester's hut at the foot of Rockland Mountain... The continuous #*#饭江yak* falls on the needles of the pine trees...Sleep is so sweet Ugh... When I woke up again, it was already Tuesday night.A dog is standing in front of me.This is a police dog.It stared at me inquiringly with beautiful and intelligent eyes and asked, "Where do you live?"

Ah, no, it's not a dog.It's a human voice.Yes, there was another man standing in front of me, and I saw a pair of high boots, and another pair and uniform trousers.I can't see it any higher, and if I want to look, my head will feel dizzy.blind. Whatever it does, let me sleep... Wednesday. The two men who had sung the hymns were now sitting at the table, eating from clay plates.I can already recognize them.One younger, one older, they don't look like monks.The vault was not a vault at all, but a common cell, as is common in all prisons, with the floor stretching as far as my eyes could see, until at the end, there was a heavy black door... The key unlocked with a sound, The two men immediately jumped up and stood upright.Two SS men in uniform came in and ordered me to be dressed,--I didn't realize how much pain was hidden in every trouser leg, every sleeve. They put me on a stretcher and carried me down the stairs, Boots with iron clasps made a dull sound in the long corridor... This corridor, they carried me once when I was unconscious.Where does this corridor lead to?To what hell does it lead?

They carried me to a dark and gloomy reception room in the Gestapo prison in Pankrates, and put the stretcher on the floor.A Czech interpreted in a friendly voice the German's growling interrogation. "do you know her?" I rest my chin on my hand.In front of my stretcher stood a young, broad-faced girl.She held her head proudly, and stood upright, not stubborn but dignified, but her eyes were slightly lowered to the point where she could just see me and greet me with them. "I don't recognize her." I remembered that I had seen her during that crazy night at the Peček Palace.This is the second meeting.Unfortunately, there will never be a third meeting—to shake her hand and salute her for the majesty she stands proudly here.She is the wife of Anosta Lorenz.She was executed just days after martial law began in 1942.

"But you must know this man." Anichka Eraskova ?My God, Anitchka, how did you end up here?I didn't say your name, you have nothing to do with me, I don't know you, do you understand?We are strangers. "I do not know her." "Just understand, old man." "I do not know her." "It's useless, Yura," said Anichka, only the slight trembling of her fingers gripping the handkerchief showed her inner agitation. "It's useless, I've been betrayed." "Who?" "Shut up." Someone interrupted her answer, and when she bent down to offer me her hand, they pushed her away hard.

Anicka. I can't hear the rest of the questioning anymore.As if watching from a distance and without pain, I vaguely felt that two SS men were carrying me back to my cell.They jolted the stretcher violently and asked me, laughing, if I would swing with the noose around my neck. Thursday. I already have some awareness of my surroundings.The younger one was called Karel, and he called the older one "Papa."They told me some of their experiences, but it all got confused in my head, there was some mine, some kids sitting on stools, and I heard the bell ringing, and there must have been a fire somewhere.It is said that doctors and SS nurses came to see me every day and said that my condition was not very serious and that I would soon become a man again.That was what "Father" said, and he stuck to it, and Karlick echoed it so enthusiastically that I felt, even in this situation, that they were trying to comfort me with kind words.What kind people, it's a pity I can't believe their words.

afternoon. The door of the cell opened, and a dog crept in on tiptoe.It stopped next to my head, examining me carefully.Two pairs of high boots—now I know: one belonged to the owner of the dog, the warden of the Pankratz prison, and the other belonged to the Gestapo anti-communist chief who interrogated me that night.Then I saw a pair of civilian pants.I looked up the trousers, yes, I know this guy, he's the lanky Gestapo chief.He sat down on the chair and began to interrogate: "You have lost. At least you have to think for yourself. Hurry up." He handed me a cigarette.I don't want to smoke, and I can't pinch it.

"How long have you lived with the Baksa family?" At Baksa's house.Even this is known.Who told them? "Look, we know everything. Tell me." Now that you know everything, what do you need me to say?How can I tarnish my innocence at the time of my death when I have lived a meaningful life? The interrogation lasted an hour.Instead of yelling, they patiently cross-examined.Before one question has been answered, a second, a third, a tenth are raised. "Don't you understand? It's all over, understand? You're totally lost." "I'm the only one who lost."

"Do you still believe that the Communist Party will win?" "of course." "Does he still believe—does he still believe that Russia will win?" asked the section chief in German, and the lanky chief interpreted for him. "Of course. There will be no other ending." I am very tired.I concentrated all my energy on it, but now my consciousness is fading quickly, like blood flowing from a deep wound.I also feel how they reach out to me—perhaps they see the mark of death on my brow.Indeed, in some countries it is even customary for the executioner to kiss the executed person before execution. night. Two men, with folded arms, walked in circles one behind the other, singing a mournful hymn in drawn-out discordant tones: When the light of the sun and stars fades, fades . . . alas, people Ah, people, stop it.This may be a beautiful song, but today, today is the eve of May Day; the eve of the most beautiful and joyous festival for mankind.I tried to sing a happy song, but it was perhaps sadder, because Karlick turned away, and "Pop" wiped his eyes.Let it go, I don't care, I keep singing mine.Slowly they also sang with me.I fell asleep satisfied. Early morning of May Day. The clock in the prison's small bell tower struck three times.This is the first time since I have been here that I have heard the bell clearly.It was also the first time I was fully conscious since my arrest.I feel the air is fresh, the wind gently blows the straw mats on the floor from the open window, I feel the stubble pricking my chest and belly, and every cell in my body feels pain in strange ways, making me even Breathing is very difficult.Suddenly, as if a window opened, I understood: this is the end.I'm dying. Death, you are so late.I certainly hope to see you many years later.I still want to live a free life, work more, love more, sing more and travel the world.You must know that I am in the prime of life and still have a lot of strength.And now I have no strength, only my last breath. I love life and I fight for its goodness.I love you, people, and I am happy when you love me back in return; I am miserable when you do not understand me.If I have offended anyone, please forgive me.If I have comforted anyone, please forget me.Never let my name be associated with sorrow.This is my will to you, fathers, mothers, sisters: this is my will to you, my Gustina; this is my will to you, my comrades; this is my will to all I have ever A will of a loved one.If you feel that tears can wash away your sad thoughts, then cry for a while. But don't be sad.I lived for joy, I died for joy, and it would be unjust to me if you put an angel of sorrow on my grave. May 1st.At this time in previous years, we had already gathered in the outskirts of the city and prepared our flags.At this moment, the vanguard of the May Day parade on the streets of Moscow is already marching.And now, at this very same moment, millions are fighting the final struggle for human freedom, and thousands are falling in the struggle.I am one of them.And how magnificent it is to be one of the warriors of this final struggle but not so much the agony of dying.I feel suffocated, out of breath.I heard how the whirring sounded in my throat.This will wake up my fellow inmates, maybe a little water to moisten the throat... But the water in the jar is all gone, over there, in the urinal in the corner of the cell, only six steps away from me Have enough water.Do I still have the strength to climb there? I crawled on my stomach, crawling softly, very lightly, as if the most important thing in dying was not to wake anyone up, and I finally made it, drinking greedily from the urinal. I don't know how long I was there, or how long it took me to climb back.My consciousness is fading again.I felt for the pulse in my hand, but couldn't feel it at all.The heart rushed to the mouth of the throat and fell down sharply.I also fell with it.It fell for a long time.Just then, I heard Karlick's voice: "Papa, Papa, listen, the poor man is dead." The doctor came in the morning. All this I did not know until much later. The doctor came, examined me, and shook his head.Later, when he returned to the infirmary, he tore up the death certificate on which my name had been filled last night, and said in a professional tone, "It's just a horse."