Sanine

He had two lives, as it were; his former life, ample and obvious, which

could not give a thought to death, but ignored it, being concerned

about its own affairs, While hoping to live on for ever, cost what it

might; and another life, mysterious, indefinite, obscure, that, as a

worm in an apple, secretly gnawed at the core of his former life,

poisoning it, making it insufferable.

It was owing to this double life that Semenoff, when at last he found

himself face to face with death and knew that his end was nigh, felt

scarcely any fear. "Already?" That is all he asked, in order to know

exactly what to expect.

When in the faces of those around him he read the answer to his

question, he merely wondered that the end should seem so simple, so

natural, like that of some heavy task, which had overtaxed his powers.

At the same time, by a new and strange inner consciousness he perceived

that it could not be otherwise, and that death was the normal result of

his enfeebled vitality. He only felt sorry that he would never see

anything again. As they took him in a droschky to the hospital, he

gazed about him with wide-opened eyes, striving to note everything at a

glance, grieved that he could not firmly fix in his memory every little

detail of this world with its ample sky, its human beings, its verdure,

and its distant blue horizons. Equally dear, in fact, unspeakably

precious to him, were all the little things that he had never noticed,

as well as those which he had always found full of beauty and

importance; the heaven, dark and vast, with its golden stars, the

driver's gaunt back, in its shabby smock; Novikoff's troubled

countenance; the dusty road; houses with their lighted windows; the

dark trees that silently stayed behind; the jolting wheels; the soft

evening breeze--all that he could see, and hear, and feel.

Later on, in the hospital, his eyes wandered swiftly round the large

room, watching every movement, every figure intently until prevented by

physical pain which produced a sense of utter isolation. His

perceptions were now concentrated in his chest, the source of all his

suffering. Gradually, very gradually, he began to drift away from life.

When now he saw something, it seemed to him strange and meaningless.

The last fight between life and death had begun; it filled his whole

being; it created a new world, strange and lonely, a world of terror,

agony and despairing conflict. Now and again there were more lucid

moments; the pain ceased; his breathing was deeper and calmer, and

through the white veil sounds and shapes became more or less plain. But

all seemed faint and futile, as if they came from afar. He heard sounds

plainly, and then again they were inaudible; the figures moved

noiselessly as those in a cinematograph; familiar faces appeared

strange and he could not recollect them.