"Boris, what is it you want?"

"To talk"--surprised at this unexpected outburst.

"No, no. I mean, what is it all about--these killings, these burnings?"

Karlov was ready at all times to expound the theories that appealed to

his dark yet simple mind--humanity overturned as one overturned the sod

in the springtime to give it new life.

"To give the proletariat what is his."

"Ha!" said the little man on the cot. "What is his?"

"That which capitalism has taken away from him."

"The proletariat. The lowest in the human scale--and therefore the most

helpless. They shall rule, say you. My poor Russia! Beaten and robbed

for centuries, and now betrayed by a handful of madmen--with brains

atrophied on one side! You are a fool, Boris. Your feet are in strange

quicksands and your head among chimeras. You write some words on a piece

of paper, and lo! you say they are facts. Without first proving your

theories correct you would ram them down the throat of the world. The

world rejects you."

"Wait and see, damned bourgeoisie!" thundered Karlov, not alive to the

fact that he was being baited.

"Bourgeoisie? Yes, I am of the middle class; the rogue on top and the

fool below. I see. The rogue and the fool cannot combine unless the

bourgeoisie is obliterated. Go on. I am interested."

"Under the soviet the government shall be everything."

"As it was in Prussia."

Karlov ignored this. "The individual shall never again become rich by

exploiting the poor."

Karlov strove to speak calmly. Gregor's willingness to discuss the aims

of the proletariat confused him. He suspected some ulterior purpose

behind this apparent amiability. He must hold down his fury until this

purpose was in the open.

"Well, that is good," Gregor admitted. "But somehow it sounds ancient on

my ear. Was there not a revolution in France?"

"Fool, it is the world that is revolting!" Karlov paused. "And no man in

the future shall see his sister or his daughter made into a loose woman

without redress."

"Your proletariat's sister and daughter. But the daughter of the noble

and the daughter of the bourgeoisie--fair game!"

Sometimes there enters a man's head what might be called a sick idea;

when the vitality is at low ebb and the future holds nothing. Thus there

was a grim and sick idea behind Gregor's gibes. It was in his mind to

die. All the things he had loved had been destroyed. So then, to goad

this madman into a physical frenzy. Once those gorilla-like hands

reached out for him Stefani Gregor's neck would break.




readonlinefreebook.com Copyright 2016 - 2024