it, that served him right, that it was he, and not you, who had organized famine in the district ... I have your actual words, do I need to them to you? Is it true?” is false,” Makeyev murmured. is all false.” “It “It And the memory emerged mysteriously from his inner darkness. Alia, her face miserably swollen from crying . . . She held the queen of hearts in a trembling hand, she was shouting, but her wheezy breathless voice could hardly be heard: you, traitor and liar, “And when will some- one kill you?” What could she have thought, what could they have sug- gested to her, the poor simpleton? Was she denouncing him to save him or to ruin him? is true,” he said. ought to explain to you that “It “I it is more false than true, false, false ...” would be wholly useless, Makeyev. If you have the “That remotest chance of salvation, it lies in a complete and sincere confession . . .” The urgent memory of his wife had revived him. He became like himself again, grew sarcastic: the others, you mean?” “Like what are you alluding, Makeyev? What is it that you “To presume to think, counterrevolutionary Makeyev, traitor to the Party, murderer of the Party?” “Nothing.” he collapsed. any case, this may be your last interrogation. It “In may be your last day. A decision may be reached this very evening, Makeyev—did you hear me? Take the prisoner back to his cell.” ... At Kurgansk the man was taken from the prison in a van. Some- times he was informed of his sentence, sometimes he was left in doubt— and that was better, because occasionally men who had no
it, that served him right, that it was he, and not you, who had organized famine in the district ... I have your actual words, do I need to them to you? Is it true?” “It is false,” Makeyev murmured. “It is all false.” And the memory emerged mysteriously from his inner darkness. Alia, her face miserably swollen from crying . . . She held the queen of hearts in a trembling hand, she was shouting, but her wheezy breathless voice could hardly be heard: “And you, traitor and liar, when will some- one kill you?” What could she have thought, what could they have sug- gested to her, the poor simpleton? Was she denouncing him to save him or to ruin him? “It is true,” he said. “I ought to explain to you that it is more false than true, false, false ...” “That would be wholly useless, Makeyev. If you have the remotest chance of salvation, it lies in a complete and sincere confession . . .” The urgent memory of his wife had revived him. He became like himself again, grew sarcastic: “Like the others, you mean?” “To what are you alluding, Makeyev? What is it that you presume to think, counterrevolutionary Makeyev, traitor to the Party, murderer of the Party?” “Nothing.” he collapsed. “In any case, this may be your last interrogation. It may be your last day. A decision may be reached this very evening, Makeyev—did you hear me? Take the prisoner back to his cell.” ... At Kurgansk the man was taken from the prison in a van. Some- times he was informed of his sentence, sometimes he was left in doubt— and that was better, because occasionally men who had no
The%20Case%20of%20Comrade%20Tulayev%20-%20Victor%20Serge.docx