Darkness at Noon - Arthur Koestler [67]
toes on the trampled snow. He had a thin neck, and he constantly nodded his head while speaking, as though repeatingthe amen of a litany. "I too am a political person," he said; "namely, I am a reactionary. They say all reactionaries must be sent away for ten years. Do you think they will send me away for ten years, your honour?" He nodded, and squinted anxiously at the warders in the centre of the roundabout, who formed a small group, stamping their feet, and paying no attention to the prisoners. "What have you done?" asked Rubashov. "I was unmasked as a reactionary at the pricking of the children," said the peasant. "Every year the Government sends a commission out to us. Two years ago, it sent us papers to read and a whole lot of images of itself. Last year it sent a threshing machine and brushes for the teeth. This year it sent little glass pipes with needles, to prick the children. There was a woman in man's trousers; she wanted to prickall the children one after the other. When she came to my house, I and my wife barred the door and unmasked ourselves as reactionaries. Then we all together burnt the papers and the images and broke up the threshing machine; and then a month afterwards they came to take us away." Rubashov murmured something and thought over the continuation of his essay on self-government. It occurred to him that he had once read about the natives of New Guinea, who were intellectually on a level with this peasant, yet lived in complete social harmony and possessed surprisingly developed democratic institutions. They had reached the highest level of a lower lock basin. ... The peasant next to Rubashov took his silence as a sign of disapproval and shrunk even more into himself. His toes were frozen blue; he sighed from time to time; resigned in his fate, he trotted along beside Rubashov. As soon as Rubashov was back in his cell, he went on writing. He believed he had made a discovery in the "law of relative maturity" and wrote in a state of extreme tension. When the midday meal was brought in, he had just finished. He ate up his portion and lay back contentedly on his bunk. He slept for an hour, quietly and dreamlessly, and woke up feeling refreshed. No. 402 had been tapping on his wall for some time; he was obviously feeling neglected. He enquired after Rubashov's new neighbour in the roundabout, whom he had observed from the window, but Rubashov interrupted him. Smiling to himself, he tapped with his pince-nez: I AM CAPITULATING. He waited curiously for the effect. For a long while nothing came; No. 402 was silenced. His answer came a whole minute later: I'D RATHER HANG. ... Rubashov smiled. He tapped: EACH ACCORDING TO HIS KIND. He had expected an outbreak of anger from No. 402. Instead, the tapping sign sounded subdued, as it were, resigned: I WAS INCLINED TO CONSIDER YOU AN EXCEPTION. HAVE YOU NO SPARK OF HONOUR LEFT? Rubashov lay on his back, his pince-nez in his hand. He felt contented and peaceful. He tapped: OUR IDEAS OF HONOUR DIFFER. No. 402 tapped quickly and precisely: HONOUR IS TO LIVE AND DIE FOR ONES BELIEF. Rubashov answered just as quickly: HONOUR IS TO BE USEFUL WITHOUT VANITY. No. 402 answered this time louder and more sharply: HONOUR IS DECENCY--NOT USEFULNESS. WHAT IS DECENCY?asked Rubashov, comfortably spacing the letters. The more calmly he tapped, the more furious became the knocking in the wall. SOMETHING YOUR KIND WILL NEVER UNDERSTAND, answered No. 402 to Rubashov's question. Rubashov shrugged his shoulders: WE HAVE REPLACED DECENCY BY REASON, he tapped back. No. 402 did not answer any more. Before supper Rubashov read through again what he had written. He made one or two corrections, and made a copy of the whole text in the form of a letter, addressed to the Public Prosecutor of the Republic. He underlined the last paragraphs which treated of the alternative courses of action open to the opposition, and ended the document with this concluding sentence: "The undersigned, N. S. Rubashov, former member of the Central Committee of the Party, former Commissar of the People, former