HOME | DD

Description
The jailer opened the creaking door of the lockup, making great blaster. He did not dare to step in: he stuck at the doorstep and started gazing at the Admiral. The Admiral was sitting on his hard boardbed. His hair was ebony, his noose was similar to the beak of an eagle, and his Byzanthine face and eyes seemed restless. He was praying. His eyes gazed the floor but somehow they still lost into the faraway. The jailer was still faltering. He was relucant to disturb the celestial spheres. But finally he got fed up and opened his mouth:
-Your Excellency!
The Admiral shaked his head in a disturbing way. His eyes were full of indignation.
-You know, my lord, the time is...
The man rose up from bed. With slow, dignified, even gloomy steps he walked into the directoon of the bars. For a moment the eyes showcased his troubled soul. But then this mirror of his heart was closed and than he showed endless tranquility and resignation. Upon this time his steps became faster, altough still graceful and measured. The guard tagged at his heels, but did not do anything. The floor seemed neverending, while the faint, Siberian sunshine flooded its walls. At the end of the floor there was a door. The man opened it himself and stepped in.
Inside the room it was warm and frowsty. Smells of vodka and must were mixing in the air. Here it was dark: the sunshine from the floor disappeared. The whole place had the feeling of an execution chamber. Enormous red flag on the wall; small and lacy white cover on the table. And on the end of the table sat the Comissar. He was a man with a sick, morbidly bony face. His greasy, black hair flew down his crag like it was pitch. As he was rocking with his chair, his long and hawkish nose was dangling in the air. He looked like some large and grotesque ravening bird. As the prisoner entered the room, he immediately stopped rocking. The iron legs of his chair landed on the floor with a great bang. Than there was silence. Dark, cold and deadly silence. The dreamy eyes of the Admiral met the cunning look of the Comissar. It was like even there eyes were fighting each other. But the madness was the same in both!
The prisoner stopped in fornt of the lacy table. Than the Comissar said:
-Convict! You were sentenced to death for the charcges of high treason and collaboration with the interventionist army. You are to be executed today.
The Admiral nodded calmly. He remained silent. The Comissar did not see, could not see the the wild seadrift, churning in his eyes. This explosive mix of fear and reckless bravery remained unseen for the Comissar: for whom himself is living in constant noise, for him noise is the silence.
But ever since he did not see this, he became angry and fell out from his composure:
-Nothing to say, eh?! Sergey! Shake him!
It was an order for the guard. The small private blenched. He was a meek muzhik boy, not used to be rude with the gentlemen. The old gentlemen or the new tovarische: it was the same for him. He was only capable of submission and inclination of the head. So for these reasons he was just standing there, gazing down to the floor. Finally the Comissar himself jumped up and slapped the prisoner twice! And than with this vein, the small and nervous man fell back onto his chair. It all looked like being the same acrobatic movement. But the Admiral did not fell anywhere. He was standing still. Two red roses formed on his ivory white face, but no pained look appeared on his face as whole.
-Why are you silent? -the Comissar bawled-Are you the "Supreme Ruler of Russia"?
- Thou hast said: nevertheless I say unto you-the Admiral replied.
-Than you won't be! You will die! Get it? You will be dead very soon! We will shot you and toss into a pit or put your body into the icy river! You will ro there! Aren't you crying for mercy?!
-May God have mercy on me.
God. "God". For the short madman, hearing this word felt like being branded with hot iron. His eyes were already in flames. While the self-destructive (self)hate of the Admiral was clawing and butching his own soul, the hate of the Comissar was infalimg the outside world. He hated the whole World!
-There is no God! No kind of god or deity exists! There is no heaven! You will rot in the ground. But before we will shot and kill you, and no god will save you!
-No!-the Admiral opened his mouth. He was not speaking to the Comissar, but himself and to the outside world. His dreamy sight lost again in the faraway.-He will not save me! Because death is the destiny for all of us. I am not seeking God's mercy on the Earth. I have hope in the afterlife! If a tovarisch dies, he indeed will rot in the cold ground. But I..I will to day will be in the paradise with Saint George and Archangel Michael!

The Comissar burst into laugh:
-Do you beleieve in fairy tales, General?
-No. Not in fairy tales, but I do believe! I do not know, but I do believe. Because consider it: what if you are right and I am not. Than I shall indeed rot in the cold ground, just like you. Because than after life there is nothing: the noting itself. But, until that! Until that I do believe, I do hope! I have hope. Religion and faith in fact is not about preparing for the afterlife. It is about always having hope. There is no situation, in which my hope would leave me. And you know, what is Hell? No, that is not the place, what uneducated muzhik folk imagines. Hell is not a place, where sinfl souls are bawling in boilng oil and terrible fire, while devils are using sharp metal to sting them, tore apart their flesh and push them into lava. No! Hell is on the Earth! It is not created by God, but by men. Atheists are creating their own hell for themselves. Hell is a life without hope. It is the feeling, that one day you will die, and there will be nothing: only Nothing!
The Comissar was bawling, shuting and gasping no more. He sank sickly into his chair. There was silence. But this silence was a silent one. The Comissar with glassy eyes was gazing the silence. The fire burnt out.
-Sergeant! Take the prisonder away! The sentence shall be carried out today at 12!
The carry-out was done in an orderly fashion. The soldiers fired and the bullets burst themselves into the heart and brain of the Admiral. Pink petals of his brains landed silently on the cold ground. His body followed his barin in coming down to the ground. With his sad, gazing and mad eyes he was observing the world in his last moments too. And these eyes were burning with cold fire, even after his death, when his dead body had been sunk into the icy river.
The Admiral died. But on that day, another man died too in the snowy Siberian town.
In the afternoon, the Sergeant knocked on the door of the Comissar. No answer came. Than again. Silence. The Sergeant finally pushed the door and moved in. The Comissar was dangling in the air above his desk. His yellowish skin was blue now, with his face became black from choking. His enourmous mouth was wide open, like if it was aiming to swallow the ceiling. His eyes did not preserved the fire, but neither they became sad. They were desperate, dark and empty.
The soldier found a note on the desk. With the diffuse, almost impossible-to-read letters f the Comissar it was written:
"The grave is cold.
The sky is empty."

Description
The jailer opened the creaking door of the lockup, making great blaster. He did not dare to step in: he stuck at the doorstep and started gazing at the Admiral. The Admiral was sitting on his hard boardbed. His hair was ebony, his noose was similar to the beak of an eagle, and his Byzanthine face and eyes seemed restless. He was praying. His eyes gazed the floor but somehow they still lost into the faraway. The jailer was still faltering. He was relucant to disturb the celestial spheres. But finally he got fed up and opened his mouth:
-Your Excellency!
The Admiral shaked his head in a disturbing way. His eyes were full of indignation.
-You know, my lord, the time is...
The man rose up from bed. With slow, dignified, even gloomy steps he walked into the directoon of the bars. For a moment the eyes showcased his troubled soul. But then this mirror of his heart was closed and than he showed endless tranquility and resignation. Upon this time his steps became faster, altough still graceful and measured. The guard tagged at his heels, but did not do anything. The floor seemed neverending, while the faint, Siberian sunshine flooded its walls. At the end of the floor there was a door. The man opened it himself and stepped in.
Inside the room it was warm and frowsty. Smells of vodka and must were mixing in the air. Here it was dark: the sunshine from the floor disappeared. The whole place had the feeling of an execution chamber. Enormous red flag on the wall; small and lacy white cover on the table. And on the end of the table sat the Comissar. He was a man with a sick, morbidly bony face. His greasy, black hair flew down his crag like it was pitch. As he was rocking with his chair, his long and hawkish nose was dangling in the air. He looked like some large and grotesque ravening bird. As the prisoner entered the room, he immediately stopped rocking. The iron legs of his chair landed on the floor with a great bang. Than there was silence. Dark, cold and deadly silence. The dreamy eyes of the Admiral met the cunning look of the Comissar. It was like even there eyes were fighting each other. But the madness was the same in both!
The prisoner stopped in fornt of the lacy table. Than the Comissar said:
-Convict! You were sentenced to death for the charcges of high treason and collaboration with the interventionist army. You are to be executed today.
The Admiral nodded calmly. He remained silent. The Comissar did not see, could not see the the wild seadrift, churning in his eyes. This explosive mix of fear and reckless bravery remained unseen for the Comissar: for whom himself is living in constant noise, for him noise is the silence.
But ever since he did not see this, he became angry and fell out from his composure:
-Nothing to say, eh?! Sergey! Shake him!
It was an order for the guard. The small private blenched. He was a meek muzhik boy, not used to be rude with the gentlemen. The old gentlemen or the new tovarische: it was the same for him. He was only capable of submission and inclination of the head. So for these reasons he was just standing there, gazing down to the floor. Finally the Comissar himself jumped up and slapped the prisoner twice! And than with this vein, the small and nervous man fell back onto his chair. It all looked like being the same acrobatic movement. But the Admiral did not fell anywhere. He was standing still. Two red roses formed on his ivory white face, but no pained look appeared on his face as whole.
-Why are you silent? -the Comissar bawled-Are you the "Supreme Ruler of Russia"?
- Thou hast said: nevertheless I say unto you-the Admiral replied.
-Than you won't be! You will die! Get it? You will be dead very soon! We will shot you and toss into a pit or put your body into the icy river! You will ro there! Aren't you crying for mercy?!
-May God have mercy on me.
God. "God". For the short madman, hearing this word felt like being branded with hot iron. His eyes were already in flames. While the self-destructive (self)hate of the Admiral was clawing and butching his own soul, the hate of the Comissar was infalimg the outside world. He hated the whole World!
-There is no God! No kind of god or deity exists! There is no heaven! You will rot in the ground. But before we will shot and kill you, and no god will save you!
-No!-the Admiral opened his mouth. He was not speaking to the Comissar, but himself and to the outside world. His dreamy sight lost again in the faraway.-He will not save me! Because death is the destiny for all of us. I am not seeking God's mercy on the Earth. I have hope in the afterlife! If a tovarisch dies, he indeed will rot in the cold ground. But I..I will to day will be in the paradise with Saint George and Archangel Michael!

The Comissar burst into laugh:
-Do you beleieve in fairy tales, General?
-No. Not in fairy tales, but I do believe! I do not know, but I do believe. Because consider it: what if you are right and I am not. Than I shall indeed rot in the cold ground, just like you. Because than after life there is nothing: the noting itself. But, until that! Until that I do believe, I do hope! I have hope. Religion and faith in fact is not about preparing for the afterlife. It is about always having hope. There is no situation, in which my hope would leave me. And you know, what is Hell? No, that is not the place, what uneducated muzhik folk imagines. Hell is not a place, where sinfl souls are bawling in boilng oil and terrible fire, while devils are using sharp metal to sting them, tore apart their flesh and push them into lava. No! Hell is on the Earth! It is not created by God, but by men. Atheists are creating their own hell for themselves. Hell is a life without hope. It is the feeling, that one day you will die, and there will be nothing: only Nothing!
The Comissar was bawling, shuting and gasping no more. He sank sickly into his chair. There was silence. But this silence was a silent one. The Comissar with glassy eyes was gazing the silence. The fire burnt out.
-Sergeant! Take the prisonder away! The sentence shall be carried out today at 12!
The carry-out was done in an orderly fashion. The soldiers fired and the bullets burst themselves into the heart and brain of the Admiral. Pink petals of his brains landed silently on the cold ground. His body followed his barin in coming down to the ground. With his sad, gazing and mad eyes he was observing the world in his last moments too. And these eyes were burning with cold fire, even after his death, when his dead body had been sunk into the icy river.
The Admiral died. But on that day, another man died too in the snowy Siberian town.
In the afternoon, the Sergeant knocked on the door of the Comissar. No answer came. Than again. Silence. The Sergeant finally pushed the door and moved in. The Comissar was dangling in the air above his desk. His yellowish skin was blue now, with his face became black from choking. His enourmous mouth was wide open, like if it was aiming to swallow the ceiling. His eyes did not preserved the fire, but neither they became sad. They were desperate, dark and empty.
The soldier found a note on the desk. With the diffuse, almost impossible-to-read letters f the Comissar it was written:
"The grave is cold.
The sky is empty."