Summary

Yevgeny Zamyatin We — Through Glass—I Died—The Corridor (1924)

I do not remember now where we turned into darkness; in the darkness we walked up some endless stairway in silence. I did not see but I knew, I knew that she walked as I did, with closed eyes, blind, her head thrown a little backward, biting her lips and listening to the music—that is to say, to my almost audible tremor.
I returned to consciousness in one of the innumerable nooks in the courtyard of the Ancient House. There was a fence of earth with naked stone ribs and yellow teeth of walls half fallen to pieces. She opened her eyes and said, “Day after tomorrow at sixteen.” She was gone.
Source: Wikisource

Yevgeny Zamyatin We — Through Glass—I Died—The Corridor (1924)

The yellow eyes twinkled, moved back, and disappeared in the foliage. What a pitiful being! How absurd the idea that he might be happier! Happier than I he may be, but I am an exception, am I not? I am sick.
I noticed that I was approaching the dark red walls of the Ancient House, and I saw the grown-together lips of the old woman. I ran to her as fast as I could.
Source: Wikisource

Yevgeny Zamyatin We — Through Glass—I Died—The Corridor (1924)

I walked, I think, for about twenty minutes. A turn to the right, the corridor became wider, the small lamps brighter. There was a dim droning somewhere . . . Was it a machine or voices? I did not know. I stood before heavy, opaque door from behind which came the noise. I knocked. Then I knocked again, louder. Now there was silence behind the door. Something clanked; the door opened slowly and heavily.
I don’t know which of us was the more dumfounded; the thin, blade-like doctor stood before me!
Source: Wikisource

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