Semorov looked out the barred window of his cell to the courtyard below; empty this morning, but he knew he would soon be on his knees on its cobblestones.
Keys jangled outside his cell door. Semorov stepped away from the window and sat on the narrow cot covered with a coarse wool blanket. The lock turned, the door swung open and Babarin, dressed in a blue suit and followed by an armed guard, entered.
“It is time,” Babarin said. “We go.” The armed man drew his pistol and pointed it at Semorov.
Semorov stood. “How many today?”
“Just you,” Babarin replied.
Semorov turned to the guard and smiled. “Today will be an easy day for you, yes? One execution will not over-work your finger.” The guard did not reply.
“This chit-chat is pointless,” Babarin said.
“I was always faithful, Babarin. You know that. She was my life. I loved her. I still do.” He paused, waiting for Babarin to say something. When Babarin didn’t, Semorov said, “I never betrayed the Party.”
“It is no use, Semorov. Nothing can be changed.” Babarin jerked his head toward the cell door. “I am surprised a man of your insight and intellect ignored that old piece of wisdom,” Babarin said as they left the cell.
The three men walked across the courtyard and stopped at the spot where Semorov had, from his second story window, seen many men get on their knees for the last time. Sometimes he wondered if the kneeling men ever prayed. He knew when his turn came he would not pray to a god that didn’t exist.
The rough cobblestones hurt Semorov’s knees. He felt something cold and hard press against the base of his skull, heard a metallic click. “Babarin!” he shouted. “What piece of wisdom did I ignore?”
“Be careful what you wish for. You may get it,” were the last words Semorov heard.
Keys jangled outside his cell door. Semorov stepped away from the window and sat on the narrow cot covered with a coarse wool blanket. The lock turned, the door swung open and Babarin, dressed in a blue suit and followed by an armed guard, entered.
“It is time,” Babarin said. “We go.” The armed man drew his pistol and pointed it at Semorov.
Semorov stood. “How many today?”
“Just you,” Babarin replied.
Semorov turned to the guard and smiled. “Today will be an easy day for you, yes? One execution will not over-work your finger.” The guard did not reply.
“This chit-chat is pointless,” Babarin said.
“I was always faithful, Babarin. You know that. She was my life. I loved her. I still do.” He paused, waiting for Babarin to say something. When Babarin didn’t, Semorov said, “I never betrayed the Party.”
“It is no use, Semorov. Nothing can be changed.” Babarin jerked his head toward the cell door. “I am surprised a man of your insight and intellect ignored that old piece of wisdom,” Babarin said as they left the cell.
The three men walked across the courtyard and stopped at the spot where Semorov had, from his second story window, seen many men get on their knees for the last time. Sometimes he wondered if the kneeling men ever prayed. He knew when his turn came he would not pray to a god that didn’t exist.
The rough cobblestones hurt Semorov’s knees. He felt something cold and hard press against the base of his skull, heard a metallic click. “Babarin!” he shouted. “What piece of wisdom did I ignore?”
“Be careful what you wish for. You may get it,” were the last words Semorov heard.
