Darkness at Noon_A Novel by Arthur Koestler

Author:Arthur Koestler [Koestler, Arthur]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Literary, Political, Psychological
ISBN: 9781982135225
Google: NwuUDwAAQBAJ
Publisher: Simon and Schuster
Published: 2019-09-17T20:41:22+00:00

6.

Three days before the deadline set by Ivanov, while the evening soup was being dispensed, Rubashov sensed that something unusual was in the air. He couldn’t say exactly why: the meal was delivered according to the usual routine, the melancholy melody signaling the end of the day was sounded punctually at the prescribed time—nevertheless Rubashov felt a tension in the air. Perhaps one of the soup trusties had looked at him differently, a shade more meaningfully than usual, or perhaps the old warder’s voice had had a particular undertone. Rubashov couldn’t decide, but he was incapable of working; he felt the tension in his nerves the way a rheumatic feels the approaching storm.

After the second bugle sounded he peered out into the corridor; as always, the electric bulbs, darkened by accumulated dead flies, had insufficient power, and burned with only half their intensity, spilling their dreary light across the tile floors. But today the silence of the corridor seemed more absolute and hopeless than ever. Rubashov lay down on his cot, then got back up, forced himself to write a few lines, stubbed out his cigarette and lit a new one. He looked down into the yard; the thawing snow was dirty and soft, the sky was overcast, and the sentry posted on the outer wall paced off his hundred steps, shouldering his rifle and bayonet. Rubashov again looked through the spy hole: stillness, desolation, and electric light.

Against his custom, and in spite of the late hour, Rubashov began a conversation with Number 402. ARE YOU SLEEPING? he tapped.

For a while there was nothing and as Rubashov waited, he was embarrassed that he actually felt disappointed. Then came the answer, more quietly and slowly than was 402’s usual style:

NO—YOU FEEL IT TOO?

FEEL—WHAT? asked Rubashov. His breathing was heavy; he had lain down on the cot and was tapping with his pince-nez.

Again it took 402 a while to answer. Then he tapped so quietly it sounded as though he wanted to speak with an especially soft voice:

IT’S BETTER IF YOU SLEEP.

Rubashov lay still on his cot and was ashamed that Number 402 could suddenly talk down to him like that. He lay on his back in the dark and looked at the pince-nez he was holding in his half-raised hand beside the wall. The silence in the corridor was so thick he felt it rushing in his ears. Suddenly the ticking in the wall resumed:

STRANGE—THAT YOU SENSED IT RIGHT AWAY . . .

SENSED WHAT? TELL ME! Rubashov tapped, and sat back up on the cot.

Number 402 seemed to reflect for a moment. After a short hesitation he tapped lightly:

POLITICAL DIFFERENCES ARE BEING SETTLED TONIGHT . . .

Rubashov understood. He sat leaning against the wall, in the dark, and waited for more. But Number 402 didn’t say anything else. After a while Rubashov tapped:

EXECUTIONS?

YES, answered 402 laconically.

HOW DO YOU KNOW? asked Rubashov.

FROM HARELIP.

AT WHAT TIME? asked Rubashov.

I DON’T KNOW. Then, after a pause: SOON.

DO YOU KNOW NAMES? asked Rubashov.

NO, answered 402. But after another pause he added:

YOUR KIND.

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