7e%?ooooo}. <x *o The Scythian Yes: in the rounds of time: a captive body, making a racket, frenzied; and in a cloud of dust: the countenance of a stooping Scythian, bent in the rusty specks of dust, beaten up by hooves, shaking a red, orange shaft of drowsy antiquity, grinning wildly,galloped, galloped (after the Persian, a flickering miter): the Scythianbarefoot, stout-heeled, in patched-up old trousers, hanging from the skin like a not skinned hide, shaggy, pock-marked; a green and wenchlike stomach pushing out above the trousers, he smiles with a navel in the shaggy ribs, from which flabby overhangs babble weakly: a stupefying smell was borne spicily: of caraway grasses; howls of the lance through the air,in an arc; and the pinned by the neck Persian, sticking to the nape, senseless from pain, glittering from the golden metals of the miter,and he gallops, and cries; but the red sun, sitting down where it has been burned,a brown circle: denseness, darkness; only the feet of the horses stamp, burdened in time; in the cloud of dust only two bodies pound, stooping:of the slanteyed, wild Scythian, shouting with a raging grin, and of the dead Persian; andyes: a big arc was drawn by the times: the galloping was bound up in a consolidation of dust; my body issolid dust; and it gallops under my little breast, gallops in my little head; and I am torn apart in gallopings of thought, in gallopings of the heart: so it is in the body: in mine! is con-summated the run along the minutes: both of the dead Persian and of the wild Scythian; hooves pound; in the little breasta growing little lump, a bloody little lump: my Scythian! sending with red lances of dreamy arteries poison; and from it an outpouring motley of Persian ornaments of thought, grow dark with the misty masses in the frosted, in the soft, in my! brain!.. And with leaden pains the deadman gallops along the little head... . . . . . . . The picture which I saw,was Papa with a nail, he raises an enormous fragment of the past: o, it is recalled! Papa once set the curtains on fire with a burning lamp, leaning over masses of books, near the window; the walls flared up shiningly, but he, tearing off the curtains, with his altogether bluntnosed heels stamped the crimson tufts of the dressing gown sticking to the floors in the bleakbrown soot; he stood, besmeared with soot, in the soot; and, very satisfied, he laughed at the exclamations: You ought to get a firemans helmet!.. Thus he became a fireman!.. Beyond this event of memory, I felt, another event taking a seatan ancient one, ancient one: in the rage of the flame were recalled greater rages: wild ones, Scythian ones! . . . . . . Everything there is hangs: paper, wallpaper, the roll-up shades, a whisper of damask materials; and everything turns into the lace of soot after, a kerosine, red-black phoo-phooeying pillar from the lamp, which they had not turned down, beat into the ceiling: in me decompose to ashes cobwebs, hairs, the felt of our apartment into a bloody fire; and like the curtain, the flaring darkness of the surrounding flies up,into the past: I seeout of the dust, out of the caraway: the Scythian and the Persian (their struggle is in me)! here the little lump started to stamp under the little breast; andto the little throat; the vein on the neck pounds; pitter-pattered in the little rib I wait until there will rise up a deaf wall, like a roll-up shade, with very soft red creases in a red ray of the lance penetrating the brow: to expose the horrors of a multitude of decomposing rooms, widening away from me, like a ravine; into the expanses thereI walk, past walls, smashed apart, accurately cut apart in red bricks to the right, and to the left: thereinto my past, I see walled breaks, decorated by a sunny peal of laughter, beating from distances, fallen apart into chiseled, bigheaded brows by the bass of babbling stone wenches, tearing apart their biglipped mouths; to the right some malicious deadhead has gone mad and doublepawed grabbed over the stone belly, like a silly post, with fingerless stones; I see to the left: someone has fixed his chiseled-through navel; andit seems bright-orange, rusted, grabbed around by a flame of threatening fires; crushed stones clink from the rotten countenance onto the marl: kee ka! some sort of countenances, some sort of keekee! from where, out of the red I see: a Scythian; he whoops wildly, grabbing with his fivefingered hand the sparkling in the air lance and tries to smash the air to smithereens with the suddenly whistling, like a meteor, point, writing in a whirl a malicious arc on my little brow; and the little brow cracksa broken lampglass; I fall, the Persian, bleeding; on red circles, rapidly beating out from my little eyes, splashes out my life!  The Christened Chinaman The Scythian  vx-des,ned down, beat into the ceiling- ing stone wenches, tearing apart their biglipped mouths; to the right some malicious deadhead has gone mad and doublepawed grabbed over the stone belly, like a silly post, with fingerless stones; I see to the left: someone has fixed his chiseled through navel; andit seems bright-orange, rusted, grabbed around by a flame of threatening fires; crushed stones$%,-./FGHOR^`abdem@X2Ur;EQ ȼth\PG> h   hT  h  h  h  h  h  hT  h \  h h  h  h hhhh ! p v/6=p%&'()*+,|pdXLGGGGGGG  hT  h D  h  hp  h  h h \  h  h h   h, h h  hx  h ,-GHIJKLMNPQbcde  hT  @ `   @ `    @   @  # ee ejPkl#>Am  ,e  xyz{HH(FG(HH(d'@=/ @ j@H -:LaserWriter ( (