Laurent was excited to extreme degree. She felt that here some secret disappears.
In the opinion of the head the boundless melancholy shone. Eyes asked, begged, demanded. It seemed, all force of a human thought, all tension of will concentrated in this look.
Laurent decided.
Her heart strongly fought, the hand shivered when it carefully slightly opened the crane.
Immediately from a throat of the head hissing was heard. Laurent heard the weak, deaf, cracked voice jingling and hissing as the spoiled record player:
– I thank… you…
The forbidden crane passed the air compressed in the cylinder. Passing through a head throat, air set throat sheaves in motion, and the head had an opportunity to speak. Muscles of a throat and a sheaf could not work already normally: air with hissing passed through a throat and when the head did not speak. And the section of nervous trunks in a neck broke normal muscle work of vocal chords and gave to a voice of the deaf, the jingling timbre.
The person of the head expressed satisfaction.
But at this moment steps from an office and a sound of the opened lock were heard (the door of laboratory was always closed by a key from an office). Laurent hardly managed to close the crane. Hissing in a throat of the head stopped.
Professor Kern entered.
THE HEAD STARTED TALKING
Since Laurent revealed a secret of the forbidden crane, passed about a week.
During this time between Laurent and the head even more friendly relations were established. In those hours when professor Kern went to university or clinic, Laurent opened the crane, sending a small current of air that the head could speak distinct whisper to a head throat. Quietly spoke also Laurent. They were afraid that the Black did not uslykhat their conversation.
Their talk, probably, well affected the head of professor Douel. Eyes became more live, and even mournful wrinkles between eyebrows were smoothed.
The head spoke much and willingly, as if rewarding itself during the compelled silence.
Last night Laurent dreamed the head of professor Douel and, having woken up, thought: Whether «Douel’s head has dreams?»
– Dreams … – were quietly whispered by the head. – Yes, I have dreams. And I do not know what more they deliver to me: grief or joy. I dream myself healthy, full of strength and I wake up twice unfortunate. Disadvantaged both physically, and morally. I am deprived of everything that to well living people. And only ability to think is left to me. «I think. Therefore, I exist» – with a bitter smile the head of the word of the philosopher Descartes quoted. – I exist…
– What do you dream?
– I never before saw myself in my present look. I see myself such what was once… I see the family, friends… Recently saw the late wife and endured with her spring of our love. Bettie once addressed me as the patient, having injured a leg at an exit from the car. Our first acquaintance was in my reception office. We somehow approached at once it. After the fourth visit I suggested it to look at the portrait of my bride lying on a desk. «I marry it if I receive its consent» – I told. It approached a table and uvidat on it a small mirror; having looked at it, she burst out laughing and told: «I think… she will not refuse». In a week she was my wife. This scene rushed before me in a dream recently… Бетги died here, in Paris. You know, I arrived from America as the surgeon here during the European war. Offered me department here, and I remained to live near expensive grave. My wife was the surprising woman…
The person of the head brightened up from memoirs, but was immediately saddened.
– As this time is infinitely far!
The head thought. Air quietly hissed in a throat.
– Last night I dreamed my son. I very much would like to look at it once again. But I do not dare to put it on this trial… For it I died.
– It is the adult? Where it is now?
– Yes, adult. It with you or is a little more senior than nearly one years. Graduated from university. Now has to be in England, at the aunt on mother. No, it is better not to have dreams. But me – the head continued, having kept silent – torment not only dreams. In reality I am tormented by false feelings. Strangely enough, sometimes it seems to me that I feel the body. I suddenly will want to sigh a full breast, to stretch, straighten widely hands as it is done by the sat-up person. And sometimes I feel gouty left leg pain. Isn’t that so, ridiculously? Though as to the doctor it has to be clear to you. Pain is so real that I involuntarily look down down and, of course, through glass I see under myself empty space, stone plates of a floor… From time to time it seems to me that now the suffocation attack will begin, and then I am almost happy with the «posthumous existence» saving me at least from asthma… All this purely reflex activity of the brain cages connected once with body life…
– Awfully!. – did not keep Laurent.
– Yes, it is awful… Strange, during lifetime it seemed to me that I lived one brainwork. I, the right, somehow did not notice the body, all shipped in scientific occupations. And, having only lost a body, I felt what I lost. Now, more than ever for all my life, I think of smells of flowers, fragrant hay somewhere on the fringe of the forest, of distant walks on foot, noise of a sea surf… I did not lose sense of smell, touch and other feelings, but I am cut off from all variety of the world of feelings. The smell of hay is good in the field when it is connected with one thousand other feelings: and with a wood smell, and with beauty of the burning-down dawn, and with songs of forest birds. Artificial smells could not replace to me natural. A smell of perfume «Rose» instead of a flower? It would also satisfy me a little as hungry began to smell paste without paste. Having lost a body, I lost the world – all immense, wonderful world of things which I did not notice, of things which can be taken, to touch, and at the same time to feel the body, myself. Oh, I willingly would give my chimerical existence for one joy to feel weight of a simple cobble-stone in the hand! If you knew what pleasure is given me by a sponge touch when you wash to me a face in the mornings. Touch is the only opportunity for me to feel in the world of real things… Everything that I can make itself, it to touch with a tip of my language edge of my dried-up lips.
That evening Laurent was home disseminated and excited. The old woman mother, as usual, prepared for her tea with cold appetizer, but Mari did not touch sandwiches, hastily drank a glass to tea with a lemon and rose to go to the room. Attentive eyes of mother stopped on her.
– You are upset with something, Mari? – the old woman asked. – Perhaps, troubles on service?
– No, nothing, mother, was simply tired and the head hurts… I will lay down a bit earlier, and everything will pass.
Mother did not detain her, sighed and, having remained one, thought.
Since Mari arrived on service, it very much changed. Became nervous, closed. Mother and the daughter were always great friends. Between them there were no secrets. And now the secret appeared. The old woman Laurent felt that her daughter hides something. Mari answered questions of mother of service very briefly and vaguely.
– Professor
