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is above the firmament, there’s such a frost... at least one
can’t call it frost, you fancy, 150 degrees below zero! You
know the game the village girls play — they invite the un-
wary to lick an axe in thirty degrees of frost, the tongue
instantly freezes to it and the dupe tears the skin off, so it
bleeds. But that’s only in 30 degrees, in 150 degrees I imag-
ine it would be enough to put your finger on the axe and it
would be the end of it... if only there could be an axe there.’
‘And can there be an axe there?’ Ivan interrupted, care-
lessly and disdainfully. He was exerting himself to the
utmost not to believe in the delusion and not to sink into
complete insanity
‘An axe?’ the guest interrupted in surprise.
‘Yes, what would become of an axe there?’ Ivan cried sud-
denly, with a sort of savage and insistent obstinacy.
‘What would become of an axe in space? Quelle idee! If
it were to fall to any distance, it would begin, I think, flying
round the earth without knowing why, like a satellite. The
astronomers would calculate the rising and the setting of
the axe; Gatzuk would put it in his calendar, that’s all.’
‘You are stupid, awfully stupid,’ said Ivan peevishly. ‘Fib
more cleverly or I won’t listen. You want to get the better
of me by realism, to convince me that you exist, but I don’t
want to believe you exist! I won’t believe it!’
‘But I am not fibbing, it’s all the truth; the truth is un-
happily hardly ever amusing. I see you persist in expecting
something big of me, and perhaps something fine. That’s a
great pity, for I only give what I can-.’
‘Don’t talk philosophy, you ass!’