“Vadim,” Anton said, “go see how Saul’s doing.”
Vadim stood up and walked out of the control center. He went down into the lounge and looked in on Saul. He was struck by a gust stale smoke. Saul was lying on the sofa in exactly the same position they had placed him in after the passage: his legs with his enormous feet stretched out, his head thrown back, and his bristling Adam’s apple protruding sharply. Vadim squatted down alongside and touched Saul’s forehead. It was burning. Saul was murmuring incoherently: “Rusk, we need rusks. What are you going to do to me with those scissors? The scissors are in tailor’s... not for manicures... I’m asking you about the rusks... and you tell me about scissors.” He suddenly shuddered and gasped, “Zum Befehl, Herr... no sir, we’re killing lice...”
“
