'Then will come death, and we shall die', Nikolka chimed in as he joined them.
He was holding a guitar, but his neck was covered in blood and on his forehead was the wreath worn by the dead.
Elena at once thought he had died, burst into bitter sobs and woke up in the night screaming:
'Nikolka!
Nikolka!'
For a long time, sobbing, she listened to the muttering of the night.
And the night flew on. *
Later Petka Shcheglov, the little boy next door, dreamed a dream too.
Petka was very young, so he was not interested in the Bolsheviks, in Petlyura, or in any sort of demon.
His dream was as simple and joyful as the sun.
Petka dreamed he was walking through a large green meadow, and in it lay a glittering, diamond ball, bigger than Petka himself.
When grown-ups dream and have to run, their feet stick to the ground, they moan and groan as they try to pull their feet free of the quagmire.
But children's feet are free as air.
Petka ran to the diamond ball, and nearly choking with happy laughter, he clasped it in his arms.
The ball sprinkled Petka with glittering droplets.
And that was all there was of Petka's dream.
He laughed aloud with pleasure in his sleep.
And the cricket behind the stove chirped gaily back at him.
Petka began dreaming more sweet, happy dreams, while the cricket sang its song somewhere in a crack, in the white corner behind the bucket, enlivening the night for the Shcheglov family.
The night flowed on.
During its second half the whole arc of the sky, the curtain that God had drawn across the world, was covered with stars.
It was as if a midnight mass was being celebrated in the measureless height beyond that blue altar-screen.
The candles were lit on the altar and they threw patterns of crosses, squares and clusters on to the screen.
Above the bank of the Dnieper the midnight cross of St Vladimir thrust itself above the sinful, bloodstained, snowbound earth toward the grim, black sky.
From far away it looked as if the cross-piece had vanished, had merged with the upright, turning the cross into a sharp and menacing sword.
But the sword is not fearful.
Everything passes away - suffering, pain, blood, hunger and pestilence.
The sword will pass away too, but the stars will still remain when the shadows of our presence and our deeds have vanished from the earth.
There is no man who does not know that.
Why, then, will we not turn our eyes toward the stars?
Why?