What? To wait for an easy death and let that bastard triumph? Does he think that I will calmly die? Or, like Barzakh, will kiss his feet?! Never! And mustering up all my remaining strength I grasped the axe and rushed through the village to the administrative office. It was the evening. People coming back from work hurried to the queue for bread and soup. At the sight of me, bare-headed, in a trollopy gown and the axe in the hand, they stepped aside and looked round.