The first blow of the lash felt as if our
spine had been cut in two. The second
blow stopped the first, and for a second we
felt nothing, then the pain struck us in our
throat and fire ran in our lungs without air.
But we did not cry out.
The lash whistled like a singing wind.
We tried to count the blows, but we lost count.
We knew that the blows were falling upon our back.
Only we felt nothing upon our back any longer.
A flaming grill kept dancing before our eyes,
and we thought of nothing save that grill, a grill,
a grill of red squares, and then we knew
that we were looking at the squares of the
iron grill in the door, and there were also
the squares of stone on the walls, and the
squares which the lash was cutting upon our back,
crossing and re-crossing itself in our flesh.
Then we saw a fist before us. It knocked
our chin up, and we saw the red froth of
our mouth on the withered fingers, and the
Judge asked:
"Where have you been?"
But we jerked our head away, hid our
face upon our tied hands, and bit our lips.
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