Межзвёздный скиталец

           Itflashedpastmybreast,andIwasin—insidehisweapon,whichextendedfulllengthintheemptyairbehindme—andmybladewasinsideofhim,andthroughhim,heart-high,fromrightsideofhimtoleftsideofhimandoutsideofhimbeyond.

           Itisastrangethingtodo,tospitalivemanonalengthofsteel.Isithereinmycell,andceasefromwritingaspace,whileIconsiderthematter.AndIhaveconsidereditoften,thatmoonlightnightinFranceoflongago,whenItaughttheItalianhoundquickandbrilliant.Itwassoeasyathing,thatperforationofatorso.Onewouldhaveexpectedmoreresistance.Therewouldhavebeenresistancehadmyrapierpointtouchedbone.Asitwas,itencounteredonlythesoftnessofflesh.Stillitperforatedsoeasily.Ihavethesensationofitnow,inmyhand,mybrain,asIwrite.Awoman’shat-pincouldgothroughaplumpuddingnotmoreeasilythandidmybladegothroughtheItalian.Oh,therewasnothingamazingaboutitatthetimetoGuillaumedeSainte-Maure,butamazingitistome,DarrellStanding,asIrecollectandponderitacrossthecenturies.Itiseasy,mosteasy,tokillastrong,live,breathingmanwithsocrudeaweaponasapieceofsteel.Why,menarelikesoft-shellcrabs,sotender,frail,andvulnerablearethey.

           Buttoreturntothemoonlightonthegrass.Mythrustmadehome,therewasaperceptiblepause.NotatoncedidFortinifall.NotatoncedidIwithdrawtheblade.