The landlord knocks. I let him knock. Three days without a proper meal. My mother's letter lies unfolded, Her careful words describe the deal. My sister sells herself for comfort, And calls the sacrifice her own. I hear the scratching in the walls. I know I'm not in here alone. What makes one life worth preserving When others pay to keep it fed? Extraordinary man, Who gave you leave to draw the line? One life removed, a thousand spared. The arithmetic was mine. (I thought the blood would send up more) The pawnbroker, her keys, her gold. The axe is heavier than I thought. I rehearsed the act a hundred times, But never what my hands would do. Napoleon crossed a field of bodies. I cannot cross a narrow room. I stand outside an old woman's door And wait for courage to assume. Extraordinary man, Who gave you leave to draw the line? One life removed, a thousand spared. The arithmetic was mine. - The axe goes in, she makes a sound. Her knees give way against the floor. I search her pockets for the keys. Someone is coming through the door. Lizaveta stops beside the wall. She raises one hand toward her face. I have no argument for her. I strike her anyway. The stolen things lie under stone. I never cared to count their worth. I thought the act would prove a point. Instead, I cannot leave the room. The fever comes, the fever goes. I listen when the neighbours speak. A crown of vermin for my head, And something moving underneath. Was it for bread? Was it for her? Was it to make the world more just? Or did I simply want to know If I could do what others must not? I called her vermin, that was easy. It made the rest seem justified. But Lizaveta had no money, And Lizaveta had to die. - I tell the girl what I have done. She listens without looking down. She tells me I must go outside, And kneel before the common ground. Not for forgiveness or redemption. Not to be counted with the damned. But to admit, before the living, What I have done with my own hands. With my own hands. Extraordinary man, There was no line for me to draw. Two women dead, no thousands spared. And nothing left to justify. I THOUGHT THE BLOOD WOULD SET ME APART. I THOUGHT THAT I WOULD UNDERSTAND. I KILLED TO PROVE I WAS ABOVE THEM. I COULD NOT BEAR WHAT I HAD DONE. I hear the scratching in the walls. It isn't coming from the walls.
