MEET ME ON THE BARRICADES

And now she came to sit on the arm of his chair,
placed her arm about his shoulders.

“But I do not want my love for you,” she said, “to
make a spineless creature of you. You must go to
Spain, Pyotr. Our comrades are there, dying in the
International Brigades, on the Aragon front, in the
streets of Barcelona. It is your duty.”

“But Mathilda . . .”

“Cowards hide behind the skirts of women. Did
Lenin plead that he had a wife? N 0! Krupskaya was
his companion, his comrade. Together they fought
through two revolutions, side by side.”

“If I were ten years younger,” he said weakly.

“But you are in the prime of life. Conrad didn’t
begin to write until he was forty-three. Forty is
the dangerous age; make it dangerous for the fas-

cists !”
“But I have responsibi1ities—the mortgage on this
house—two years to go . . .”

“Fool! Do you think history waits for mortgages?”

“My heart . . .”  

“Yes, some day you will die of it. All of us do even-
tually. Do you want to die in bed, in useless agony,

without one moment of splendor?”

“But .93
A shout of laughter came from the living-room

36

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