t； which continued to

move　as　though　still　walking；　kicked　uselessly　like　the　legs　of　a　dying　horse。

From　the　muddy　ground　upon　which　my　head　had　fallen；　I　could　neither

see　my　murderer　nor　my　satchel　full　of　gold　pieces　and　pictures；　which　I　still

wanted　to　cling　to　tightly。　These　things　were　behind　me；　in　the　direction　of　the

hill　leading　down　to　the　sea　and　Galleon　Harbor　which　I　would　never　reach。

My head would never again turn and see them； or the rest of the world。 I

forgot　about　them　and　let　my　thoughts　take　me　away。

This　is　what　occurred　to　me　the　moment　before　I　was　beheaded：　The　ship

shall　depart　from　the　harbor；　this　was　joined　in　my　mind　with　a　mand　to

hurry； it was the way my mother would say “hurry” when I was a child。

Mother；　my　neck　aches　and　all　is　still。

This　is　what　they　call　death。

But　I　knew　that　I　wasn’t　dead　yet。　My　punctured　pupils　were　motionless；

but　I　could　still　see　quite　well　through　my　open　eyes。

What　I　saw　from　ground　level　filled　my　thoughts：　The　road　inclining　slightly

upward；　the　wall；　the　arch；　the　roof　of　the　workshop；　the　sky…this　is　how　the

picture　receded。

It　seemed　as　if　this　moment　of　observation　went　on　and　on　and　I　realized

seeing had bee a variety of memory。 I was reminded of what I thought

when staring for hours at a beautiful picture： If yo