在伦敦的俄国使馆，一位克格勃上校一边吞云吐雾，一边读着一张手写的字条，这已是他第三次在读这张字条了。便条的作者不必表示遗憾了，上校这样想着。纠正这个错误其实很容易。他只要一会儿工夫便会做到。想到这里，他的脸上不禁浮现出一种可怕的笑容，他内心深处既伤感而又快活。上校从沉思中游离出来，将注意力集中到桌子上的一个像框上，他的妻子是位美丽的女人，当想起他们成婚的那一天时他不禁自语道。那已是43年前的事情了，可却是他一生中最自豪最幸福的日子。

What had happened to all that time? Why had it passed so quickly, and why hadn’t he spent more of it with her? Why hadn’t he held her close and told her more often that he loved her? He cursed himself as a tear came from the corner of his eye, ran down his cheek, then dropped onto the note. He stiffened and wiped his face with the back of his hand. There was no need for remorse or regret, he told himself. In a few moments he would join her and at that time would express his undying love and devotion.

那些时候都发生了什么？为什么时光流逝得如此之快？为什么他没能将更多的时光用来陪伴她？为什么他没能将她搂紧，更多次地告诉她他爱她？他于是开始诅咒起自己，泪水也忍不住夺眶而出，流过面颊，最后滴落在字条上。这时，他板起了面孔，用手背揩去了眼泪。已经没有必要来自责与悔恨了，他对自己说道。很快他不就会与她团聚了吗？到那时，他将再向她表达他永恒的爱与忠心。

After setting the note ablaze he dropped it into an ashtray and watched it burn. For a time the names cast moving shadows on the walls of the darkened room, then they nickered and died out. The colonel dropped the cigarette to the floor and ground it out with his heel, then clutched the photograph to his breast, removed a pistol from his pocket, placed the barrel in his mouth and pulled the trigger. In the ashtray a small portion of the note remained. Where it had been wetted by his tear it had failed to bum, and on that scrap of paper were the words "died yesterday."

他点燃了字条，将它扔进了烟灰缸中，看着它慢慢地燃烧起来。在火苗的映衬下，这间漆黑的屋子里的四壁一时变得影影绰绰。不一会儿，火苗成了星星点点，渐渐地熄灭了。上校把香烟扔在了地板上，用后脚跟碾灭，随后抓起照片放在自己的胸前。他从衣兜中掏出了一把手枪，将枪筒放进自己的嘴中，接着扣动扳机。在烟灰缸中还残留着一小片字条，由于被上校的泪水浸湿而未能燃尽。在这块残片上有这样几个字“昨天去世”。