“The simple story, simply told by simple people—that in the end is all you will listen to.”
“And I’m not to try to make anything out of all this?”
“No,” she said, “nothing at all, leave it alone.”
“And not to try to understand what made him cry?”
“Just as it is. The calf is born, she lies in the sun; she waits for the end. That is dignity.”
“But sometimes I’m unhappy.”
“In the end you will know you know nothing. That will be the death of you.”
Brandt stood still, though she had taken up her paper.
“Just that?”
“Come here,” she said, and he came, quickly. She put her hand out with a gentle laugh and touched him. “There, that’s all.”