Alarmed, and still more astonished, I keep my eye on him.
"Write!" he says impatiently. "Shall I give you the ink and a pen?"
Without waiting for an answer, he pushes up to my sofa the little table with the writing materials.
"Write, please, write!"
And his voice is so soft and gentle, it finds its way into my heart, and I am no longer frightened.
I sit up to write. I question him, and he answers me.
"Your name?"
"Jonah."
"Your surname?"
"When I was a little boy, they called me Jonah Zieg. After my wedding, Jonah Drong, but since the misfortune happened to me, Mad Jonah."