“To live on is impossible,” he thought, “for that would mean the entire effacement of the past. I should have to begin a new life, to become quite a different man, and that I cannot do!”
His head fell forward on the table, and in the weird, flickering candlelight he lay there, motionless.
CHAPTER XXXII.
On that same evening Sanine went to see Soloveitchik. The little Jew was sitting alone on the steps of his house, gazing at the bare, deserted space in front of it where several disused pathways crossed the withered grass. Depressing indeed was the sight of the vacant sheds, with their huge, rusty locks, and of the black windows of the mill. The whole scene spoke mournfully of life and activity that long had ceased.
Sanine instantly noticed the changed expression of Soloveitchik’s face. He no longer smiled, but seemed anxious and worried. His dark eyes had a questioning look.
“Ah! good evening,” he said, as in apathetic fashion he took the other’s hand. Then he continued gazing at the calm evening sky, against which the black roofs of the sheds stood out in ever sharper relief.
Sanine sat down on the opposite side of the steps, lighted a cigarette, and silently watched Soloveitchik, whose strange demeanour interested him.
“What do you do with yourself here?” he asked, after a while.
Languidly the other turned to him his large, sad eyes.
“I just live here, that’s all. When the mill was at work, I used to be in the office. But now it’s closed, and everybody’s gone away except myself.”