"Well?"
I could not answer. Pity for this man who lay alive in his coffin oppressed and overcame me. He waited a little while, and then again asked me:
"What is it? Speak."
He turned his face toward me. It was all dark, no eyes were to be seen; only white eyebrows and a mustache and beard, which were like mildew on the agonized and motionless countenance which was effaced by the darkness. I heard the rustling of his voice:
"You argue up there. Why do you argue? You should serve God humbly. What is there to argue about with God? You should simply love God."
"I love Him," I answered.
"Well, perhaps. He punishes you, but you must make believe that you see nothing and say, 'Praise be unto thee, O Lord.' Say that always, and nothing more."
It was evident that it was difficult for him to speak, either from weakness or because he was unused to it. His words were hardly alive and his voice was like the trembling of the wings of a dying bird.
I could not ask the old man anything, for I was sorry to disturb the peace of his death-waiting, and I feared to startle something; so I stood there motionless. From above the sound of bells leaked down, rocking the hair on my head, and I desired ardently to lift up my head toward the sky and gaze at it, but the darkness pressed down heavily on my neck and I did not move.
"Pray," he said to me, "and I will pray for you."