“May God kill me as one kills a mangy dog....”
“That’s all right, that’s all right....” Freder’s smile came back again and stood, clear and beautiful in his tired face. “I am going now, Josaphat. I want to go to my father’s mother, to take her something which is very sacred to me.... I shall be here again before evening. Shall I find you here then?”
“Yes, Mr. Freder, most certainly!”
They stretched out their hands towards each other. Hand held hand, gripped. They looked at each other. Glance held glance, gripped. Then they loosened their grip in silence and Freder went.
A little while later (Josaphat was still standing on the same spot on which Freder had left him) there came a knock at the door.
Though the knocking was as gentle, as modest, as the knocking of one who has come to beg, there was something in it which chased a shiver down Josaphat’s spine. He stood still, gazing at the door, incapable of calling out “Come in,” or of opening it himself.
The knocking was repeated, becoming not in the least louder. It came for the third time and was still as gentle. But just that deepened the impression that it was inescapable, that it would be quite pointless to play deaf permanently.
“Who is there?” asked Josaphat hoarsely. He knew very well who was standing outside. He only asked to gain time—to draw breath, which he badly needed. He expected no answer; neither did he receive one.
The door opened.
In the doorway stood Slim.