“Peter Ivanich!” I whisper.
“What is it, dear fellow?”
Peter Ivanich leans toward me.
“Peter Ivanich, what did the doctor tell you? Will I die soon?”
“What are you saying, Ivanov? Of course you will live. Your bones are whole. What a lucky fellow you are! Your bones are all right, and so are your arteries! But tell me, how did you manage to pull through these three and a half days? What did you eat?”
“Nothing.”
“And had you anything to drink?”
“I took the Turk’s flask. Peter Ivanich, I cannot speak now. Later....”
“Well, God be with you, dear fellow, and have your nap.”
Again sleep, forgetfulness....