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WORLD FICTION
‘Well,’ he enquired. ‘What’s the news?’ ‘Nothing,’ I said. ‘What do you mean “Nothing”?’... ‘Just that—nothing’... ‘Look here! What do you mean...’
“I am asleep!” I shouted. “Good-night! Good-night! GOOD NIGHT!”
Maxim Semionovitch untied his tie.
“Good-night... ‘What do you mean?’ he said, ‘by answering “Nothing.” That’s not polite, you know’... ‘What else could I reply to you if there is no news?’ I said, ‘From nothing there is nothing. Why should I start to talk about something if it is all old?’... ‘No’, said he, ‘but there is a certain limit... One can be silent all right, but...’
Slowly and noiselessly I dropped over a deep precipice, and sleep covered everything like a heavy soft fur coat...
...A sunbeam pierced through my closed eyelids and forced me to open my eyes. Hearing someone talking, I turned over on my side and saw Semionovitch wrapped in his blanket. He was still speaking slowly, looking up at the ceiling... “‘I demand,’ she said, ‘a divorce because I wanted to marry a living man, not a senseless voiceless image... Why don’t you speak?’
“‘My dear little Lydia,’ I said, ‘what shall I say?’”
THE HIGH COST OF LIVING
“Our last $10 bill. Hardly enough for cocaine for three days”
(Simplicissimus—Munich)