I got up to leave, because I thought I perceived that the old white-haired man was talking only about immediate inconsequential things to prevent me from leading the conversation to what our thoughts dwelt on all the time, he as he talked, I as I listened.
“You’re going already,” he said on seeing me stand up, as if he had been expecting me to go for a long time. “It’s better that way, because the others will soon get home. But do forgive me for not letting you get a word in at all; I only talked myself. Ever since my grandchild left her home, there’s no one left to talk to, and that’s why…”
We had got to the door and I was about to open it.
“How are you doing now? You have a job?” he asked.
“I don’t have a secure job, just casual work,” I replied.
“That’s how it is nowadays, there’s nothing secure any more, everything is casual, and that’s why, the first time with you…”
I was already halfway through the door, ready to close it behind me.
“Once everything was different in this world, quite different,” he said. “When my grandchild was still at home there was…”
I hurried to go, for once again I saw tears welling up under the yellowed, creased and thin face, while his mouth made movements as if it were that of a little child. Nor could I hold back the tears any longer. But hardly had I walked a few steps when he called me back, as if he still had something important to tell me, yet he no longer said a word, and merely thrust a letter into my hand in the doorway, and only when I had turned it over between my fingers, looking for the address, without finding one, did he say, emphatically and as if afraid of someone, “That is for you, I almost forgot… an old man’s head. Take it, put it in your pocket and go.”