“Not here! another time. There, take these!” He dug his hand into the pocket of his overcoat,
which he had not taken off, and pulled out a couple of roasted chestnuts, which he threw to me.
I said nothing. I took and ate them, and was very contented.
“Well,” he whispered after a while. “How do you know about—him?” I did not hesitate to tell him. “I was lonely and perplexed,” I related.
“I called to mind a friend of former years who, I think, knows a great deal.
I had painted something, a bird coming out of a terrestrial globe. I sent this to him.
After a time, when I had begun to lose hope of a reply, a piece of paper fell into my hands.
On it was written: ‘The bird fights its way out of the egg. The egg is the world.
Whoever will be born must destroy a world. The bird flies to God. The name of the god is Abraxas.’”
He answered nothing. We peeled our chestnuts and ate them, and drank our wine.
“Shall we have another drink?” he asked. “Thanks, no. I don’t care much for drinking.”
He laughed, somewhat disappointedly. “As you wish I am different. I am staying here. You can go now!”
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