Vardan finished his long monologue, and an impenetrable, even oppressive silence reigned in the room. No one could have imagined that in an extremely short time, pursued by a series of failures, Vardan would both deeply and truly thoroughly develop his own philosophical concept of the eternal struggle between good and evil. But in order to develop it, it was necessary to convince oneself of the reality of eternal life, next to which earthly life is nothing more than a reflection of a star that suddenly appeared in the sky and immediately went out.
The next morning, Lyudmila Vladimirovna imperceptibly handed Vardan an envelope. It contained her eighteenth poem. She wrote it at night:
I look at you and it hurts how
much you can sit and watch.
Seen enough already — and enough!
I just can’t bear this pain.
How can I express this in silence?
How can I say it without saying it?
Only with a last look, farewell, Passing the
pain of recognition to you.
Is there any use in such a confession
In this world of verbal fetters?
And after all, he who does not hear the silence
will not hear the spoken words.