Sunday, April 10, 2005

 

“There is nothing I can tell you, Katya,” I say.

“Help me!” she sobs, cluching at my hand and kissing it. “You are my father, my only friend! You are clever, educated; you have lived so long; you have been a teacher! Tell me, what am I to do?”

“Upon my word, Katya, I don’t know …”

I am utterly at a loss and confused, touched by her sobs, and hardly able to stand.

“Let us have lunch, Katya,” I say.

Lunch, as the answer to how we should live, from Chekhov's A Dreary Story.
posted by Open Mouth 6:00 AM