I do not know which shattered me more, his discovery, or his positiveness at that apocalyptic hour. I only then noticed that he had a notebook in his hands and a logarithmic dial. I understood then that even if everything was perishing it was my duty (before you, my unknown and beloved) to leave these records in a finished form.
I asked him to give me some paper, and here in the restroom to the accompaniment of the quiet music, transparent like water, I wrote down these last lines.
I was about to put down a period as the ancients would put a cross over the caves into which they used to throw their dead, when all of a sudden my pencil trembled and fell from between my fingers. …
“Listen!” (I pulled my neighbor). “Yes, listen, I say. There where your finite universe ends, what is there? What?”
He had no time to answer. From above, down the steps, stamping. …