Fog—Thou—A decidedly absurd adventure.
I awoke at dawn. The rose-colored firmament looked into my eyes. Everything was beautiful, round. “ O-90 is to come tonight. Surely I am healthy again.” I smiled and fell asleep. The Morning Bell! I got up; everything looked different. Through the glass of the ceiling, through the walls, nothing could be seen but fog—fog everywhere, strange clouds, becoming heavier and nearer; the boundary between earth and sky disappeared. Everything seemed to be floating and thawing and falling. … Not a thing to hold to. No houses to be seen; they all were dissolved in the fog like crystals of salt in water. On the sidewalks and inside the houses dark figures like suspended particles in a strange milky solution, were hanging, below, above—up to the tenth floor. Everything seemed to be covered with smoke, as though a fire were somewhere raging noiselessly.
At eleven-forty-five exactly (I looked at the clock particularly at that time to catch the figures, to save at least the figures) at eleven-forty-five, just before leaving, according to our Table of Hours, to go and occupy myself with physical labor, I dropped into my room for a moment. Suddenly the telephone rang. A voice—a long needle slowly penetrating my heart:
“Oh, you are at home? I am very glad! Wait for me at the corner. We shall go together. … Where? Well, you’ll see.”
“You know perfectly well that I am going to work now.”
“You know perfectly well that you’ll do as I say! Au revoir. In two minutes! …”