The sounds from outside blend into a loop, a dream, but they retain a trace of memory. In my half sleep, I watch Kat raise and lower the spoon, I love him, his shoulders, his angular, bent figure—and at the same time I see forests and stars behind him, and a kind voice speaks words that give me peace—me, a soldier who follows the path that lies before him with his big boots and his waist belt and his haversack, so small beneath the high heavens, who quickly forgets and rarely feels sad anymore, who keeps walking on and on beneath the great night sky.
