Isn't it time for us to go, Father Kirill?
Yes, we had better be moving along. It's getting dark, and it's time to retire.
Aha! You don't like to hear the truth. It isn't pleasant, is it?
Hee-hee, brother, talk is cheap. A barking dog doesn't bite. Scold away, scold away. We are listening. God in heaven will decide who is to go to hell and who elsewhere. "The meek, shall inherit the earth," says the Gospel. Good-bye, young gentlemen.
Let me give you a piece of advice, however. Talk, but don't talk too much. Don't go too far. We are only tolerating you because you are a pitiful creature and because you are foolish. But if you give your tongue too free a rein, we can stop it, you know. Yes, indeed.
What's the use, Father Vissarion? Let him talk. It doesn't do any harm. Listen, listen, young gentlemen. He is an interesting fellow. Good night.
_[They go. The Fat Monk is heard laughing heartily._
Do you? So you don't like their kind either?
Well, I'll sit down for a while. My legs are swollen. Have you got a cigarette?
Sometimes. Excuse me for having talked to you the way I did before. You are a good fellow. But why did you lie and say you understood? No one can understand it. Who is this with you?
Well, brother, feeling bad, down in the mouth?
Keep still, keep still, I don't want to listen. You are suffering? Keep still. I am a man too, brother, so I don't understand. I'll insult you if you don't look out. _(Throws away the cigarette)_ No, I can't. As long as I keep standing or walking I manage somehow. The moment I sit down, it's hell. Oh! Ow-w! _(Writhing in agony)_ I simply can't catch my breath. Oh, God, do you see my torture? Eh? Well, well, it's nothing. It's gone. Oh! Ow-w!
_[The sky has become overcast with clouds. It turns dark quickly. Now and then there are flashes of lightning._
One must try to stifle one's grief, old man. Fight it. Say to yourself firmly and resolutely: "I don't want it." And it will cease to be. You seem to be a good, strong man.
No, friend, my grief is such that even death won't remove it. What is death? It is little, insignificant, and my grief is great. No, death won't end my grief. There was Cain. Even when he died, his sorrow remained.
The dead do not grieve. They are serene. They know the truth.