“Where do you want to get? Do you want fame? Riches? Women?” the visitor creaked the writer’s favourite chair as he sat in it. “Tell me. I can perform a miracle for you.”
And he pressed a button on his watch. The watch case opened and out poured thin rays of white light. They began to play, and black rays mingled among them, too. Or maybe they were nothing but the empty sectors between the white rays.
Swidersky thought for a while, then said:
“Since I left, I have only been living on paper. I have forgotten how to enjoy life, and now I only know how to work, how to write. I would like to learn to live again, if possible.”
The guest shook his head.
“Only if you give up writing. You can either write, or live. There is no other way.”
“Then there is nothing I need.”
The lemony face look
