He took a few steps toward the forest, then stopped. The earth was steaming from all the rain, and here and there his boots sank up to their laces in mud. The shrieking of the birds put his senses on edge: their short and long cries pierced the even rustle of the waves of leaves; a strange panting sound came from under the ground. In the distance he could hear moans interlaced with growls and grunts, a continuous grinding of teeth, persistent scratching sounds, and above everything an owl’s hoots, a woodpecker’s rattle, and a wolf’s raucous howls, then a moment or two of silence broken only by the monotonous rustling of leaves, before the noise started up again and little wings flapped in fear. It was best to turn back. He had spent nearly all night sitting up at Manolache’s bedside, and now he had a headache. The old man’s dying, he said to himself, there’s not much longer to go — and just then he heard a powerful beating of wings above the forest, and a shadow fell over the trees. How big it’s grown, the stationmaster whispered, and all he could now hear was the rustling of leaves; the eagle must have landed in the clearing in front of the sanatorium, where Luca thought they should take the old man; but how were they to get him there, the path was basically nonexistent, and you know what, Luca — he moved closer to the young clerk, his eyes glistening from emotion or from fear — I don’t think they’re still taking people at the sanatorium, I mean, it was already old and in need of repair. . Bullshit! Luca said, and he looked at the old man, sighing softly, one hand glued to his chest, the truth is that you’re afraid. The stationmaster made no answer: only later, after the express had passed through and the fine rain had begun rattling again on the tin roof of the shed, and when the old man had fallen asleep and was breathing a little more easily, did he take Luca aside and ask him to get on the first train and try to fetch a doctor. There’s no point phoning, you have to go there yourself; you’re a smart kid, you’ll find some way. Please go, will you? We can’t carry him anywhere in this state; we’ll see how he is later. . He was surprised that Luca agreed so readily, so hastily even. The next night was torture: the old man thrashed about on the bed, groaning in his sleep, or woke up and began to speak without rhyme or reason, although now and again a phrase or two made some sense. Most of it was about his youth as a circus acrobat, about a lion that flew above him or fell on top of him, so that they both slid down into a well full of stars. The old man’s face became completely distorted in the effort to speak, to bare his heart. . But nothing could be done to help him.
He turned back toward the station, trying as hard as he could to avoid sinking into the mud. Again he heard the sounds of the forest, which seemed even louder than before: the shrill cries of the birds and the dull floundering of bodies as they slid, dashed, or crept between the tree trunks. He couldn’t refrain from turning his head sharply. There was no one behind him, nothing special to be seen.
There in the corner, the old man groaned, look, there it is — and he pointed with his emaciated arm to a creature that he alone could see. The vigil-keeper wiped the perspiration from the old man’s brow, took the glass of water from the table, and propped him up so that he could drink. No, I’m not afraid, I promise you I’m not. Why should you be afraid? the other man said, you just have to be patient a little longer. And outside the fine rain was still pelting onto the roof and the oak leaves, and onto the rails where not a single train had passed for twelve hours. Toward morning the old man finally fell asleep, one hand on his chest, the other clutching the side of the bed. The rain had stopped; dawn was breaking. He went into the telegraphy room, pulled one lever and then another, flicked one switch and then another: nothing, the telegraph was silent. He dropped his head onto his arms and remained like that for a time, without thinking. He felt that he was sinking into a wet, pitch-black darkness, or else rising to the surface from below like a drowned man.