But now the fire flamed up again,
the darkness receded, and it was evident that the flame was
striving upward. And then it sank again.
"0h Lord, 0h Lord!" thought Foma, painfully and bitterly, feeling
that grief was oppressing his heart with ever greater power.
"Here I am, alone, even as that fire. Only no light comes from
me, nothing but fumes and smoke. If I could only meet a wise man!
Someone to speak to. It is utterly impossible for me to live
alone. I cannot do anything. I wish I might meet a man."
Far away, on the river, two large purple fires appeared, and high
above them was a third. A dull noise resounded in the distance,
something black was moving toward Foma.
"A steamer going up stream," he thought. "There may be more than
a hundred people aboard, and none of them give a single thought
to me. They all know whither they are sailing. Every one of them
has something that is his own. Every one, I believe, understands
what he wants. But what do I want? And who will tell it to me?
Where is such a man?"
The lights of the steamer were reflected in the river, quivering
in it; the illumined water rushed away from it with a dull
murmur, and the steamer looked like a huge black fish with fins
of fire.
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