And he himself seems to be carved out of the transparent ice of Icebeng.

Then he says to me:

– Well… – the voice of brother Ilyas is hoarse and quiet, – If so… The dead cannot be brought back.

He says, but he, I feel, does not want to believe me. But he does not reproach me with a word for my impudent, evil and shameless lies. And I feel a sharp-sour taste in my mouth.

We are silent. I run my hands over old leather books. I peer into incomprehensible and thin lines.

Then Darius asks me a question:

- Can you read? - he asks in a...