It was a gloomy night filled with a mournful silence as we sat together, him and me, a long time after mid night. We were both sitting in his veranda which seemed a secluded temple that night. We sat beside each other but each isolated in his own mind. It had been hours since either of us had uttered a word. He had been sitting in his favorite sofa gazing vacantly toward the black barren hill, I was contemplating the shimmering lights of Jerusalem which were gleaming in the very far distance. It is a dull place for him to live: a single room in the darkest street of the town, on the roof of a high shabby building as if he wanted to be close to the moon. He was sitting in his sofa, leaning his head slightly back with the last beer in his hand. He took a sip and slowly handed me the can. I knew that he will drink no more then, so I took it, as he nodded, and put it on the floor. He sank more deeply in his sofa tilting his head further back. He was looking at the moon then. It seemed that he was weeping silently. I took two cigarettes out of my packet and extended one to him. The cigarette was so close to his face but he didn't see it; he was distracted by the moon then, so I withdrew it and lit mine. He was startled by the flicker and turned his head to stare at me for a while as if he saw me for the first time then he turned back to look at the moon. He remained silent, his face pale and motionless. I thought he had fallen asleep, but after some time and as if he was talking to himself he began to murmur with a slow hesitant voice:
"...It was just like this fullmoon night when she...no...it wasn't... no..."
I kept silent, I don't know if I was inducing him to talk by my silence. I had no idea how to console him, how to comfort him, or to leave him by himself to say what he wanted to. It was painful for me to look at him as he sat there struggling hopelessly to express himself, so I turned to look at the glimmering lights of Jerusalem again while the pitiful vision of him kept surfacing in my mind.
