Acta, non verba

Alexey Pavlovich sighed deeply.

“You don't understand it, and in all probability, you cannot understand it at all.”

His interlocutor was slowly losing patience. Namely, the respected foreign professor had already been sitting in the stuffy study room of Alexey Pavlovich for a couple of hours, and he really wanted to leave.

“Everything is completely clear to me, Alexey Pavlovich.” The fundamental points of our conversation are passing before your eyes. You deal with banalities. It remains unclear to me exactly what you want from me.’

 “I want your word.”

“You are humiliating me, Alexey Pavlovich.”

Let's stop here. It is clear that Alexey Pavlovich not only did not have the slightest intention to insult the professor, but he could not even say anything offensive; however, the professor was firmly determined to leave the room, therefore he vigorously insisted on the alleged insult he suffered. The reader, most likely, sees no reason to take the side of Alexey Pavlovich, nor the professor, and apparently remains almost neutral, perhaps sympathizing a little with Alexey Pavlovich.

Against that neutrality interspersed with superficial compassion, the old doctor was fighting. He wanted the professor to convey the message, not to shed stage tears.

Now, I need to explain to you the structure of Alexey Pavlovich's workplace. You will imagine a tall building, which is supported by a stone foundation. That foundation aged more and more as the building went up and cannot be rebuilt. You may already have a pretty clear picture of this building. As you look up, its floors are more and more modern, newer. Some of them have damage that, again, cannot be repaired. These injuries, so to speak, can be of different nature. Sometimes a disease is found inside a building, and it ravages one floor at a time, the earth's slab often shakes, and sometimes other buildings are responsible. The latest damage was the subject of discussion between the two men. It belonged to the last group. Now let's go back to our characters.

“My profession tells me to be concerned about you, professor, and as a doctor I am, but as a man, I am extremely angry with you. Please, I beg you a thousand times earnestly, to come back and listen to me. I can see that it is not the most clear to you, so I will explain it again,” Alexey Pavlovich began tiredly.

The professor thought for a while, then reluctantly returned to the previously designated place.

“There is nothing transcendent about it-” tried the doctor.

“I believe that, even if it is the most transcendental thing in question, with your explanation it will become quite clear to me.” He had already completely lost his mask of politeness, and perhaps forgotten it altogether.

Alexey Pavlovich looked at him penetratingly through the lenses of his round glasses. And then, as if the foreign professor hadn't said anything, he continued.

“The very act of cruelty can be easily forgiven. I'm not asking for your repentance, professor. Your tears are not only unimportant to me, but they also offend me; they insult me, professor. You make fun of my pain, it's shameful. You say you are crying for my poor floors, and you have never seen them, how can that be? My floors are not assigned you, but to me; it's up to me to cry for them.”

At the beginning of this several-hour meeting, the indeed did professor cry, he wailed even, but Alexey Pavlovich looked at it all rather indifferently, and the professor gave up, switching to sweet talk and compassion.

“Look, you will say that I am cynical! No, professor, I am not cynical at all! My hope always burns, I can only hope! If I didn't believe in people, I would have let this building fall a long time ago. Therefore, by no means cynical. Look, all I want from you is a guarantee that you won't touch my floors again! Take me, professor, but don't touch the floors! On them lies my building, and my beautiful building is everything to me! My building is only beautiful with its floors, you know. You took the newest floor from me, professor! It was so wonderful, it had a soul, it was quite, if you allow me to put it that way, let's say, naively, tender, like a new bud. I just furnished that floor, my dear foreign professor! How can I build a new one on the grave of the old one! That is not natural, professor! To me, all logic dictates that there is absolutely no need to argue about that floor; what's collapsed in our buildings can't be fixed, can it? Your word, respected professor! Promise me no one will touch my floors, ever again! Say; what are the two of us without our floors? Nothing, professor, nothing! We don't exist without floors.”

Alexey Pavlovic was now in a kind of trance. His clear, cheerful eyes, now full of pain, looked, not at the professor, but through him. He was not shivering, but he gave the appearance of a person who was terribly cold. That coldness, it seems, came from Alexey Pavlovich himself, and remained in him. It seemed as if the doctor wanted that coldness all to himself, and was jealously keeping it away from the professor. He dug his nails into his palms, and let them change color; he had already torn off his buttons, but Alexey Pavlovic had to suffer even more. Only, he was not allowed to do anything in front of the professor. It is terribly embarrassing for him.

The professor stood up, his face now seemingly expressionless, but with features filled with horror. He looked at the doctor.

„Pray to God, Alexey Pavlovich.” At his words, Alexey Pavlovich finally cried.