have begun
to form on the surface.
First there was one,
then others began to appear.
Are you telling me that
we were understood?
Just like that? In one stroke?
At least we can hope now.
- How old are you?
- Fifty two.
Have you been here long?
You must have read my background
papers.
After so many years
on the station,
do you still feel as clearly your
link with the life down below?
I suppose next you'll want to know
what life's all about, eh?
Please, let's not be ironical.
When a man is happy,
the meaning of life
and other themes of eternity
rarely interest him.
These questions should be asked
at the end of one's life.
We don't know when our life will end,
that's why we're in a hurry.
The happiest people are those
who never bother asking
those cursed questions.
We question life
to seek out some meaning.
Yet to preserve all the simple
human truths we need mysteries.
The mystery of happiness, death,
love.
You may be right.
But try not to think about it.
To think about it is the same
as to know the day of one's death.
Not knowing that date
makes us practically immortal.
Well, anyway, my mission is finished.
And what next?
To return to earth?
Little by little, everything
will come to normal.
I'll find new interests,
new acquaintances.
But I won't be able to devote
all of myself to them.
And do I have the right to turn down
even an imaginary possibility
of contact with the ocean,
to which my race is trying
to stretch a thread of understanding?
To stay here, among the things
we both touched,
which still remember our breathing?
What for?
Just for the hope of her return?
But I have no hope.
The only thing left for me
is to wait.
Wait for what?
I don't know... A new miracle.
Are you all right now?
Yes, I feel fine.
In my opinion, it's time for you
to return to earth.
Is that your opinion?
The End