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did he hang himself?
Why didn't he come here again,
not for money, but for his brother?
In way of repenting.
He wanted to... I don't know.
He hanged himself a week later.
Because he realized that
not just any wish comes true here,
but only your innermost wish.
Not what would you holler
at the top of your voice...
Coming true here is
only what's in line with your nature,
with your essence,
of which you know nothing.
But it's there, in you,
directing you all your life.
You didn't understand anything,
Leather Stocking.
It wasn't greed that had done
Porcupine in.
He was crawling in this puddle,
begging to bring his brother back.
But what he got was only money,
and he couldn't get anything else,
because render unto Porcupine
the things that are Porcupine's!
And things like conscience, anguish,
they are just inventions.
He realized that and hanged himself.
I'm not going to your room.
I have no wish to pour my filth
over somebody's head.
Even yours.
And then to put my neck into
the noose, like Porcupine.
I'd rather drink myself to death
in my mansion, in peace and quiet.
You don't understand anything
about human beings, Chingachgook,
if you take to the Zone
people like me.
And something else...
Why do you think that this miracle
really exists?
Who told you that wishes
actually come true here?
Have you seen a single man
who's been made happy here?
Was it Porcupine?
As a matter of fact,
who told you about the Zone,
about Porcupine, about that room?
He did.
Then it makes no sense to me at all.
What's the use coming here?
It's so quiet...
Can you feel it?
What the heck... Why not chuck it all,
take my wife, Monkey,
and move over here.
For good.
There's no one here.
No one can hurt them here.
So you're back.
Where did you get this?
He got attached to me.
I couldn't leave him there.
Well, shall we go?
Monkey is waiting.
Are you coming?
Does any one of you need a dog?
I've got five of them at home.
So you love dogs, don't you?
What?
That's very good.
All right, let's go.
You can't even imagine
how tired I am!
God only knows!
Calling themselves intellectuals,
those writers and scientists!
Don't get so excited.
They don't believe in anything!
They've got the organ with which one
believes atrophied for lack of use.
Stop it. Come on.
Go to bed. Don't lie here...
It's too damp here for you...
You shouldn't lie here.
Take it off.
Oh God, what people...
Calm down, it's not their fault.
You ought to pity them,
not to be angry with them.
Haven't you seen them? They've
got empty eyes.
The only thing
they can think about
is how to sell themselves
not too cheap!
How to get as much as possible
for their every emotional movement!
They know they were "born for
a purpose", "called upon"!
After all, they live "only once"!
Can people like that
believe in anything?
Stop it, calm down.
Try to sleep, will you?
Go to sleep.
And nobody believes.
Not only those two. Nobody!
Who am I going to take there?
Oh, God...
And what's most awful...
is that no one needs it.
No one needs that room.
And all my efforts are just in vain.
Why do you say that?
Stop it.
I'm not going there with anybody
again.
Do you want me to go with you?
Where?
You think I've got nothing
to ask for?
No...
You can't go there.
Why not?
No, no.
What if it wouldn't work
with you, either?
You know, my mother was against it.
You've probably noticed already
that he's not of this world.
All our neighborhood laughed at him.
He was such a bungler,
he looked so pitiful.
My mother used to say:
"He's a stalker,
he's doomed,
he's an eternal prisoner!
Don't you know what kind of
children the stalkers have?"
And l... I didn't even argue with her.
I knew it all myself,
that he was doomed,
that he was an eternal prisoner,
and about the children.
Only what could I do?
I was sure
I would be happy with him.
Of course, I knew I'd have a lot of
sorrow, too.
But it's

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