Chingachgook... You've brought here many people. Not as many as I would like. That's not the point. Why did they come here? What did they want? Happiness, I guess. Yes, but what kind of happiness? People don't like to speak about their innermost feelings. And it's neither yours nor mine business. In any case, you've been lucky. As for me, I haven't seen one happy man in my life. Me neither. They return from the room and I lead them back, and we never see each other again. It's not that wishes come true immediately. Have you ever wished to use this room yourself? I'm fine as I am.Listen, Professor. Speaking of the purchased inspiration. Let's imagine that I enter this room and return to our God-forsaken town a genius. A man writes because he's tormented, because he doubts. He needs to constantly prove to himself and the others that he's worth something. And if I know for sure that I'm a genius? Why write then? What the hell for? Well, I must say that we exist for... Will you be so kind and leave me alone? Let me get a wink, I haven't slept all night. Keep your complexes to yourself. In any case, all this technology of yours... all those blast furnaces, wheels... and other bullshit are only designed in order to work less and eat more. They are all just crutches, artificial limbs. And mankind exists in order to create... works of art. Unlike all other human activities, this one is unselfish. Great illusions! Images of the absolute truth! Are you listening to me, Professor? What unselfishness are you talking about? People still die of hunger. Have you fallen from the moon? And they are considered to be our brainy aristocracy! You're not even capable of thinking in abstractions. Are you going to teach me about the meaning of life? And also how to think? It's useless. You might be a professor, but an ignorant one. And there was a great earthquake. And the sun became black as sackcloth made of hair. And the moon became like blood... And the stars of the sky fell to the earth, as a fig tree casts its unripe figs when shaken by a great wind. And the sky was split apart like a scroll when it is rolled up. And every mountain and island were moved out of their places. And the kings of the earth and the great men and the rich and the chiliarchs and the strong and every free man, hid themselves in the caves and among the rocks of the mountains; and they said to the mountains and to the rocks, "Fall on us and hide us from the presence of Him who sits on the throne, and from the wrath of the Lamb, for the great day of His wrath has come, and who is able to stand?" And that very day two... two of them... were going to a village which was about stadia from... named... and they were conversing with each other about all these things. And while they were conversing and discussing... He Himself approached, and began travelling with them. But their eyes were prevented from recognizing Him. And He said to them: "What are these words... you are exchanging with one another, and why are you sad?" And one of them, named... Are you awake? You were speaking of the meaning... of our... Life... of the unselfishness of art... Take music, for instance. Less than anything else, it is connected to reality, or if connected at all, it's done mechanically, not by way of ideas, just by a sheer sound, devoid of... any associations. And yet, music, as if by some miracle, gets through to our heart. What is it that resonates in us in response to noise brought to harmony, making it the source of the greatest delight which stuns us and brings us together? What's all this needed for? And most important, who needs it? You would say, "No one. And for no reason." Unselfishly. No. I don't think so. After all, everything has some sense. Sense and reason. Do we have to go there? Unfortunately, yes. There's no other way. It looks morbid,
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