The next morning arrived.
"Bartleby," I said, politely calling.
Silence.
"Bartleby," I said even softer tone, "come, I will not be asked to do anything that you would prefer not to do. I just want to talk to you.
With this, I went quietly.
- Will you tell me, Bartleby, where was he born?
"I'd rather not.
- Want to tell me something about you?
"I'd rather not.,
- But what reasonable objection can be to not talk to me? I wanted to be a friend.
As I spoke, I looked. His eyes were fixed on the bust of Cicero, who was right behind me, about six inches above my head.
- What is your answer, Bartleby? I asked, after a long wait, during which his attitude was static, being noticed only the slightest tremor in his lips faded.
"For now I'd rather not answer, he said, and retired to his hermitage.
Maybe I was weak, I admit, but his attitude irritated me this time.
0 comments:
Post a Comment