You awoke, and your face was stone, calm, smiling, indifferent, unloving.

And all this Israel Kafka had seen, hiding like a thief almost beside us.

He saw it all, he heard it all, my words of love, my agony of waiting, my utter humiliation, my burning shame.

Was I cruel to him?
He had made me suffer, and he suffered in his turn.

All this you did not know.