I though how wonderful peaceful life is, how comfortable it is, because I didn’t notice or value this earlier. Why was there always something that dissatisfied me, grieved me? I dreamed that if only I would return unharmed, then I would be satisfied with everything, everything, everything. I think that there is no greater happiness than to sit at the table in a simple, warm and clean room and sink into the chair. God, what a comfortable contrivance: a chair! And what bliss to lean your elbows on the level, smooth surface of a table! I need nothing more! I recalled my old, dim Moscow apartment with its large Dutch oven that barely warmed our two rooms. The small, low-set windows, near which filed a never-ending procession of passersby’s shadows and the shadows of red trams appeared with a rumble, the noise of which rattled the glass in the windows… And yet how wonderful it was! Could all this really come back? And in the rural calm it once again seemed that everything was possible, that everything would return…