" He
suddenly seemed to me forlorn and desolate and lonely, like a lost dog.
I knew quite well that very soon, perhaps directly he had left me, he
would plunder and murder and rob again.
But that night, the two of us alone on the island and everything so
still, waiting for great events, I felt close to him and protective.
"Don't get knocked on the head, Rat," I said, "during one of your raids.
Death is easily come by just now. Look after yourself."
He shrugged his shoulders. "_Shto boodet, boodet_ (what will be, will
be). _Neechevo_ (it's of no importance)." He had vanished into the
shadows.
XI
I realise that the moment has come in my tale when the whole interest of
my narrative centres in Markovitch. Markovitch is really the point of
all my story as I have, throughout, subconsciously, recognised. The
events of that wonderful Tuesday when for a brief instant the sun of
freedom really did seem to all of us to break through the clouds, that
one day in all our lives when hopes, dreams, Utopias, fairy tales seemed
to be sober and realistic fact, those events might be seen through the
eyes of any of us.
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