Senor Raul,
While I was taking my post-dinner walk, engrossed in this book called Lila suggested by Herr Hauser, I began to think about Kafka.
You see,Kafka,like me,worked in an office, for the whole of his life except for the last couple of years when he was too weak to work any longer.
He had no time to write anything during the day due to his official responsibilities.
He writes: “I need solitude for my writing; not ‘like a hermit’ — that wouldn’t be enough — but like a dead man”.
In the day,I am too agitated. In the night,I ccould be fairly confident that I would not be disturbed by the phone ring or the door bell. When he returned from the office, he slept for a few hours and woke up as the night approached.
He wrote in the night and that helped him to salvage a little of his sanity. I do not wish to be a writer like him,but I wish to learn a little mathematics,if I could. So,this is the thought that came into my mind,while strolling with Lila
-I share the ailment with Kafka- tuberculosis-could there be a possibility that ,like him,I too could get buried,with my books, beneath the shroud of the dark and silent night?
Take care.