Here, in this world, the death of Bontsie Silent produced no impression.
You will ask in vain who Bontsie was, how he lived, and what caused his
death. Did his heart burst, did his strength give out, or were his bones
crushed under a heavy load ... who knows? Maybe, after all, he died of
starvation!
* * * * *
There would have been displayed more interest if it had been a
street-car horse that had fallen dead. Newspapers would have reported
about it, hundreds of people would have congregated from all the streets
to look at the carcass and even to survey the spot where the accident
had occurred!
But even the street-car horse would not be honored in such a
distinguished way if there were as many millions of them in existence as
there are men.
Bontsie had lived quietly, and he died quietly. He passed through the
world like a shadow.
No wine was drunk on the day of Bontsie's circumcision; no cups were
clinked. At his confirmation he made no flowery speech ... he lived like
a small, yellow grain of sand on the seashore, among millions of its
kind, and no one noticed how the wind lifted it up and carried it on the
other side of the Ocean.
* * * * *