They must have gone back to Ploszow by this time. I still think of
Aniela very often, for we cannot wipe out the past; especially when we
have nothing to look for in the future; and I have nothing, nothing
at all. If I had faith I might become a priest; if I were a man who
denies the existence of God I might become a convert. But within me
the organs with which we believe are withered, as sometimes a limb
withers. I do not know anything except that in my sorrows I do not
find comfort in religion.
When Aniela married Kromitzki, I thought everything between us was
over. I was mistaken. It is only now I have the full conviction that
everything is over; for now we are divided not only by our will and
my departure, but by something that is beyond us, by forces of nature
independent of us. We are like two parallel lines that can never meet,
though we wish for it ever so much. On Aniela's line there will be
suffering, but there will be also new worlds, a new life; on mine
there is nothing but solitude. She doubtless understands that as well
as I. I wonder whether sometimes she says to herself: "It is I who,
without intending it, have ruined that man." It does not matter much
to me, and yet I should like to know that she is sorry for me. Maybe
she will feel a little sorry until her child is born. After that all
her feelings will flow into one channel, and, for her, I shall not
exist any longer. That also is a law of nature,--an excellent law.