In a private room at the tavern, the two reminisced about their university days.
Even though they had graduated more than ten years ago, neither could forget those carefree days.
His old classmate did not ask why Goff had fled here, and Goff did not ask what exactly would happen to his old classmate tomorrow.
They simply reminisced about the past, without discussing the present or thinking about the future.
After they caught up, his old classmate escorted Goff out of town.
He warned him quietly:
"If you want to live, don't come back here tomorrow!"
Goff nodded.
Heavy snow swirled down. The man watched his old friend's retreating figure disappear along the mountain road, pulling his handcart.
He muttered:
"Stay alive, you fat bastard!"
Goff returned to the farm.
Almost the instant the handcart stopped, his legs gave out and he dropped to his knees.
Despite the bitter cold, his back was drenched in cold sweat, which now seemed to chill him to the marrow.
"I almost thought I wouldn't make it back," Goff murmured.
His wife, Daisy, hauled him up and asked what had happened.
Goff recounted everything he had seen and heard on the road, leaving out the irrelevant Circus performance.
"Did anyone follow you on your way back?" Kafka asked.
"No." Goff shook his head. "I deliberately took a roundabout route. With all this snow today, my tracks are already gone."
Then Goff said with feeling:
"Thank goodness I ran into an old classmate today, and he let me go. Otherwise, I really wouldn't have made it back."
"But you didn't trust this old classmate completely," Herta said calmly. "Otherwise, you wouldn't have deliberately taken a roundabout route."
"I couldn't risk it," Goff sighed. "I don't know how much our old university friendship is still