Our train stopped near the small station of Tucing and waited. In the morning we found our guards had all disappeared. People drained of all strength lay in the wagons. I searched for some food nearby, but there was nothing. I had a quiet conversation with a young man sitting next to me. I looked into his eyes and I knew he would die soon. We spoke of unimportant, trivial things — as if we didn't have a care in the world. He had the appearance of a man who had made peace with the idea of dying. He looked at death as an escape from the kind of life he had known. At dusk, he got up and slowly walked into the nearby woods. I did not follow, but found him in the morning, sitting, slightly covered with snow, his head resting on his arm over a fallen tree. He looked as if he had just sat down for a nap.