folded, moonlight reflecting from his bare shins. With worry in his
heart, the father went back to bed.

And he came back after an hour, he came back after two hours, looked
through the small window, saw Siddhartha standing, in the moon light,
by the light of the stars, in the darkness. And he came back hour after
hour, silently, he looked into the chamber, saw him standing in the same
place, filled his heart with anger, filled his heart with unrest, filled
his heart with anguish, filled it with sadness.

And in the night's last hour, before the day began, he returned, stepped
into the room, saw the young man standing there, who seemed tall and
like a stranger to him.

"Siddhartha," he spoke, "what are you waiting for?"

"You know what."

"Will you always stand that way and wait, until it'll becomes morning,
noon, and evening?"

"I will stand and wait.

"You will become tired, Siddhartha."

"I will become tired."

"You will fall asleep, Siddhartha."

"I will not fall asleep."