the good side. But anyway, as it doesn’t go onto the bad side either, it doesn’t really matter. It was all just hypothetical. I’m not accusing you of anything.
Your abdomen, together with your stomach and liver. I think they belong on the bad pile. How much of my money they devoured! But I suppose I offered things to you myself. OK, neutral than.
Hmmm, your prick, balls and arse. For half a year you had to sit next to me instead of Max as a punishment, and you farted non-stop. That’s bad manners and counts as bad. Your prick too. You often bragged about it and that’s vanity, bad habit. I have no opinion about your balls, they can go on the neutral heap.
Well, we’re finished? It wasn’t so bad, was it?”
Alfonz stepped back and looked at the three heaps in front of him. All three were about the same size.
“Hmm, a difficult decision,” he said to himself, reached for the chest and lifted it. “If you’d ever given me a hug… it would really have made a difference.”
He looked to see if he could split Samo’s chest further, but could not find anything much in it, apart from the heart. After a short pause he cut it in half and threw one half on the heap on the left (the good parts) and the other half on the right (the bad parts).
He did not feel tired at all, in spite of the long time he had spent deciding and making a judgement. Even his right arm did not hurt and there was no blister where his hand held the axe.
He stood next to the piles thinking, unable to decide. In the end, he picked up all the good bits and, cradling them in his arms, walked off towards the woods.
Aco saw a light between the trees and stopped. He could see himself that night, years ago, as he had walked towards the green light in the cellar window. How terrified he had been! And when he had not been able to tear his eyes away from what he saw, his fear had grown even stronger.
He should have come before. But he did not have the courage and that was his sin.
He stood there, looking. The light filled him with hope that nothing had happened and that his expedition would end as a simple night stroll.
Everything was quiet and peaceful, just like at the campsite. But there the tourists were asleep, and here some young boys were supposed to be having a party and parties are never quiet. He took a few more steps but had to stop again to clear his mind of the images, just as he had been doing all his life.
The images from the cellar.
It took him a long time to get to the edge of the woods, positioning himself behind the last tree before the clearing. On the other side, he caught a glimpse of somebody walking into the woods. He was carrying something, but that was all Aco could distinguish in the silvery light. He waited. Whoever it was did not come back.
Then he saw another figure, creeping slowly out of the front door, looking left and right, unable to decide whether to go any further.
Undoubtedly one of the boys.
And Aco was sure. Something had happened.
Max was squatting on the landing, waiting. He dared not move. Once, he could not control himself however much he squeezed his lips together. Vomit came out through his nostrils, running down onto his knees. He did not move to wipe it away.
Only after a long time, when there were no more sounds to be heard inside the house and the screams coming from somewhere outside, far behind the house, had died down and everything went completely quiet, he tried to straighten up. His legs had gone to sleep and he could not feel them at all. He scrambled up by the wall and waited for the pain to stop. He did not dare make a sound.
When he was finally able to try taking a few steps, he started thinking what to do. More precisely, where to escape to. He was too frightened to walk to the village, an hour’s walk through the woods. There was no way of knowing where that crazy Alfonz had got to. Murderer. Judging by the screaming he must have slaughtered somebody. Probably Raf, clumsy enough to be a victim. Samo, where was Samo? Only he could overpower Alfonz.
He had to hide somewhere. It was probably better to stay inside. There he would at least hear anybody walking up the stairs. And then what? He had to find a weapon.
He slid his soles slowly along the floor, still leaning on the wall. He sort of fell from one side of the corridor to the other rather then crossed it. Luckily, the moonlight was bright enough to enable him to distinguish a door. The nursery, if he remembered rightly. Had he not noticed a baseball racket in the corner?
What a weapon! Whoever came up the stairs and was hit with it on the head would be a goner, however crazy he might be.
He opened the door slowly and the complete darkness surprised him. He stopped and waited.
Suddenly he heard steps downstairs. Somebody was coming. He ducked into the nursery, closed the door behind him and leant on it.
Were the steps getting nearer or further away? Whoever it was must have heard the door slamming and hidden.
Silence. Silence. Silence.
Darkness.
His father… NO! NO! That was not happening now, that was in the past. He must not succumb to the memories.
Not a trace of light. Had the moon gone behind a cloud? He remembered the tightly closed shutters. Where was the baseball bat? In the right corner behind the wardrobe or the left corner behind the bed?
Try to remember! Try to remember!
He could not. The only thing he could remember from the tour of the house that afternoon was turning on the lights and looking at the Indian woman. Would it matter if he turned on the light and got the bat?
The shutters were closed and if the light could not get in, it could not get out either. He would be very quick. Grab the bat — he remembered it now, it was small, for children, but hard enough for a weapon — and switch off the light. Wait till his eyes got used to the darkness again and return to the landing. And then…
He had to last till the morning. And the bat would help him.
Raf waited but he could not hear any more noises from upstairs. Maybe it was Max upstairs? He was too afraid to go and see.
He crept towards the door and looked around. He could not see anyone. Where should he go? What should he do?
The woods looked dark and Alfonz could be hiding behind any tree.
What had happened to Samo? The screams from the shed were not very promising. Raf took a deep breath, flexed his diaphragm and made a decision. He would go and have a look.
Max was trying to remember where the light switch was. Somewhere on the right, he was sure. Leaning on the door he slowly started feeling towards the wall.
He could feel the dried-out wood under his fingers, from time to time a tiny splinter would bend under the pressure of his skin.
The doorframe. The tips of his fingers slid into a crack, he pulled them out and started sliding them again across the solid wood. Over a slight curve on the edge of the frame towards the wall.
He was overcome by a desire to hit the wall haphazardly until he found the switch and turned on the light. But he controlled himself, he could not afford to make a noise.
He had to continue over the centimetre deep edge of the frame and onto the wall. The rough plaster stuck to his fingers.
He stopped. Could he hear something? Breathing?
He held his breath as long as he could. There was nobody there. But he still tried to breathe slowly without making an audible noise.
He moved his hand again and he could feel every tiny lump in the plaster. His hand began to slip down and slowly he directed it up again.
Another noise. This time a recognisable one. Somebody was opening the front door, the creaking could not
