PART THREE, ELEVEN
The next morning I was awake as usual. This time a cuckoo was the first to call followed by the chirpings of a bunch of sparrows. The approach of a local train reached my ears. It was shooting down the line and its constant whistle and rumbling produced a strange mingled sound. A cancerous sound indeed. Everything seemed at a standstill. I drew out a book from the shelf, Man in the Dark. But in no seconds my fingers were fidgeting over the book; I looked from one paragraph to the other; I flicked the pages. Then I paced about the room, going around the space of the bed, counting my paces. I came out of the room and sat on the couch. I compared myself to a prison cell. Yes, Rudi was nothing less than a prison cell. It was a dark and dingy cell. A lone 20-watt bulb produced ample light t
- Writer
