FATHER VILIK
There was a high-pitched voice every couple of seconds. “Perhaps there is someone under my bed, but who could it be? I live with my father, and my taps are tightly shut.” I felt my way through the room in the darkness and walked up to the window. There was silence. The platform in the courtyard was deserted. The electric lamp hanging from the roof, melted here and there, was lit in solitude through a crooked wire. That lamp had never been switched off from the day it had been installed. There was a backgammon board on the table and cards for belote. The voice was heard again. I broke out in sweat. The voice was coming from the platform side. I took a cola from the fridge and drank it greedily. My throat constricted, it was very cold. I sat down on the wooden chair and leaned
