THE TWENTY-THIRD
Petr Vrána senior awoke fully dressed in the chair in front of the television, on the hissing screen of which it was snowing something sinister. He coughed, wiped the saliva from the corners of his mouth, and then became aware of the fact that Marta still hadn’t returned. So he was alone — nobody there but him. The boys used to all go off on their own, but Marta? That’s never happened before. When he came home, she was already gone — and there was no message left for him, either. Everything was orderly, clean — and empty. At first, he determined to ignore it. As if nothing whatever had happened. He wanted to continue on in the groove — warm up something for supper, get undressed, take a bath, grab his book and sit down for a peaceful read — I mean, she’ll be coming back.
