EPILOGUE No. 1
10.45
A patrol emerges from the station, surveys the territory lazily and rests its heavy gaze on the invalid. They come up to the man, exchange some words, the invalid smiles at them in the same vacuous way he smiled at us 45 minutes ago, they press him from both sides, finally one of them, obviously the senior, loses his temper and gives a boot to the record player, which flies to the side and goes quiet.
“We should have taken the invalid,” I say to Vasia.
“Taken him where? To the camp? They’re locals here, they have to reach an understanding.”
“What locals?” I say. “Look at what the bastards have done to the machine.”
We are now sitting in the carriage of our electric train, which is just about to set off, and are watching the invalid trying to get up and collect th
