He had left the apartment, moved out, no longer felt he lived there, but someone else still did. The radio announced the beginning of a new war, the world was buzzing, restive. Creak. Knock. Water dripping from the tap. They were not alone on the island. That was his last, terrifying guess.
The landlady’s property was intact and they were leaving behind a brood of champagne bottles in a corner of the kitchen, relics of a past life. He found a lone, forgotten bottle of brandy shoved under the table. It helped him to sleep again, otherwise, alone in the apartment, he had been unable to do so for a long time. The landlady spotted the bottle but did not react, either long accustomed to the sight of bottles, or out of respect for the deposit she could get back on it. She leered knowingly, “Wel
