They agreed that Olga would come tomorrow, in other words today already.
Up to one o’clock she sat without a break and disgruntled, at one she couldn’t contain herself and looked in the cupboard, poured a small glass of ‘Hennessy’ and a glass of tonic and then until 3.30 watched the ‘Town of God.’ But at eight in the morning, of course, he rang.
But how strangely did he speak . . . the leitmotif was such: she broke absolutely everything. Everything was about her. He is a poor deserter, one who had gone too far, one who works in a sauna, someone who changes, but she is his terrible fate. Everything is because of her. Therefore he must indeed ring every morning, so she understood. She had already comforted him here. But at this invariable stage bunches of other meanings and ideas were woun
