Chapter 8: Crisis
I don’t think that thought was a premonition. Rather, I think it was merely the sense of something hidden, not yet brought to light—a kind of one-shoe-still-to-drop expectation.
* * *
One day, I remember Anatole was a bit subdued. He had gone upstairs, getting ready to go to work, and I was lying on the bed watching a movie. As usual, I half listened to the sounds of his walking here and there above me. But then I remember a long silence—not unusual in itself—and then, the thud of a massive weight hitting the floor—really loud and resonant, so that the walls of my room seemed to shake. Then silence.
I leapt to my feet and went to the door. But it was bolted on the outside—as usual. Holding onto the door knob I leaned my head back and shouted.
“Anatole!”
No response.
