Chapter 11

Reasons ways in which why the country could might come to a stand still:

Absence of diesel.

Plague.

Absence of.

He could not accept reality as it was, as it used to be, as it is now, as it always will be.

Struggling.

So much struggling.

With the world, with himself.

Could it think?

The world, he means. Could the world think? Space that is. What feelings would it have, would it harbour?

—I.

These and other musings.

He sharpen his pencil, leaned backwards, and looked out the window, looked down on to the street below.

Clare Street.

Could be anywhere.

—Are you writing this down?

—Of course.

He turned back to him, faced him, and smiled, obliquely.

Then let us continue.

—Then let us continue.

He told him stories. Stories of the old days. Stories of violence. Stories of near ends. Stories about his wife and child.

—You know he had both of them killed.

He went on like this. All day. At the end of the first day, I said I couldn’t take anymore and that he should find someone else.

—Why?

—I cannot stomach it.

—Stomach. I am only telling you. You do not have to live it. Do you understand me?

He did.

The writer bent forward on his desk and lifted his pen.

—Let me tell you about the Wagners.

Do, he said.