(It’s not the first time Old Man has surprised her with this kind of outburst, free of any logic, although it is the first time he has let himself be swept up by that sad, desperate ferocity. That’s how Old Man operates: he doesn’t connect facts the way other people would, doesn’t measure cause and effect in the same way. He considers things that would surprise others to be normal, and also the opposite, he’s surprised by normal things. And yet, he is absolutely not dumb, thinks Soon: he knows so much information, so many details, he’s so intelligent when it comes to useless things.)

It all started on a morning like any other. The alarm clock went off at the same time as always, and Soon lazed under the covers for a while, then dragged herself out of bed, washed her face, put on her track suit. When she went downstairs her parents were drinking coffee and talking in whispers; they went quiet when she entered the kitchen. She mixed a Cola Cao, nibbled on some madeleines. Same as always, says Soon, nothing to make her think that day would be different from any other. She didn’t plan anything, had no way of knowing she was approaching the decisive moment, the moment when everything would change: she left the house and headed down the street, hurrying because she was a little late … and then she turned around. She turned around and sped up even more, but in the opposite direction. Not yet knowing what to do. Not knowing where she was headed. Not even knowing why or from what she was running. Her heart was pounding hard, but she felt strangely relieved, even happy. She sat down on a bench, took out some notebooks, pretended she was reading over them. After a while she got up, walked to another neighborhood and sat on another bench, spent another good while there, dissimulating. No one noticed her. Maybe she gave the impression she was older, maybe an underdeveloped sixteen—it happens: some girls develop late, they’re slight and childish alongside their peers, girls among women. She spent the whole morning like that, wandering, until it was time to go home. She calculated the time exactly; her father opened the door for her, and his expression was the same as the day before, the week before: a routine, disinterested expression. They had lunch together. Her mother came home afterward, asked if she had much homework, if she wanted to go to the store later. Affectionate as always, both of them, not realizing a thing. She’d thought that her face would betray her, but no. Life went on the same whether she went to school or not. She knew then that she never wanted to go back.