The old church clock struck ten – ten o’clock. The air was still; not a leaf moved on the trees – all was peaceful. White nights. There was a feeling of rigidity, as if something was building up and nature was holding her breath. Light? It wasn’t light. It just wasn’t dark either. The branches loomed black; they were waiting. As if the skin had been stripped from everything: the night stood there shamelessly, without darkness, deprived of blackness. You wanted to conjure up the black cloak of night, and throw it over everything, so that nothing could be visible any more. The castle had lost its burning red, and looked a dull brown, then murky. The sky was grey. It was night, without being night.

‘It should always be as quiet as this, Lydia – why is there so much noise in life?’

‘Dear boy, you won’t find silence any more these days – I know what you mean. No, it’s been lost for all time . . .’

‘Why doesn’t it exist?’ I went on. ‘There’s always some noise. Someone knocking, or music, or a dog barking, or someone tramping about in the flat above, windows rattling, the phone ringing – God should have given us earlids. We’ve been incorrectly designed.’

‘Stop babbling,’ said the Princess. ‘Listen to the silence instead!’

It was so quiet, we could hear the soda singing in our glasses. Our drinks stood in front of us, a brownish colour; the alcohol was quietly entering my bloodstream. Whisky removes your cares. I can easily imagine someone destroying himself with it.

A bell rang in the distance, as though frightened out of its sleep, then everything was quiet again. Our house was a grey-white colour; all the lights were out. Silence arched over our heads like a giant bowl.

At that moment we were both quite alone, she on her female star, and me on my male planet. Not enemies . . . but far, far apart.

From the brown whisky three or four red ideas climbed into my blood . . . crude, indecent, squalid. They came, whooshed past, and then they were gone. My mind retraced the shape the feeling had sketched. You swine, I said to myself. There you are, you’ve got this wonderful woman . . . you’re a dirty old man.

We’re all animals underneath, said the swine. Don’t fool yourself!

I won’t have it, I said to the swine. You’ve caused me so much pain and unhappiness, so many bad hours . . . not to mention the fear I might have picked up some infection. Forget about those subterranean adventures! They’re not even that wonderful – you just imagine they are!

Hehe! snorted the swine, so it’s no fun? Now just imagine . . .

Quiet! I said. Quiet! I don’t want to.

Oui, Oui, the swine said and wallowed shamelessly; just imagine there was . . .