Then he cleaned it as best he could and glanced at his watch. It was a quarter past eight. Suddenly the whole scene at Steinhof appeared before his eyes again, as if there were some hidden connection between it and the time on his watch. He was seized by fear, and felt a sharp pain in his left side. He thought of his room and it seemed horribly empty. What would he do at home now? It was still early. But he went on propelling himself through the driving wind nevertheless, swinging his hat in his hand, and suddenly he found himself close to the university. Ah, yes! he remembered — it was high time to pay a visit to Vrubiczek! He hadn’t been there for ages. If he was in luck, he would find him at home. But, of course, he might be out. He might have gone with his wife to the cinema, or to some other place. Since the doubt had entered his mind, it was certain that Vrubiczek would be at home … Gurdweill pushed this last thought down as far as it would go, somewhere in the region of his toes, and would not let it rise into his consciousness, since he did not want to tempt fate, which disliked adapting events to human wishes and expectations. At the same time, he kept repeating to himself, in the part of his brain where thoughts were clear and definite, ‘It’s certain he won’t be home, it’s certain he won’t be home,’ in order to get the better of fate indirectly, as it were, by assuring it: ‘You see, I know in advance that I won’t find him in, there’s no room for surprise and disappointment here …’ because the fear of going home alone was growing stronger all the time, and he hoped that in Vrubiczek’s presence he would recover his peace of mind.

Vrubiczek was at home.

‘Julia, Julia, look who’s here,’ he cried with undisguised delight, helping the visitor off with his coat. ‘It’s an ill wind indeed that blows nobody any good!’

The old couple were in the middle of their supper. A spirit of sheltered tranquillity pervaded the small, simple dining room, together with the aroma of roast meat and herb-flavoured soup. Gurdweill swallowed his saliva. The old woman drew up a chair to the table.

‘Please don’t trouble yourself; I can sit anywhere. I don’t want to disturb you in the middle of your meal.’

‘On the contrary,’ said the woman, who was in her fifties, on the short side, and had a beaming, kindly face. ‘Now that you’re here, you must eat with us.’

‘No, thank you, I’ve already eaten,’ Gurdweill lied for some reason. ‘I had something to eat a few minutes ago.’