Perczik twisted his mouth into a spiteful smile. Gurdweill imagined an amputated ear, like the ones in illustrated ABCs for children, neatly wrapped in cotton wool and mailed to America in a little box … He felt a distinct surge of nausea, as if he had eaten something too fatty to stomach. He pushed his unfinished coffee aside. But the disturbing picture, having once invaded his imagination, could not be banished. It grew of its own accord and took on a life of its own. In vain he tried to distract himself by playing with the coffee spoon. Now the important thing was for the ear to reach its destination safely. The hold at the bottom of the ship where they kept the mail must be swarming with rats … And what if the box reached America empty? Some other means would have to be found … The people in charge of such things presumably had tried and tested means at their disposal … Imagine if such a thing happened to him, if his ear were eaten by rats! Gurdweill felt a kind of tickling in his ears, as if they were crawling with ants. ‘Phoo!’ he said to himself. ‘What nonsense!’

‘Rudolfus seems to have fallen asleep,’ he heard Thea say. ‘Did you drop off, rabbit? Let’s go home.’

Ulrich and Perczik stood up to go too. They’d been sitting in the café long enough, they said, as if they felt the need to apologise. But a walk in the fresh air would be nice, and they would be happy to accompany Gurdweill and Thea. On a night like this it would be a pity to go home so early.

And they all set off together, in spite of Gurdweill’s sulky expression. Perczik’s company was particularly unwelcome to him.

‘You’ll miss the last tram, Perczik, and you’ll have to walk home,’ he said.

But Perczik was undaunted. ‘Then I’ll walk!’ he said. ‘Tonight it will be a pleasure!’

There was no way of getting rid of him.