He lit a match and looked at his watch. It was half past five. Gurdweill’s limbs were frozen: his right leg was numb and full of pins and needles, and felt so heavy that he could hardly move it. He had the feeling that all his limbs were dislocated, and that his whole body had stretched and expanded, overflowing its natural boundaries and invading the surrounding space, merging, as it were, into the darkness, which had for some reason become denser. He felt as if he had been travelling in a train for days and nights at a stretch without closing his eyes, even though he had just slept for about half an hour. His eyes hurt and his teeth chattered with cold.

One of the men on the bench got up and set off wordlessly into the darkness, swaying on his feet and treading as silently as if he had no shoes on. The woman had already finished smoking the cigarette and fallen asleep again on her neighbour’s shoulder. Gurdweill stood up and began moving in the direction of the Praterstern, limping on his numb leg, which gave way beneath him like cotton wool. As daybreak approached, the cold increased, and a wind sprang up too, penetrating to the marrow of his bones. When had it all begun? He had the feeling that he had never been at home, that he had always been wandering thus, worn out and exhausted. One wish only flickered inside him: to sit down somewhere warm, to sit still and close his eyes.

He was close to a tram stop and, without thinking about what he was doing, he came to a halt and stood there waiting. An empty tram drew up, and he got on and huddled into a corner. The only other passengers in the car were two poor women and a working man. The cold did not leave Gurdweill. On the contrary, it seemed to him that it was even colder inside the tram than outside, and at the next station he got off again. For a moment he stood still, as if trying to make up his mind what to do next. But in truth he was not thinking of anything at all. His chest was burning as if smothered in a mustard plaster, although at the same time he felt cold. He huddled deeper into his coat, stuck his hands into his sleeves, and looked up at the sky, which seemed to him to be growing lighter as daybreak approached. Then he began dragging himself wearily back in the direction of the Praterstern, from which he had just come. After he had taken a few steps, it occurred to him that Nordbahnhof was nearby, and he could go there. People would think he was waiting for a train. It must be warm there.