One Thursday, sitting in the car, he saw his brother’s form behind the lace curtains in one of the rooms. A dry palm leaf hung from the balcony. Older Brother was crossing from one side of the room to the other, and there was something unnatural about his walk, as though he was trying to intimidate someone, or even playing with a football. Then the lights went out. Shivers coursed through his body again; his bones and muscles knew, divined, what his head rationalized, made opaque. The episode was repeated on three consecutive nights, always at the same time, and on the fourth the lantern in the dome of the church was lit and, standing outside, he clearly saw his brother’s figure high above. He didn’t remember any access to the dome inside the church or a footbridge across to it. The next day, after mass, he asked the parish priest if it was possible to get up to the dome and the lantern. “Only when it’s being cleaned, and then the workers need a harness,” was the reply. “Well, I’ve seen a man up there,” he insisted, and the priest then asked him to leave. That same night, under a supernaturally black sky without a single star, he again saw someone in the dome. It was Older Brother, standing stock-still, watching him with a fixed expression on his face, showing that his vigil had been going on for hours; suddenly his shadow moved from the dome to the old building and began to pass through the rooms. He was able to catch glimpses of it through the thin, improper, immodest curtains. There was no pause between one room and the next, as if the walls had been demolished. Older Brother reached the chamber with the balcony and palm leaf, and an eerie mist descended over the whole street.

The Top Floor Room

THE TOP FLOOR ROOM

The good news that causes everyone such inexplicable fear.

—CHARLES BAUDELAIRE