Of course he will not ascend to the Throne. Someone told him he had to do it, so of course he won’t. In spite of Betti’s begging him for half an hour Csaba refuses each and every offer, even those that wouldn’t require him to do any actual work. It’s a matter of principle. He will be no one’s slave, he says, and I recognize the reference to a song on their second album. The song is called ‘No Slave for You’. ‘I won’t be your slave, even if I could be a king of slaves.’ This song was written to me, about me. I’m very proud of that.

In the afternoon we sit on the train. He only paid the fare for halfway to save money, now he’s hoping the controller won’t catch him. He gets lucky.

That night I give it a try for the final time. We’ve had more than fifty years of this push-and-pull, yet now we only have hours left. I manifest to him and make my offer again.

‘Take the Midnight Throne,’ I tell him in a sonorous voice. ‘Lead the army of the dead!’

Etc., etc., etc.

When he says no, I throw myself at his feet and start begging. This doesn’t help. I scold him. I call him a stubborn bastard, a worthless nobody, a terrible musician. He starts throwing insults at me as well, venting the rage left in him. He calls me weak, a piece of shit, a living example of failure. There’s truth in his insults, just like there’s truth in mine. I exist solely to tempt him, and yet I’m incapable of doing so. What kind of a demon crawls on the floor, kissing the feet of a human? What kind of a demon begs his victim? Still, I don’t feel ashamed. I’m doing it all for him. I’m doing it out of love.

Finally I give up. I give up once and for all.

That night I refrain from setting him up with a new nightmare. I know what’s about to happen in a few hours, and I’m contemplating the implications of it. I wonder how he’ll take the news that is fast approaching.

In the night the birds sing louder, the worms turn anxiously in the soil. A light bulb is switched off in the kitchen.

I think of the last Steelbird concert. It was not meant to be the final one, but a month later everyone had a falling out with everyone else. I didn’t enjoy the dissolution of the band, even though I made it happen. I thought it was the only way. Maybe I was wrong, but wrongs don’t matter anymore. They were playing in the Wigwam Club for a half-full house. He had already noticed the girl before the concert; she was wearing a Steelbird T-shirt with the sleeves cut off, her messy black hair falling over her shoulders. The lyrics for ‘No Slave for You’ were tattooed on her upper arm. After the concert they met up. Csaba invited the girl backstage. The girl had long been dreaming about Csaba; I made those dreams myself. No matter how much I was annoyed by the thought, no matter how much I hated to consider the possibility of failure, I needed a plan B. Csaba thought he was infertile.