“Dad, ask me how the day went.” He said nothing. “Pa, sorry I was late.” Nothing.

“Just think, they nearly arrested me. New soldiers at the checkpoint. I left my documents at home.”

Silence.

“You know what they said to me in line today? Do you want to hear? A whole block of flats collapsed in Snizhne. The whole building. Like a house of cards, can you imagine? They say it got bombed from the air. Somebody said they got a call from their relatives beyond the front. Supposedly, they’ve brought a bunch of Uragan and Tochka-U rocket launchers, but I’m not buying it. Mind you, we didn’t think the tanks would come, or the artillery.”

He said nothing. I had no idea what else to say.

“They say a whole battalion of Chechens has come in. They’re taking guys to the front. Anybody who refuses gets trench-digging duties. They say the government’s doing their big push on Sunday. This time it’s for sure.”

Nothing.

Something like an hour ticked past in silence and I dozed in the corner. Neither the wind at the loose window nor the sounds from the front shattered the bliss. His scream woke me. I started and saw him half-sitting on the bed, staring at one of the walls. It was dark outside. The candle had burned out. His lips trembled.

“Have you ever killed a man? A man will die.”

He pointed a trembling finger at a large circle. Inside it, there was one letter with a dot.

“Who, Dad? Who will you kill?” I asked, rubbing my eyes.

“The doctor said another month. But I want to kill him today. He’s a murderer.”

I went up to him and studied his face.

“Dad, how are you feeling?”

“Why didn’t you let me go? Another forty minutes and I would have been a goner. Forty minutes. It was dark. Why didn’t you let me go?”

For the first time in a long time, he looked straight into my eyes, not through me.

“Did the doctor come today? Did you call him? When he comes, you tell him, tell him to give me the pill. You call this living?”

Now he was looking at me with a baleful, sly expression, clearly testing me.

“The doctor came by yesterday and prescribed you these injections and pills. And here they are,” I said. “But not the pills you’re after. Nobody is going to give you those.”

Scowling, he spat out: “You little bitch. Call me a neurologist.”

“Neurologists are for when you’ve had a stroke. You haven’t had a stroke. And where am I supposed to find a neurologist anyway?”

“Just bring somebody. Something’s wrong in my head.”

I couldn’t account for the improvement. In the kitchen, I threw what remained of the shattered eggs into a frying pan and put it on the electric stove. The eggs that didn’t crack, I boiled, just in case the power went out again.