“I do, I do. I ran out, saw somebody on the ground. I couldn’t work out who at first, then I saw the shoes. My husband’s shoes.”

Sobbing and tugging at the collar of her dressing gown, the woman pulled her hand out of K.’s grip and started toward the basement. Her howls receded into the ground. Anton arrived, case in hand, and stopped at the door, looking with disgust at the body.

“We need to help,” said K.

“Him?”

“Her.”

“And how are you going to do that?”

“She’s in shock. What sedatives have you got?”

“Maybe you’d like to sedate the whole city.” Anton waved his hand dismissively, stepped over the body and headed upstairs. “Let them drink vodka. Ethyl alcohol suppresses the central nervous system.”

K. ran after Anton, snatched the case from his hands, and braced to yell at him, but restrained himself and instead ran downstairs.

Anton put up no resistance, and just followed K. with a mocking glance. K. pressed his back to the wall, walked around the body and hurried downstairs. He had to keep his head bowed in the cramped, low-ceilinged basement. The occupants were seated in armchairs and chairs.

Seeing him, many got up and approached. K. tried to locate the woman, but he couldn’t see her.

People blocked his way.

“Are you a doctor? Have you got any Corvalol? My heart can’t take this,” one old man said, shaking K. by the hand. “Just a bit of Corvalol.”

“Do you have any Analgin?”

“Please move aside.” K. pushed his way through a couple of people and tried to move forward, but they closed around him in a tight ring. One thrust a two-year-old into his arms.

“Listen to her, she’s got a cough.”

K. carefully lowered the girl to the floor.

“Do we have any wounded people?” he asked loudly.

One woman extended an arm and pulled up a sleeve. There was a small wound in her forearm. K. held the woman by the hand.

“Please stand back,” he asked the others.

He shone a flashlight at the wound. The woman looked at him hopefully.

“It’s not serious, is it?”

K. shook his head.

“Get in the ambulance. We’ll go to the hospital and get the shrapnel out.”

She backed away.

“I won’t go. I have a child here, my things, the flat, I can’t leave. Can’t you do it here?”

“So how about that Corvalol?” shouted a voice off to the side.

“Do I look like a pharmacy?” K. told the old man and again turned to the woman: “Take the child with you, let’s go. I don’t have any surgical equipment here. This has to be done in a surgery theatre, not a basement. The piece is larger than you think. The wound needs to be cut open. And the wife of the deceased. Where is she?”

“Well, I’m not going anywhere.” The woman continued to struggle.

“Will you take a listen to the girl’s breath,” somebody else insisted, pushing the child forward.