Does it mean that it is over?

What has been set in motion? If only he knew, he attempts to say in order to fool himself. He knows only too well what it is.

But why?

Why shouldn’t I have done it? I wasn’t the one who wanted trouble. I wanted everyone to be left in peace with his own affairs, and I can bear witness to it on oath.

He listens.

No, it hasn’t stopped. It has been set in motion, is being scratched and written on the surface of the desk.

Madness, he says, leaning back in his chair, his spine turned to ice. His ears are buzzing with insomnia. His body is aching with hunger.

But why sit here any longer letting this fool me? Get away from here, from this desk that fills you with delusions.

Yes. He gets to his feet. But it holds him. He is able to move, but he does not want to. It has been set in motion, it scratches on the surface, and the message binds him to the spot, as if this is the only place where it is possible to be.

So he lets himself slip back into the chair. This strange force is guiding and commanding his body. A sharp desire just to hear over and over again that it has been set in motion. To hear what he can expect.

But there is still resistance in him. After a while he hardens himself. No, no! This is simply something that is trying to destroy me. Let it try. I’ll show that I’m not afraid to sit here in this chair – it can scratch and write as long as it likes, and I shan’t run away and hide. Besides, it’s all imagination.

‘Freda!’ he calls.

She appears in the doorway at once. She must have been sitting anxiously in the other room. Perhaps he has been here for a long time? She only puts her head round the door, as if she were a bit frightened.

‘What is it?’

‘Come here.’

She comes over to the desk quickly, glancing at him rapidly in order to find out what is happening. She sees something too, for she exclaims, ‘What’s the matter, Father? All this sitting about!’

‘I’m not feeling very well,’ he tells her. ‘I’m not sure what it is exactly, I can feel it all over. There’s been so much that’s upsetting recently, and I’ve been sleeping badly. So it’s one thing and another – but it’ll pass. Freda, can you see anything on this desk?’

‘Yes, how awful it looks!’ she answers at once. ‘I must have forgotten it. But I’ll go and get a duster and do it now.’

As she is talking she lets her finger-tip glide through the particles of dust, making small whorls that turn into an almost invisible path, and her finger makes a slight noise against the wood.

Under it he can hear the other finger.

He exclaims: ‘That? I didn’t mean that! But don’t stand there scraping up the desk, for heaven’s sake!’