The dream is at its peak.

At its peak, and the arrow polisher is relaxed and happy. He is stroking the arrows slowly, but he belongs to the other side. Among Stig and his companions. He is certain of it. Everyone who passes and ought to know it, does do so. One day, when the storm and the night are over, he will stand forth in the company of all those who will be accorded honour and gratitude….

As he stands lost in visions of the future yet another person is about to cross the corridor. He is not Stig, but he is a good man. The arrow polisher knows him from before, too, from before this time. And he prepares to give him a friendly smile without hesitation, he is so taken up with his dream. A knowing smile. But the man goes straight past without looking up, even more than naturally stiff.

The dream is shattered.

Well well, that’s how it must be for a while, until people find out who he is and why he is polishing arrows.

The change will be brought about by Stig.

He peers around for Stig but cannot see him. Not yet, but he’s bound to come, he’s perpetually on the move. And it will happen through Stig. First get to know Stig. Let Stig understand who I really am, that I’m not standing here serving the arrow folk. Then Stig will help me on.

He must be here soon, surely? He appears in one or other of the corridors every day. The arrow polisher believes he sees many people nodding to him secretly. There is a great brotherhood around him. I, too, shall join it.

He is keeping a look-out as he polishes. And he is right: after a while he sees a tall, thin, stooping man far off in the shadow. It is Stig at work in the quivering house.

Come this way, wishes the arrow polisher.

And Stig comes this way. Hurrying. Exhausted. A strange sight among all the arrows. I know a lot about him, thinks the arrow polisher. I could have said things about him in there that would have been the end of him. They would thank me and honour me and reward me with large sums of money.

A shadow passes in front of his eyes. A mist from the abyss. He fears it and suppresses it.

But now the question is whether Stig will nod to him and greet him today as he wishes so ardently?

Shall I greet him?

No, I dare not, there’s really no reason to. Stig must begin. And it will happen. Perhaps now is the moment when it will happen.

He hangs up his cloth and turns his back on the ladder and the arrows; his whole being is turned towards Stig. His face is altered by his tense anticipation. Stig cannot fail to notice him, standing right in front of him as he is.

But Stig looks straight ahead.