He lies down on the sofa, sucked dry and used up by the lamp out there, and with a shadow gliding past him. Not even a shadow. Nothing. Merely a misgiving on account of the doomed souls he has let in. But the walls in here offer a kind of security all the same. It is out there beside the blinking lamp, when he is supposed to be intent and alert, that anguish grips him. Sometimes he wishes there was no need for this post. They could probably arrange easily enough for the door to open by itself, without human help, but it looks as if the people inside don’t want that. They want a living person here to cap everything.

Here he lies and must sleep, but he won’t get much of that. Then the bell rings in good time and he is standing outside again on the slab in the cupboard, hypnotized by the lamp.

Has it happened, or has he imagined it? It returns as a memory over and over again, so it must have happened.

It is on the open space. He is standing inside his compartment with the glass partition so he can see it all. Then, out of the corner of his eye, at the same time as he is watching the lamp, he catches sight of a man approaching from the hidden, dark corridors in the house. He is coming in this direction. And as nobody comes here the sentry becomes hot and excited. The sentry watches him as if with the side of his eyeball, for he cannot take his eyes off the lamp. Will it happen now? he thinks vaguely. He has known for a long time that something must happen; he realizes this now when he sees the man. He is a young man but his face is tired and worn in spite of his youth. It is noticeable when he comes close enough. And all the time this is happening to one side of him, for the sentry dare not take his eyes off the lamp. Now the man is just outside the glass partition: he is so exhausted that he cannot make a sound when he tries to speak – all he can do is open his mouth, but nothing comes out of it. There he stands outside the glass partition with his mouth open. It is a horrible sight.

No, it’s the glass! he thinks, and swings down the partition in one movement, without looking away from the lamp. And then he can hear what the man is saying with his last ounce of strength: ‘Do you know? Do you know what you’re doing?’

A penetrating question, and he has used his final reserves of energy to come here and say it. He can scarcely be heard but to the sentry it sounds like thunder, like a preface to judgement. It grips his heart like iron. Lies are no use in this situation, and he says trembling, ‘Yes, I know’.