The sound of a voice nearby makes him start.

His friend has come back.

The writer didn’t hear the door . . . Nor did he understand what the other man said, but he found some writing pads . . . That’s it, he said something like, “I had to go all the way to Lower Town. Lippen’s Drugstore.”

“Thank you,” he said. “Now please go away.”

“I’m going to sleep here,” says the friend.

“Leave me alone!”

“Listen, it’s four a.m.!”

“SCREW OFF!”

The friend gets the point. He leaves. He doesn’t look very happy, but he goes. Just before he shuts the door, the writer says, “Tell Marie not to come tomorrow.”

“Okay.”

“Or the day after, either! Tell her not to disturb me.”

His friend goes out and he starts writing again.

To immerse himself in the atmosphere again, he rereads the previous page, and at once the words start coming! His friends the words are there when he needs them. They arrive en masse, pushing one another to make room. He is very glad to see them, and he writes like a madman, a maniac. He no longer knows what time it is, whether it is day or night. His characters argue, they act, they make decisions, and he has a strong sense that he is a spectator in this story and that his role consists of describing as faithfully as possible the action that is taking place before his eyes. The characters know precisely where they are going and they take him along with them into a New World . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Fog.

Everything is white.

He hears a far-off voice: “Jack! Jack Waterman!”

A face is bending over him. Marie.

“Bonjour,” she says.

The walls are white. He is in a bed.

He tries to get up but cannot. He can hardly move his head. He is very tired.

“Everything’s fine,” says Marie. “Don’t move.” She takes his hand and raises it gently so he can see: a transparent plastic tube is attached to the back of his hand; beside the bed, a flask of serum is hanging from a stand.

A nurse comes into the room and busies herself taking his blood pressure.

“Glad to see you back with us!” she says, smiling.

He makes an effort to ask what has happened, but no sound emerges from his mouth. And suddenly he remembers: THE NOVEL! THE SHEETS OF PAPER SCATTERED OVER THE TABLE AND FLOOR . . . then a great black space . . .

“Stay calm,” says the nurse.

“Wait a minute,” says Marie.

She opens a drawer in the little chest beside his bed and takes out a binder. A very big one.