Distant Light (13 page)

I spent the whole day getting ready. But first I tidied the house. I washed the floors, made the bed, threw away the ashes from the fireplace. I washed the plates, cleaned the top of the cooker, inside the oven, the door handles, the panes of glass in the few windows. I also washed myself and put on clean clothes.

Before going up to bed, I banged the saucepan lids for a long time to scare away any animals.

Now it is dark. But the sky is still white from the snow that continues whirling over the earth. I watched it a short while ago from the little window of my room. All dark and white.

Beside me I have all I need. I won’t set the alarm, tonight.

It’s hard to say what I’m doing …

All is ready.

There, now it’s night. Now it’s night.

What’s going on?

I can hear thuds.

But far, far away.

I’ve been listening to them for some time, from where I am.

But where am I? Why can’t I wake up?

Time has passed.

I can still hear those thuds. Someone’s knocking at the door of my house. But from far away, from very far away.

Who is it hammering so hard on my door?

I’m frightened, but I can’t move, I can’t wake up.

Why is it so hard for me to wake up?

I fall back to sleep again, though I was already asleep and I was hearing that sound of thuds in my sleep.

Again, again. Those dreadful thuds arriving here, from far away, from very far away.

Terrifying.

It’s all dark. It’s all black.

And yet there are still those thuds. Louder, even louder. There’s someone who won’t give up banging at my door, so far away.

I’d like to try and wake up, if I’m asleep, to get out of bed and go and open it. But I can’t. I’m drifting back to sleep and listening to that far away banging in my sleep.

There’s a voice now, shouting, shouting.

Shouting to open up.

I open my eyes. Though perhaps I already had them open.

I don’t know whether I’m asleep or awake. I seem to be lifting my head from the pillow and trying to get out of bed.

I look around, still sleepy, half dazed.

I reach across to the nightstand. I switch on the light. But I can’t see, I can’t see anything.

I try to pull myself up, to sit up.

I feel the bed, the chair by the bed, while that banging and those shouts continue coming from far away, from very far away.

Under my toes I can feel my short trousers lying in a heap.

I slip them on, standing on the frozen floorboards, propped against the wall so I wouldn’t fall over.

I put my socks on, my shoes, still sleepy, half-dazed.

I take a few paces toward the wooden stairs. I start to climb down, very slowly, one step at a time, since my legs are short and the steps are high, very high.

I’m in the kitchen.

I go toward the door, walking over the freshly washed floor while those shouts, those thuds continue, ever closer.

I look around, though I can’t seem to see anything, the table tidy, the top of the cooker, the shiny handles, the clean fireplace.

Finally I reach the door.

I open it.

I open the wooden shutters, which are vibrating with the banging.

There’s a man in front of me.

He suddenly stops when he sees me.

I stop too.

The hood of his parka is down and he is brushing the snow from his shoulders.

“Why did it take you so long to open?” he asks.

“I couldn’t manage to get up.”

He looks at me.

I look at him too.

“What’s happened?” he asks again, quietly, in a whisper.

“I’ve killed myself.”

He carries on looking at me in astonishment, in silence.

“Come!” he says, all of a sudden.

“But it’s the middle of the night! There’s a blizzard!”

“Come!”

“But we can’t see the paths! We can’t go anywhere!” We can’t see a thing!”

“Come!”

I hold out my little hand.

He takes it in his large hand.

“Where are we going?” I ask him.

“I don’t know.”