Talking to Ghosts Read Free Page A

out brushes, combs, tweezers, hair slides, a whole paraphernalia, then sat for several minutes absorbed in untangling the hair caught in them and winding it gently around his fingers, then unwinding it and trying to shake it off, but the auburn threads clung to his damp skin and for a moment he struggled in silence, almost breathless from the effort. Eventually he rubbed his hands vigorously and went on exploring the contents of the drawers. He unearthed a tube of tablets and made out the words “DO NOT EXCEED THE PRESCRIBED DOSE” in red letters, and slipped the tube into his pocket.
    He spun around to face the empty darkness, almost falling off the stool as he did so. He stared at the body laid on the bed, lying tangled and bloody in the pale sheets. He got up and ran to the kitchen, filled a large glass with water, and in three goes gulped down the tablets in the tube, shaking his flushed face after each swallow. Then he closed the windows and shutters tight, shot home the bolts, ripped the phone out of the wall and, putting a pillow under his head, he lay on the floor next to the bed in the place where he had found her. He reached up, slid a hand under the sheet and clasped his mother’s hand. He quickly drifted into unconsciousness, a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, and did not feel the blowflies that landed on his skin, rubbing theirfront legs together and flying off again, heavy and buzzing, towards what really attracted them.
    *
    A face loomed over him, shining with sweat, eyes wide, the nose and mouth covered with a white mask. Someone slapped his cheeks, he heard voices, then saw the faces around him, all wearing masks, and imagined he was in hospital on an operating table. The voices were muffled, indistinct, and the faces of these people circled around, a languid merry-go-round with him floating at the centre, weightless and unreal. He closed his eyes again, but a blue dazzle played on his closed eyelids, a lightning flash that burned into his brain. A hoarse cry brought him round and he saw the sunlight spilling over the bright white ceiling, on which amorphous shadows danced.
    The man was still bent over him, raising his eyelids to inspect the pupils. He shone the harsh beam of a tiny flashlight into his eyes. “He’s coming round,” a voice said. Victor tried to turn his head, but immediately felt a cold stiffness in his neck, and the merry-go-round of shadowy figures whirled before his eyes. He felt a blood-pressure cuff press against his skin, to be almost immediately removed again. He felt someone grab him under the armpits and watched as the room righted itself, everything suddenly stopped spinning, and the scene froze into a tableau, men peered down at him in pity or in shock, and he looked from face to face at their masks and their huge eyes all turned on him, seeming to hold him upright like invisible poles held out to a drowning man. He heard a voice whisper in his ear, asking if he was alright, if everything was alright, but he didn’t know what to say because in that moment he was not sure he would ever again be able to speak to anyone, would ever be able to utter anything other than a groan or a wail. But the voice was insistent, and a face surged up from behind him, moving into his field of vision, and then he turned his head, or rather bowed it, and managed to shrug.
    The memories flooded back just as the stench of decomposition reached his nerve endings, as one by one they reawakened, and hestumbled hesitantly towards the bed hidden behind three men in surgical masks, wearing latex rubber gloves and white overalls. He stumbled and had to stop, and felt hands at his sides ready to hold him upright. Bewildered he stared down at the tube from the drip attached to his arm, then walked one, two, three steps, seeming to defy the bustling officers who had not moved. Once more a brutal silence fell over the room, the only sounds were ragged breaths and coughs, and as a