125 / 198
125
He needs the money now, needs it with a fatal urgency,
whether his brain realizes it or not. I made sure to confirm
this as soon as I arrived. I thought the place would be
disgusting, but it was only somehow dried up, sterile, quiet.
I didn’t experience any revulsion, impatience or rage. I
didn’t feel anything at all
inside
myself, only on the surface.
Instead of the torturous spasm of my whole being that I
expected, I experienced only a bodily discomfort, as if I
were wearing the wrong-sized clothes or too-tight shoes.
I was uncomfortable on the white hospital chair; my back
was to the window and the potted plant next to it. It looked
dried out, pressed in an album, even though it was still
alive; I even caught the slightly tangy scent of its leaves and
the sweetish odor of withering and decay. A hospital room,
a room for death. I’m wondering if I shouldn’t look into the
old man’s eyes to see: is he thinking about the end?
When I got back after going to the bank, I went straight
into the bathroom, undressed and filled up the tub.
Afterwards I stood for a long time under the shower. I
wanted my body to soften up; it was like some kind of shell
had crusted onto me – I know this was just my imagination,
but the scrubbing did me good and I no longer saw myself
in the fogged-up mirror. Just a huge profusion of bottles in
the white steam, little flasks of monochromatic creamy
liquids, all in twenty-gram doses for hotel junkies. I didn’t