* * *
Malina looks around meticulously, he sees everything but no longer hears. Only his small green-rimmed cup is still there, nothing more, proof that he is alone. The telephone rings again. Malina hesitates, but then goes back to answer it after all. He knows it’s Ivan. Malina says: Hello? And again for a while says nothing.
* * *
Excuse me?
No?
Then I didn’t express myself clearly.
There must be some mistake.
The number is 723144.
Yes, Ungargasse 6.
No, there isn’t.
There is no woman here,
I’m telling you, there was never anyone here by that name.
No one else is here.
My number is 723144.
My name?
Malina.
* * *
Steps, Malina’s incessant steps, quieter steps, the most quiet steps. A standing still. No alarm, no sirens. No one comes to help. Not the ambulance and not the police. It’s a very old wall, a very strong wall, from which no one can fall, which no one can break open, from which nothing can ever be heard again.
* * *
It was murder.
Malina Page 32