… crushing din of explosions filled the town.
Sahtik jolted up, pulled on her clothes and shot off to the Underground. It was three in the morning. Ahshaut—left over—slept on.
I spent the morning at the Club. Araic came and left. We had no chat. It's too cold even for a small talk.
Why did I get ill? Because of the conditions? OK, may be. Still, to fall ill in any sort of conditions there must be a "go-ahead" given to an illness by my subconscious. Why did it give it?
A few days ago while poking about at the Underground's dump (the realm of dust) in search of some wheels for a handcart, I discovered someone's half-empty box of matches and took it. Actually, I didn't need it, but I took it. That's why. Don't take bad nickels, sirrah.
(…Freud is right: at a crisis time, man starts nit-pickingly find faults with himself…)
I slept after lunch. (A sin for a Brahman.)
One page. Supper. Backgammon with Sahtik.
Now, I have only to see them to the Underground and then – out for the water.
So, here is one more – Good night.
February 6
Shelling in the night.
The day entirely calm.
Till noon at the Club.
After lunch, two pages from Joyce.
Yoga. Supper.
A major breakdown occurred at the water-walk. I had to haul the water home in a flask—together with the broke handcart's parts tied up onto the handle. The remaining two wheels, screaking under the abnormal strain, held to the end.
It's twenty-to-ten pm – So long.
February 7
No changes to the parting words work no wonders, be it "Good night" or "So long", the result is the same – the words don't have the power to prevent shelling in the dead of night.
At the Club the veteran porter, Shamir, asked me, as a man of learning, to give an informed answer to his, uneducated folk's, question, 'How will this mess end?'
I, to our mutually felt disappointment, had no answer.
Arcadic visited the Renderers' to ask if Lenic kept popping up.
The attack during the lunchtime left me alone at our family dinner table.
Three hours of mending the handcart.
One page from Joyce. I was finishing Yoga. They started having supper. A random shell burst shooed them away. They fled leaving the tea filled just a moment before to steam away the tailing whiffs from the untouched cups.
Nothing could convince Sahtik to finish the supper first. Maybe, she's right too.
Then I finished my yoga and now—while my supper is being warmed up—I scribble these notes.
After having my supper and paying the 'end-of-day' visit to the Underground, I'll go for water.
