In the room the father could not see one end of the room or the other. He could not see his fingers or his hands.
The father’s feet were on the floor, he felt sure. He was breathing through his mouth.
A camera may have floated through the darkness—dark was all that held the house together.
The father moved forward through the room in one direction. He could not feel his body go.
The father tried again.
Around the father the room went somewhere and in the room the father went into it and the father was there and the father moved.
He did not realize he was shouting. His voice enclosed around his head. He shook his head to get the sound out, and again began shouting, turning red:
This is my house.
This is our house.
This is where I am.