It was after eight o’clock. “Perhaps Perbeni was right,” I thought, “you cannot trust encyclopaedias: they’re in the hands of the mafia.” I was outraged.
The window was open to let a bit of air in. But dawn seemed not to have arrived that morning, or at the very least it was late, because outside it was still dark. Anguished and perplexed, I put those useless pages down on the bedside table. My head and my teeth ached; I closed my eyes for a second.
I don’t know how much time passed; perhaps half a minute or perhaps a whole one. When I felt a puff of air, I opened my eyes and suddenly there was broad daylight, which I found quite astonishing. That was not the day’s only incomprehensible surprise. The light bulbs were working normally and producing their usual brightness. I looked on the bedside table, on the floor, inside the drawer, under the sheet and under the pillow, but the pages torn from the encyclopaedia were nowhere to be seen. It was as though they had disappeared into the ether. There was a dusty notebook. The alarm had gone off some time ago.
And what day was it anyway?