8

The child was playing, on the grass, with a hedgehog. Oddly enough, that section of the wall reflected a lot more light than the others. The grass at the base of the wall was dry and the air had a sort of nocturnal sheen, typical for nights with a full moon. Kosef J wanted to say something to the child but he signalled that he shouldn’t speak.

‘Can you see?’ the child whispered a little later.

‘What?’ Kosef J asked, whispering, too.

‘It’s dancing,’ the child replied.

Indeed, every time the hedgehog could hear the two pebbles knock together, it got seized by anger and broke out into a nervous twitch.

‘It’s happy,’ the child said.

‘On the contrary,’ Kosef J, ‘you’re tormenting it.’

‘No way,’ the child protested.

‘Yes, you are,’ Kosef J insisted.

The child stood up, looking sad.

‘Had no idea,’ he said.

‘No problem,’ Kosef J pacified him.

The child bashed the pebbles together again to make them sparkle.

‘See?’ he said proudly. ‘They burn.’

The child bashed them a few more times, and then handed them generously over to Kosef J. The hedgehog was still there, as if it was carefully following what these two were up to. Not wanting to disappoint the child, Kosef J had a go at bashing the pebbles together. Sparks broke forth really quickly, as if the pebbles had been charged with a secret energy. Also, just by virtue of being borderline hot, the pebbles made Kosef J feel a pleasent warmth in his palms, and then gradually, in his entire body.

‘What kind of pebbles are these?’ he asked.

‘Didn’t I show them to you?’ the child wondered. ‘They are from that pit.’

‘I see,’ Kosef J nodded.

All the panic and madness of groping along the wall was now a distant memory. All of a sudden, everything had become simple again and returned to normal. The presence of the child was clear proof that the prison entrance was somewhere very near. Kosef J didn’t even see the urgency of talking about this.

‘I wonder what the time is?’ Kosef J asked, mainly from himself.

The child shrugged.

‘It’s still early,’ he said. Then he produced an apple from his pocket and handed it to Kosef J: ‘Want it?’

‘Where did you get it from?’ Kosef J asked, startled, having the impression that the apple was already bitten.

‘The garden,’ the child replied.

Kosef J devoured the apple with gusto. He could have sworn that the apple was picked from the ground, from under the tired branches of a mature apple tree, from the very garden that had fascinated him so much. The apple tasted of earth and grass.

‘It’s really good,’ Kosef J observed.

‘It’s from my garden,’ the child said.

‘Is it far?’ Kosef J asked.

‘No,’ the child replied.

All of a sudden they became aware of a commotion coming from the direction of the buildings right beyond the wall. Kosef J couldn’t quite figure out what was taking place there, but he was able to sense some kind of human presence that did him good. He then got the impression of hearing Franz Hoss swear, which pleased him no end.

‘So what were you up to?’ Kosef J asked, mainly to break the silence.

‘I’m keeping watch,’ the child replied.

‘He’s keeping watch!’ Kosef J reasoned, feeling calm and sated yet somewhat intrigued by the child’s words.

‘Over what?’ he asked.

‘Didn’t I tell you? the child asked. ‘The garden.’

‘You mean the apple orchard?’ Kosef J probed incredulously.

‘Yes,’ the child confirmed.

‘How weird he is,’ Kosef J mused. ‘How young, yet how weird. He’s so young, so serious and can talk such strange things,’ Kosef J continued his line of thought.

‘But why?’ Kosef J asked. ‘Is anyone coming here to steal?’

‘No,’ the child replied. ‘They’re coming to take a bite.’

Kosef J had the impression of being overwhelmed by a sort of uncertainty, an uncertainty that had stubbornly been following him for the last two days, and whenever he’d briefly catch his breath he’d be soon caught up in its sharp claws.

‘To take a bite of what?’ Kosef J inisted.

‘The apples,’ the child explained. ‘They don’t steal them, only take a bite of them and leave them hanging on the trees. They come every night.’

‘How long has this been going on for?’ Kosef J asked, astounded.

‘Since summer,’ the child replied.

Indeed, the child had a grumpy face. He threw himself into the grass and rested his palms above the leaves of grass as if they were some slender flames capable to warm his hands.

‘Get it?’ the child carried on. ‘They don’t steal, only take a bite of their flesh and leave the apples on the trees just like that, in a state of being bitten. This makes me awfully angry.’