I thought I had heard that voice before, that same voice which now echoes in the air... wavering slowly - breaking - rising violently, then dwindling - a howling and a convulsion ¬disintegrating into short cries.

            The same voice now orders me to stand in a row with a sharp note which grates like a creaking sound - I am taken by surprise at the order and the situation as a whole, in particular the command to join a long human column which issued from no particular person nor a specific source - suffice it that it was a stern order - conveying a threatening note - oblivious of the possibility of refusal or its consequences - this was what I could not easily accept - but it did not cross my mind to do so.
            I had been sauntering without a care –
 I remembered a rude joke and was about to laugh to myself - when I collided with the voice once more - a curse and a fury - the echo of contempt - so fierce and stunning as to strike a person dumb.

            It was as if I had lost my senses or as though the situation possessed magical powers. I instantly doubled back and moved without turning round towards the human wall - and stood at the back - I was the last one. I started to wipe the cold sweat that covered my neck and forehead as the booming voice faded away and a tense silence hung overhead. Nothing moved or gave any sign of life down the length of the human chain. Nothing was heard apart from the creaking of the glass door which opened periodically to swallow one of the men - he who enters is not seen emerging again - after a while - once more - confronting perplexity, anxiety and frozen sweat.

            To pass the time which hung heavily and to overcome the feelings of weariness and bewilderment, I sank into a clamorous discourse with myself.

            He who now stands at the end of the line is an unknown person who has acquired a magical quality - a mere unfortunate employee ¬my_elf - a statue made of fragile clay - absorbing air and time, dozmg over the headlines of daily newspapers - merging into the crowds and watching people as they scurry and sleep and breed on alarge bed - quarrelling with the days and stripping the skins of women - converging on the edge of the bed when time lay vacant and chattering - the bedspread gets soiled - is cleansed with rain ¬which the sun then dries - and no sooner does the body of a man or woman fall over the edge of the bed - than several heavily-veined hands lift the body and place it into a dark wooden box with a secure lid then discard it far away.

            The men then wave their hands in boredom and once more converge in the middle of the bed to recount the sins of the person just departed - unbeknown to him - to God's mercy.

            Every morning the clay statue repeats his monotonous game - he slips into a dusty suit and pats his head then emerges into the street ¬surprised each time at how constrained he is - that's why we see him contriving arguments with walls and vehicles - he fixes his gaze on balconies - the balconies get reflected in his eyes - and he explodes with fright when he discovers that in every balcony there is the body of a dead girl - and the clay statue which was born of mud swears that he would never again sink his eyes into dead flesh - or provoke war with stones, shadows, vehicles and stars devoid of light.

            Every day the statue renews its solid oath but... there again is that accursed voice rising up, twisted and intrusive: 'Don't put your hands in your pockets!'

            I obeyed the order waiting for a miracle to happen and for the fog to disperse - and that I can solve the riddle from above - to see its face and stare at its features and bathe it in light - I will return to my mother and recount the whole episode but she won't believe anything I say - for my mother had always assured me that the bed which accommodates everything, does not tolerate funny lies in the end.

            The line starts to decrease - those who enter do not come out again - nobody separates me from the door except one man - it's the same frightened man - to whose heart beats I had been listening and which sound like an old clock - he was really so terrified that he trembled when I whispered in his ear, asking him about the glass door and what the large building contained - he trembled and said nothing.

            Eventually he crept inside the creaking glass door - I remained alone - the sun had departed and long shadows spread over the land - a cold wind was blowing - surrounding the building with adesolate darkness.

            The door opened for the last time and I entered - all sense of fear disappeared from me - I took a few steps along a dimly lit corridor ¬and all over the walls were scattered various jumbled writings.

            I started to read what was written in a bad scrawl - distinguishing words with difficult - luminous red dots separated words and sentences.

            'Attention ...'
            'Laughter is an outmoded habit... '
            'Don't try to understand - attempting to understand is amisfortune. '
            'Mask - any mask.'
            'Night is the mask.'

            I was filled with sorrow because I understood nothing, and I crossed the corridor pursued by despair - I slunk into a large hall empty of all furniture - a lamp was hanging from the ceiling pouring its light over the body of a naked woman - lying stretched out - with legs wide open on the marble floor without moving. I approached the woman with trepidation - I had imagined at first that what I was seeing was a daydream - the mysterious woman - the vision of those who die suddenly - embalmed longing, the burning anticipation on the edge of the large bed - spilt blood - then... then there was the woman, unforbidden and available.

            I leapt over the short distance - looking down on the exposed illuminated nakedness - giggling in astonishment - recalling those who had passed here before me - not remembering their number ¬but this is not important now - all the waiting in the sun and the harsh voice - all that has now ended in this long-imagined banquet of flesh.

            I shakily bent over her - and extended a trembling hand - my pulsating blood mingling with my sweat and rapid breathing - time stood still - my dear mother would never believe my story - I approached the accursed woman - and my head fell between my hands - suddenly as if plummeting from a mountain - I discovered that the woman was dead - a naked rigid body.

            All this beauty without warmth - an extinguished fire - the long hair without a sheen - with the touch of wood - its roughness and pallid colour.

            The breasts were clustered on the chest, flaccid and shrunken ¬without a sparkle or a glimmer or a shiver - spread open to silence, death and disappointment - waiting for an invasion that would not occur - a rain drizzle soon dried by the air - waiting for blood to course through their veins - a closed passage.

            No doubt a devil had arranged this trick - I clasped my head in my hands - and at that moment the familiar voice repeated in contrived dignity and a solemn resonance:

            'Place your signature on the body and leave the room at once!'

            I could not muster any strength to move my fingers... either asignature or death.

            'Time is running out.'
            I resumed staring at the flesh, this mummified piece of flesh, and noticed in that instant that all those who had preceded me into this hall had left behind them their signatures and fingerprints. I noticed small circles and twisted interwoven lines and some drops of slimy saliva on the body - the carcass was covered with red blotches as if they had been caused by savage livid pinch-marks.

            Some had not been content with merely pinching - but had sunk their teeth into the dead flesh.

            I fled from the hall - fighting to control my sobs but a strange laugh burst behind my bent frame - a melodious soft laugh - it was the woman who a short while ago was lying with legs wide apart waiting for the rain - the deceased woman who bore the signatures of the whole population of the city all over her body - she had returned to life suddenly and was laughing seductively.

            I dried my tears and turned round back towards the hall - but my way was obstructed by the booming voice which burst forth and shook the whole building down to its foundations.

            'It was your only chance but you missed it and you must depart from the building instantly.'

            I departed leaving nothing behind me except my disappointment and the rotting body - and the stern voice which kept on repeating incessantly:

            'To live like a human you only get one chance... To live... '

            I left that mythical building and have not been able so far to escape from the mould of clay which I had inherited from my father and my grandfather.