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working in a madhouse himself."
The guest was bent over, the cup still in his lund. But Tolea was
not looking at him.
"What do you want me to do? To ask your Argentinian colleague
for help? To ask my charming brother? For charity? The boss has gone
kaput, you know. What's to be done? Swimming pool, car, farm,
house, bank accounts, holidays - it's all very tiring, Shall I write to him
about childhood years, the fireplace, the parental home? Tears will flow
and he'll be off
to
see a psychiatrist."
"Come on, don't exaggerate. it seems he's already written to you."
"Of course, of course, I've had nothing but delights.
Correspondence! Abroad! Capitalist countries! Military-fascist dictator–
ships! Relatives who were drawn from the country by the mirage of
money and an easy life, and who send us their convertible charity at
Easter and Christmas. I'm just a substitute, Comrade Gafton! A relic of
the past dressed up as a scapegoat. That's the word they used in the po–
litical seminars, wasn't it? But who knows? You might offer me some
compensation that leads to a job. A paid hobby. Not paid like your
new occupation, which is really unpaid heart-searching. What do you
say? Will you take me on?
"I don't understand. I don't understand a thing."
"So you don't understand. Well, if someone doesn't understand, it
has to be explained to them, right? Do you remember the 'great
tragedy'?"
Gafton remained silent. He shifted his weight from the left to the
right side of his body.
"The family tragedy! Death, sir, that's the only type of tragedy there
is. Death. The Great Scriptwriter hired us for that, didn't he? So, death .
. . You do remember the funeral? I mean, what happened with Father
then?"
"Yes, of course I do," the guest quickly broke in.
"Goo-ood, so you remember. What was it: suicide, murder, acCI–
dent? Or don't you remember anymore? Maybe you don't. You had a
different name - everything had a different name."
"How's that? What do you mean?"
"How's that, how's that! Look, surely you're not going to tell me
your name was Gafton in those days. Or am I wrong? Well anyway, let's
skip the details. So now you're a journalist working from home."
"From where did you - " The journalist blushed, paled, reddened,
all of a sudden.
"No harm done,
panie,
nothing to be ashamed of. Some will-o'-
