Falling out of time

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TOWN CHRONICLER: As they sit eating dinner, the man’s face suddenly turns. He thrusts his plate away. Knives and forks clang. He stands up and seems not to know where he is. The woman recoils in her chair. His gaze hovers around her without taking hold, and she — wounded already by disaster — senses immediately: it’s here again, touching me, its cold fingers on my lips. But what happened? she whispers with her eyes. Bewildered, the man looks at her and speaks:

— I have to go.

— Where?

— To him.

— Where?

— To him, there.

— To the place where it happened?

— No, no. There.

— What do you mean, there?

— I don’t know.

— You’re scaring me.

— Just to see him once more.

— But what could you see now? What is left to see?

— I might be able to see him there. Maybe even talk to him?

— Talk?!

TOWN CHRONICLER: Now they both unfold, awaken. The man speaks again.

— Your voice.

— It’s back. Yours too.

— How I missed your voice.

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