So You Don't Get Lost in the Neighborhood

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ALMOST NOTHING. LIKE AN INSECT BITE THAT INITIALLY strikes you as very slight. At least that is what you tell yourself in a low voice so as to reassure yourself. The telephone had rung at about four o’clock in the afternoon at Jean Daragane’s home, in the room that he called the “study”. He was dozing on the sofa at the far end, shielded from the sunlight. And these ringing sounds, which he had been unaccustomed to hearing for a long time, went on continuously. Why this insistence? Perhaps they had forgotten to ring off at the other end of the line. Finally, he got to his feet and walked over to the area of the room near the windows, where the sun was beating down too strongly.

“I should like to speak to Monsieur Jean Daragane.”

A dreary and threatening voice. That was his first impression.

“Monsieur Daragane? Can you hear me?”

Daragane wanted to hang up. But what was the point? The ringing would start again, without ever stopping. And, short of cutting the telephone cord permanently. .

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