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  If the religious man said something, what he might have said, how I may know, I am not myself religious, if in God, yes, I do believe so, supreme creator. If without God, what kind of world that could be, if such a world could exist, no, I do not think so.

  Where is the boy.

  Yes, she would say this. Boy. She was referring not to her son but to myself. I know of no son. Nor daughter, if there is a daughter, neither son, I know nothing of them. It is myself whom she referred. I was the boy. I was that one.

  If she had regard for me, perhaps. I do not know. To myself I was not likeable, not from her. I saw she did not like me, I thought so. If she had regard for me, no, if it is said so, I did not think so, do not.

  I spoke to her, told stories to her. I can tell stories. She settled to listen, listen not listen, her mind moving by itself, fired by myself. I spoke to her of my life and her life, drawing stories from there, inventions. We do it, all stories.

  I did not know her life.

  She thought of me. I think of me. What is I think of me? She thought of me. The elderly woman. I do not believe it.

  Then ranting about the devils on the staircase, their screaming and shrieking against her, thieves and murderers, battering on her door, the walls of her room and too her roof, attempting to invade her room in what way any way to kill her in her own bed where she lay, dragging her out, twisting her limbs and her hair all out from her head, torturers. This was how she would cry out. She often did so. I would be there and suddenly awake she would be striking out with her stick. Often, she did so.

  There was the staircase. I cannot say if she walked to there, upwards not down. If to the top of these stairs, that smell, always.

  Striking out, yes, screaming and shrieking, ranting, to be murdered in her bed. It was her greater fear, more great, greater, murdered as she lay, as powerless, devils entering, coming upon her, demon spirits to drag her away. She had the stick, no weapon. But these were spirits, devil-spirits. She was at the mercy of these things. I would be calming to her, my hand to her brow. She would not be touched but I would touch her, yes her brow, one moment only. Old people, this elderly woman, I could calm her. She allowed it for one moment then might strike at me, to hit myself. No, I am your friend. But now she would mock me in her eyes, seeing myself, yes, I was a devil, spirit, spirit of a devil.

  Until recognising it is myself, I am visiting. And into watchfulness she would stare to me, if she might speak it was of how they had stolen from her. Might I know where her goods had been taken. What goods. The goods stolen from her. No goods have been stolen from you, do not worry. But she would worry, she would cry out, goods are stolen! You are the thief ! Yes, she would scream this. Murderer. These are my treasures.

  What treasures there are no treasures.

  I cannot say of treasures. Jewellery, trinkets. Articles held by women. These are precious. They so give to their family, daughters and granddaughters.

  I had not known of any daughter. I can say this. I did not know of any daughter. But of her niece, I can say that she did not like her niece, holding her in suspicion. She told me so. This niece was a sly one. She said it. This niece also played tricks. The elderly woman said it to myself. I now am saying it, yes, that she played tricks, so may have done.

  I did not meet with this niece. She may have cleaned, may have nursed, may have done all such things, cooked for her, other matters, nursing matters. If she spoke of myself, she did not know myself but if she said something, I do not know. I cannot say. I did not. When at my last visit the old woman was sleeping then was waking and her eyes opening, she saw that I was there by her, and she knew me, looking to me as to frighten me. Yes, sternly looking to myself. I knew of her suspicions, all who everyone might be and who I might be, I only was another man there thief and murderer. This was not new. I was seeking treasures and trinkets and had come to her house. It was not a house but a room, yes, in that section, by that staircase, that staircase. She had nothing. What someone would do. She was elderly. Elderly people also have courage. I could not be elderly. It is an opinion. I hold this opinion of myself.

  3

  “endplace”

  No matter the outcome I would discover something of it, more of it, and here it is of the future. So, we had moved one from another. He now would know that this distance was between us. He had not the power to outwit me, it could not be done, not by him.

  This place that we were inside had been a town building of a kind, building with people, seeming so also to have been offices. Many of us were there but myself and the one were finding the route of entry. The others did not help. The work I thought of interest, also physical, but excitement lay in its mystery, that this building as formerly was unknown to all, it was such a venture and if I should have been worried then no, the one with me I did not care about. His selection was by others, himself but by others and his enthusiasm was survival. Mine was not.

  I had detractors. Who does not. They had no grounds. Not all were detractors, those who spoke against me.

  It is not important.

  Where we would begin. The others fifty metres off, the brick wall by there also dilapidated, over that which we would travel, climb upon and would it not crumble, would we pass there safely. Questions questions, those and others. Some would sleep, some talk, some only lying. All regaining strength. At first the one was by me, keeping there as if a team, we two. I ignored him. The building in length, horizontal, was twenty metres.

  And so from the outside immediate impenetrability, we two there standing. In silence, I could not talk with himself, nor to myself, he to myself. If there is significance, I do not know, for myself it is nothing. He was to my left side. He had been on my right side and I did manoeuvre and now that he saw he said something but I did not respond, but moving then, yes, time and onwards. The approach itself was to be solved, I could solve it. The lower wall was ahead. Intact. Three metres in height and with the circular top to reach, hoisting upwards quickly, quickly. And the further wall now a greater test, but over it also and inside lay wood, beams of wood and concrete, iron rods, masonry. It lay in its mass, its mass. The impenetrability of this, seeking the entry and if this entry was to be discovered I could not discover it it was outside myself beyond myself, it was, I not discover it, could not. And he now was in sight, moving up and across the second wall, thirty metres from me, climbing. How could I push, it is not sensible.

  But the mass lacked entry. It lacked entry.

  If entry was there, if I was in error.

  Routes existed. I only could seek them, dislodging the first beams, looking that I so might find. I could force entry and would force entry, I can say it.

  He also was here. It was an irritation to me. Only that. I then had gained balance. He also. Where he had come from in seconds, I did not know, having been on the lower wall. If he was a capable man, it is certain that he was. Yet neither was there physical power in his body. Why that was. Yet he had none. What his life had been I cannot say, tall man but thin, thin. If power had been there I do not know of the form, perhaps endurance tests, as of the dancer in strength, lifting women. If so and he had this it was concealed, this could not be distinguished, nor when we began, swinging onto the uppermost wall, myself being first onto there but with an entry in a bad location, worse location, and I had selected it myself when from the ground seeing upwards, the mass from there, how I could make a way for myself. It could not be. I saw that it lay impossible. This was as confirmation. How I could succeed, I could not, and if I failed, I would not fail. I heard laughter. The laughter was to me. I saw the one now with a weight of concrete, wielding this as hammer against something inside, his attempt to force entry, bulwark to his entry, but he forced, was forcing, yes he had a strength. Yes, and I also, seeking the iron rods yes and finding one, breaking one, yes loosening and in my grip at that time it felt strongly to me my knuckles, gripping. I too had the strength, my arms with power, and I might do it, so would do it, yes. It came free, thus
to be laughed at by those others, yes they may laugh, all may so laugh. What I may do. No, I do not think so

  I would be inside very very quickly, squeezing entry into where it might be. But, too, caution. I could be trapped. I had strength, unlike the other, a chest strong, with power, my upper arms also and if we were to fight no advantage would be to him through physique, only than height. But height, what is height, reach, but to what, reach to something. I had strength, he had none to myself, what he could do, nothing, he could do nothing, not to myself, I do not sneer, I am saying it, simply, it was as that.

  I was at this time near to one ceiling, walking quickly to see where I should be and some way along there I saw a place that had this possible way. I said it I was not so tall as the one in opposition but above the lower wall here was a further tanglement of wood, concrete, iron bars, more rods, and I could grasp these latter with my left hand, retaining my own weapon, and they held for me. I also was not heavy in weight, so to be tossed by the wind, if not by this other, if as nothing, not so to him.

  No bitterness was in me. Others may do so what they will do, feeling such, yes, all their lives, themselves themselves, there is no bitterness to myself, in myself. I have none, I can say it, am saying it.

  I looked to him, hearing the knocking, he was wielding the iron bar. What had happened to his concrete piece, yes, had it smashed into fragments and looking at him my bar might crunch into the shell that was his head, it would come not long from there.

  I had not selected him, not myself selected. Securitys were there. If I am to say more, what it might be, that is not yet known. I was to move to him, so moving, he now was in retreat. What is not known. All is known or may be predicted and at any time. This man had no power, not to myself, and I move swiftly, so may do it, swiftly

  4

  “one of many”

  Yes, this was the redhaired woman. She was coming from outside. She had a large bundle, parcel. Where do things come into existence? She hurried into our section. I listened, the door shutting. It was quietly done by her, not wanting one sound. She has a child, a baby, was carried on her back, its face was tiny.

  The face of the baby, any baby

  This woman did not have a companion. I did not know of one with her, if accompanying her. This companion was not seen. None saw him, her. I did not, no other. How I can say it, if I may.

  I also have a child.

  The wind blew. She wore a wide top, clothing piece, and so her body was revealed. She would wear clothes that are not her own, seeming as such, as in an effort to conceal herself, wide clothes, wider.

  But if she did not care, it is possible.

  She never would look to me. I smiled now but again, not, why not look to me like this? Yes she was afraid but not of me. Why? There is no reason. I had an attraction to her and did want her if I did so, sexually, yes, as this is man to woman, not a horrible and terrible thing. She saw me, yes watching her I did so. Often. Yes, I do not deny it. But I would do nothing that might be unwanted. Thus, I studied her. She saw me, myself, I also as seeing myself, watching. This for her too was something, if she thought of it, what she did think, as I watched her, studying herself, what she did think, it is man to woman, if she was fearful.

  This place where we were, horrible things, events, leaving their sign. Yes, these then are signs of existence. Their existence. Some are material.

  Its effect on us, myself, as on anyone, human beings, lowering our strength, lowering our resolve, weakening our spirits, yes, we were weakened spirits, this is how I can say it.

  What history may be.

  She had her baby, it was with her.

  I said I have a child, so thoughts of my child, one other life, one to another.

  I do speak of spirit. Something may reach out. It is no recourse, I was comfortable with such thinking, am comfortable now, comfortable with it now too, also, yes.

  What is there to enumerate, essence of human being, our strength alone, this thing, what it is, more than resolve. I was unable to avoid these descriptions of my state, reaching to what was, if what it may be, that I in becoming. What happened would not become clear until I was out from my own self, away from there but when that could be, and how were we to live through this until it, if it should come.

  None explains this to us. None ever does so.

  I cannot say either what happened to the redhaired woman but she was one of many, if she was, I think that she was. She had a large bundle, a parcel, if something was inside it. I also, having a child, I have said it.

  5

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