The Bay of Foxes Read Online Free PDF

corridor, retracing the steps that had first led him there.
    In his dream he sees the filthy, empty corridor with no sign of life, the same concrete walls. His knees almost buckle under him as he walks, and he puts his hands against the walls to steady himself. He glances around fearfully, but luck is with him: no one comes. He is tempted to unlock the five cell doors he passes on his right, where he sees no sign of light orlife. He wants to free the other prisoners but realizes none of them would make their way to safety. Instead, fumbling, he finds the key to the door that leads into the courtyard and steps out into the first light of day. The other guards, crossing the courtyard, pay no attention to him. They came and went so frequently that a strange face could pass undetected. He is able to walk unhindered through the heavy door, out of the concrete building, into the dry patch of earth, the flat land all around. He makes way his way through the staring crowd at the entrance, all those relatives waiting for news of their loved ones. They are like shades in hell. He walks away from them, going through the parking lot with its military jeeps, trucks, and cars. He notices an old Volkswagen, where he sees three people sitting waiting in the dawn light. He goes down the narrow, dusty thread of a street that no longer seems real to him, finding his way. He takes off the cap and throws it onto the ground. He staggers onward. He is free: a rootless tree, an irremediably truncated tree, a tree without sustenance, but free nonetheless.

IV

    T HE MORNING AFTER HE MEETS M., HE GOES TO THE NEAREST Monoprix, picking up and putting down various garments. He chooses a tight-fitting black cotton shirt with long sleeves and a round neck, and khaki trousers with pleats at the waist that make him look a little less emaciated. He buys toothpaste, a comb, and soap. On the third day he goes to the public baths early and washes himself thoroughly. Then he takes the bus back into the city.
    He stands in the afternoon shadows of the chestnut trees opposite M.’s blond stone building on the side of the Luxembourg Gardens. He looks up at the first floor and sees the terraces, the green plants in the window boxes, the red awnings. It seems another world, as though he has stepped out of a place of grayness into bright light.
    He feels, as he did in prison, that he is split in two. He is Dawit in his stiff new clothes in the uncertain light, and he is watching himself, a young, painfully thin man with large dark eyes. He is unable to move. His head spins, and he hears the voice like an echo writing the novel of his life. His mind is filled with words that record his actions, or rather his incapacity to act. He has been alone for so long that this voice has become his companion, the secret sharer of his destiny. Hemust cross the street. He must ring the bell. He must ring the bell.
    He forces himself to cross the street and press the shiny brass button that opens the door. He walks quickly past the concierge’s loge with its net curtain, afraid she will stop him. He goes up the step and opens the glass door. He sees the small elevator, but M. has told him to come up the steps, so he runs up the shallow carpeted steps, two at a time. He stands in the unfamiliar silence to catch his breath on the landing. There seems to be only one apartment on each floor. He rings her doorbell. He waits in the silence. Just as he is beginning to lose hope, he hears steps, and she opens the door.
    She is wearing blue jeans, flat shoes, and a white shirt, the sleeves turned up to the elbows. She has tied her white hair back from her face, which makes it look more pointed. She looks at him blankly, as if she does not quite remember who he is. He draws himself up and lifts his chin. “You told me to come this afternoon,” he says.
Please don’t turn me away
, he prays.
    He has scrubbed himself, brushed his teeth, and tied back his unruly locks as best he could. He