A historic tiredness was spread over the afternoon
like the skin of an animal spread in the room of the sick-man
who was always laying on his bed; his fever had
subsided; a smell of sweaty undershirt and alcohol. The skin
was of an animal they skinned alive — he insisted on that.
The hairs were obedient, neutral, dead; yet, the pain, flat and
sharp, remained on the other side of the skin. He insisted
on this: the animal was alive when they skinned it. And as
he was lying down there, his hairs stood up, the skin created its
curved back and the sick-man traversed the hallway on
the back of the skin, he passed the kitchen, went out to the yard
and the casseroles sounded like steel drums behind him.