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272 pages, Mass Market Paperback
First published January 1, 1994
He thinks of Orpheus walking backwards step by step, whispering the dead woman's name, coaxing her out of the entrails of hell; of the wife in graveclothes with the blind, dead eyes following him, holding out limp hands before her like a sleepwalker. No flute, no lyre, just the word, the one word, over and over. When death cuts all other links, there remains still the name. Baptism: the union of a soul with a name, the name it will carry into eternity. Barely breathing, he forms the syllables again: Pavel.
Visions that come and go, swift, ephemeral. He is not in control of himself. Carefully he pushes paper and pen to the far end of the table and lays his head on his hands. If I am going to faint, he thinks, let me faint at my post…
Why this plodding chase across empty country after the rumour of a ghost, the ghost of a rumour?
„Noi nu vorbim, nu plîngem, nu ne gîndim o mie de ani la pe de-o parte și pe de altă parte, noi chiar facem... Încă o întrebare deșteaptă! Încă o pierdere de vreme! Zilele deșteptăciunii sînt numărate. Deșteptăciunea e ceva de care o să ne descotorosim” (pp.93-94).