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I rubbed the devil on its door handle—his blunt, wide forehead—with my thumb. Maybe you know, O devil, what Tūla is doing now? An inhabitant of the chthonic world, an old idiot, but in other respects, a very dear creature on the door’s metal ring… Do you know anything?
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“But poison,” I wanted to whisper back to the dark in a trance, “begins somewhat earlier. You don’t even feel it. You live, and you don’t even suspect where the beginning of the poison is, or where it ends. Janas Cherlotte – who are you?”
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What I feared most was not death, but life, or more precisely… It’s stupid, of course, but it was marriage itself. I was still very young, and marriage started to look to me like ice – in which Kristina and I would be trapped forever. Domestic life.
