The friend knocked lightly on the half-open door.
“Who’s there?” asked Danny.
The friend cleared his throat.
“It’s me, darling, maybe you can give me a little money before I go?”
“How much do you need?” called Danny from the other side of the door.
“Do I know?” said the friend. “A thousand five hundred will be enough.”
“Take it from my coat pocket,” said Danny, “count seven hundred and fifty and take it.”
The friend lingered a moment and returned to the living room. He looked at Danny’s coat, which was lying on one of the armchairs, and took a neatly folded bundle of banknotes out of the pocket. He quickly counted five thousand and put them in his pocket. On the way out his eyes encountered those of a Japanese woman standing stuck to the wall. He ripped her from the wall and crumpled her up.
Because what is reality, said Brava mockingly to himself after he heard the door slam loudly behind the friend. What is it, if not someone telling you something, and afterwards he says to you, listen, that was a lie, and corrects himself, and a few minutes later he says again, listen, that was a lie too and corrects himself, and afterwards he says, sorry, that was a lie too. And so on endlessly until you don’t know what to think any more. Either you go mad or you become like me.
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