on hands and knees and put an ear to the ground. “No. Definitely not. It’s crazy!” The low hum continued, no nearer, no further away. However he searched his memory the humming wasn’t like anything he had ever heard before. It wasn’t the roar of a car or a plane or of distant thunder. . He had a bad feeling about it. He swiveled his head left and right, sensing danger in every bush, in every scraggy tree, even in the narrow wayside ditch covered in frogspawn. The most terrifying thing was that he couldn’t even decide whether the menace, whatever it was, was close at hand or at a distance. He turned a suspicious eye on the “kid.” “Look here! Have you eaten today? It’s not your stomach rumbling?” “Don’t be an idiot, Petrina,” Irimiás remarked over his shoulder. “And get a move on!”. . They were some quarter of a mile from the fork now, when they noticed something else beside the worryingly continuous humming. It was Petrina who first became aware of it: incapable even of saying a word, it was only through his eyes he could register the shock. His dull eyes started from their sockets, gazing at the sky, indicating the source. To the right of them above the marshy lifeless ground, a white transparent veil was billowing in a particularly dignified fashion. They hardly had the time to take it in before they were startled to see the veil vanish as soon as it touched the ground. “Pinch me!” groaned Petrina shaking his head in disbelief. The “kid” stood there open mouthed with wonder, then, seeing that neither Irimiás nor Petrina were incapable of speech, firmly remarked. “What’s up? Never seen fog before?” “You call this fog?!” Petrina snapped nervously back. “Jackass! I swear it was a kind of. . a wedding veil. . Boss, I have a bad feeling about this. .” Irimiás was staring puzzled at the place the veil had disappeared. “It’s a joke. Pull yourself together Petrina and say something sensible.” “Over there!” cried “the kid. And not far from the last sighting of the veil, there was a new veil slowly drifting in the air. They stared mesmerized as it too touched down and then, as if it really were fog, disappeared. . “Let’s get out of here, boss!” Petrina urged, his voice shaking. “The way I see it, it’ll be raining frogs next. .” “I’m sure there’s a rational explanation for this,” Irimiás firmly declared. “I just wish I knew what the devil it was!. . We can’t all three have gone mad at once!” “If only Mrs. Halics was here,” remarked the “kid” grimacing. “She’d soon tell us!” Irimiás suddenly raised his head. “What’s that?” Suddenly it was quiet. The “kid” closed his eyes in confusion. “I’m just saying. .” “Do you know something?!” Petrina demanded in fright. “Me?’, grimaced the “kid.” “Course I don’t. I was just saying it as a joke. .” They walked on in silence and it occurred, not only to Petrina but to Irimiás too, that it might be wiser for them to turn back immediately, but neither of them was up to making the decision if only because they couldn’t be sure that retracing their steps would be any less dangerous. They started to hurry and this time not even Petrina complained, quite the opposite in fact: if it was up to him they’d have broken into a run, and so, when they saw the ruins of Weinkheim ahead and Irimiás suggested a brief rest (‘My legs have completely gone to sleep. . We’ll build a fire, eat something, dry out, then go on. . ’) Petrina cried out in despair, “No, I couldn’t bear it! You don’t imagine I want to stay in this place a moment longer than I need to? After what’s just happened?” “No need to panic,” Irimiás reassured him. “We’re exhausted. We have hardly slept in two days. We need a rest. We have a long way to go.” “OK, but you go ahead!” Petrina demanded, and gathering up what courage he had left followed some ten paces behind the other two, his heart in his mouth, not even prepared to respond to the teasing of the “kid” who, seeing Irimiás calm, relaxed a little and aspired to be regarded as “one of the brave”. . Petrina waited till the first two turned down the path leading to the manor then, carefully, anxiously glancing left and right, scurried after them, but as he came face to face with the main entrance of the ruined building all his strength left him — and he saw in vain how Irimiás and the “kid” had quickly ducked behind a bush — he himself was incapable of moving. “I’m going to go mad. I can feel it.” He was so frightened his brow was covered in sweat. “Hell and damnation! What have we got ourselves into?” He held his breath and, with muscles tense to the point of snapping, he finally succeeded in sidling — literally sideways — behind another bush. The sound of something like sniggering grew louder again: it was like a cheerful bunch of people having a lark nearby, it being perfectly natural for such a jolly crew to seek out this particular deserted spot, and to spend their time carousing here in the wind, rain and cold. . And that sniggering — such a strange noise. Cold shivers ran down his back. He peeped out to the path, then, when he judged the moment to be opportune, set off like a lunatic and bolted over to Irimiás the way a soldier might leap, under enemy fire and at risk of his life, from trench to trench during battle. “Here pal. .,” he whispered in a choking voice as he settled by the squatting figure of Irimiás. “What’s going on here?” “I can’t see anything at the moment,” the other answered, his voice quiet and steady, in full control of himself, never taking his eyes off what used to be the manor gardens, “but I expect we’ll find out soon.” “No,” grunted Petrina: “I don’t want to find out!” “It’s like they’re having a proper party. .,” said the “kid’, excited, breathlessly impatient for his master to entrust him with something. “Here!” squealed Petrina: “In the rain?. . In the middle of nowhere?. . Boss, let’s run now before it’s too late!” “Shut your mouth, I can’t hear anything!” “I can hear! I can hear! That’s why I say we — ” “Quiet!” Irimiás thundered at him. There was no sign of movement in the park where the oaks, the walnuts, the boxwood and flowerbeds were all densely overgrown with weed so Irimiás decided, since he could only see a small part of it, that they should carefully creep forward. He grabbed Petrina’s wildy waving arm and dragging him behind him they slowly made their way to the main entrance, then tiptoed along the wall to the right, Irimiás at the head, but when he reached the corner of the building and warily looked towards the back of the park, he stopped dead in his tracks for a moment then quickly drew back his head. “What’s there?!” Petrina whispered: “Shall we run?” “You see that little shack?” Irimiás asked, his voice tense. “We’ll make for it. One by one. I go first, then you, Petrina, and you last, kid. Is that clear?” No sooner had he said it than he was off in the direction of the old summerhouse, running, keeping low. “I’m not going!” muttered Petrina, clearly confused: “That’s at least twenty yards. We’ll be shot full of holes by the time we reach it!” The “kid” pushed him roughly forward — “Get going!” — and Petrina, not expecting to be pushed, lost his balance after a few steps and lay sprawled in the mud. He immediately got up but then within a few yards threw himself face down again and only reached the summerhouse by crawling on his belly like a snake. He was so scared he didn’t even dare to look up for a while, covering his eyes with his hands, lying perfectly still on the ground, then, once he had realized that “thanks to God’s mercy” he was still alive, he plucked up his courage, sat up and peeked at the park through a gap. His already wrecked nerves were not up to the sight. “Down!” he screamed, and once again threw himself flat on the ground. “Don’t scream, you idiot!” Irimiás snapped at him. “If I hear another peep out of you I’ll wring your neck!” At the back of the park, in front of three enormous naked oaks, in a clearing, wrapped in a series of transparent veils, lay a small body. They might have been no more that thirty yards from it, so they could even make out the face, at least the part not covered by a veil; and if all three of them hadn’t thought it impossible, or if they hadn’t all helped place the body in the crude coffin Kráner had constructed, they could have sworn it was the kid’s sister lying there, her face ashen white, her hair in ginger ringlets, in peaceful slumber. From time to time the wind lifted the ends of the veil, the rain quietly washing the corpse, and the three ancient oaks creaked and groaned as if about to fall. . But there was not a soul anywhere near the body, just that sweet, bell-like laughter everywhere, a kind of carefree, cheerful music. The “kid” stared at the clearing, mesmerized, not knowing what he should most fear, the sight of his sister, dripping, stiff, clad in white as pure as snow, or the thought of her suddenly getting up and walking toward him; his legs trembled, everything went dark, the trees, the manor, the park, the sky, leaving only her, glowing painfully bright, ever more distinct, in the middle of the clearing. And in that sudden silence, in the total lack of any sound, when even the raindrops broke silently as they fell, and they could well have thought they’d gone deaf, since they could feel the wind but couldn’t hear it humming, and were impervious to the strange breeze lightly playing about them, he nevertheless thought he heard that continuous hum and tinkling laughter suddenly give way to frightening yelps and grunts, and as he looked up he saw them moving towards him. He covered his face with his arms and started sobbing. “You see that?” Irimiás whispered, frozen, squeezing Petrina’s arm so hard his knuckles turned white. A wind had sprung up around the body and in complete silence the blindingly white corpse began uncertainly to rise. . then, having reached the top of the oaks, it suddenly rocked and, bobbling slightly, started its descent to the ground again, to the precise spot it had occupied before. At that moment the disembodied voices set to a fury of complaint like a dissatisfied chorus that had had to resign itself to failure once again. Petrina was gasping. “Can you believe that?” “I am trying to believe it,” replied Irimiás, now deathly pale. “I wonder how long they have been trying? The child has been dead almost two days now. Petrina, perhaps for the first time in my life I am really frightened.” “My friend. . can I ask you something?” “Go ahead.” “What do you think. .?” “Think?” “Do you think. . um. . that Hell exists?” Irimiás gave a great gulp. “Who knows. It might.” Suddenly all was quiet again. There was only the humming, a little louder perhaps. The corpse started to rise again, and then some six feet above the clearing it trembled, then with incredible speed it rose and flew off, soon to be lost among the still, solemn clouds. Wind swept the park, the oaks shook as did the ruined old summer house, then the tinkling-chiming voices reached a triumphant crescendo above their heads before slowly fading away, leaving nothing behind except a few scraps of veil drifting down, the sound of rattling tiles on the fallen-in roof of the manor, and the frightening knockings of the broken tin gutters against the wall. For minutes on end they stood frozen staring at the clearing, then because nothing else happened they slowly came to their senses. “I think it’s over,” whispered Irimiás, then gave a deep hiccup. “I really hope so,” whispered Petrina. “Let’s rouse the kid.” They took the still trembling child under the arms and helped stand him up. “Now come on, pull yourself together,” Petrina encouraged him while just about managing to stand himself. “Leave me alone,” the “kid” sobbed. “Let go of me! “It’s all right. There’s nothing to be scared of now!” “Leave me here! I’m not going anywhere!” “Of course you’re coming! Enough of this pitiful blubbing! In any case there’s nothing there anymore.” The “kid” went over to the gap and looked over to the clearing. “Where. . where has it gone?” “It vanished like the fog,” Petrina answered, hanging on to a projecting brick. “Like the. . fog?” “Like the fog.” “Then I was right,” the “kid” remarked uncertainly. “Absolutely,” said Irimiás once he finally managed to stop his hiccupping. “I have to admit you were right.” “But you. . what. . what did you see?” “Me? I only saw the fog,” Petrina said, staring straight ahead and bitterly shaking his head. “Nothing but fog, fog all over the place.” The “kid” gave Irimiás an uneasy glance. “But then. . what was it?” “’A hallucination,” Irimiás answered, his face chalk-white, his voice so faint that the “kid” instinctively leaned towards him. “We’re exhausted. Chiefly you. And that’s hardly surprising.” “Not in the least,” Petrina agreed. “People are likely to see all kinds of things in that condition. When I was serving at the front there’d be nights when a thousand witches would pursue me on broomsticks. Seriously.” They walked the length of the path, then for a long time down the road to Postelek without speaking, avoiding the ankle-deep puddles, and the closer they approached the old road that led straight as a die to the southeastern corner of town, the more Petrina worried about Irimiás’s condition. The master was all but snapping with tension, his knee buckling now and then, and often it seemed that one more step and he’d collapse. His face was pale, his features had dropped, his eyes were staring glassily at nothing in particular. Fortunately the “kid” spotted nothing of this partly because he had been calmed by the exchange between Irimiás and Petrina. (‘Of course! What else could it be? A hallucination. I must pull myself together if I don’t want them to laugh at me!. . ’), and partly because he was quite excited by the idea that Petrina had acknowledged his role in the discovery of the vision so he could now march along at the head of the procession. Suddenly Irimiás stopped. Petrina leapt to his side in terror, to help if he could. But Irimiás shoved his arm away, turned to him and bellowed, “You creep!!! Why don’t you just fuck off?! I’ve had enough of you! Understand!!?” Petrina quickly lowered his eyes. Seeing that, Irimiás grabbed him by the collar, tried to lift him, and failing gave him a great push so Petrina lost his balance and, having scrambled a few steps, finished on his face in the mud. “My friend. .” he pitifully pleaded, “Don’t lose your — ” “You still talking back?!” Irimiás bawled at him, then sprang over, and with all his strength, punched him in the face. They stood facing each other, Petrina desolate and in despair, but suddenly sober again, utterly exhausted and quite empty, feeling only the mortal pressure of despair like a trapped animal that discovers there is no escape. “Master. .” Petrina stuttered: “I. . I am not angry. .” Irimiás hung his head. “Don’t be angry, you idiot. .” They set off again, Petrina turning to the “kid” who seemed to have been turned to stone and waving him on as to say, “Come on, no problem, that’s done with now,” sighing from time to time and scratching his ear. “Listen, I’m an evangelist. .” “Don’t you mean an Evangelical?” Irimiás corrected him. “Yeh, yeh, that’s right! That’s what I meant to say. .” Petrina quickly answered and gave a relieved sigh on seeing his partner was over the worst.” “And you?” “Me? They never even christened me. I expect they knew it wouldn’t change anything. .” “Hush!” Petrina waved his arms in panic, pointing to the sky. “Not so loud!” “Come on, you big dope. .” Irimiás growled. “What does it matter now. .” “It may not matter to you, but it does for me! Whenever I think of that blazing comet thing I can hardly breathe!” “Don’t think of it like that,” Irimiás replied after a long silence. “It doesn’t matter what we saw just now, it still means nothing. Heaven? Hell? The afterlife? All nonsense. Just a waste of time. The imagination never stops working but we’re not one jot nearer the truth.” Petrina finally relaxed. He knew now that “everything was all right”