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The mayor had been Krotov's deputy for so many years that he knew everything Krotov had known. What's more, he knew what had gone on behind Krotov's back. So, when Lapin opened his mouth he interrupted with a wry face:

«I know all about it but there's nothing I can do. The local authorities are concerned with economic matters, with a peaceful life, so to speak, but crime's not our business.»

«What if the police are corrupt and the prosecutors are in league with the gangsters?» cried Lapin, catching his breath.

The mayor ran a hand over his right cheek which was burning as though it had been slapped. Saying nothing, he turned to him the other also.

«And what if it's the criminals who lay down the law and if that's to everyone's liking?» Tears leapt from Lapin's eyes.

The mayor flexed his stiff joints and Lapin could read in his face the sentence that had already been handed down at work.

Towering over his desk, his boss had handed him a piece of paper.

«We're putting you up for promotion. Our little town cramps your style. You're going to the regional centre.»

«But I don't want to,» said Lapin, shaking his head. «I won't go. I won't!» he repeated raising his voice.

His boss put the paper on the edge of the table, wedging it under an ashtray.

«There's no need to answer right away,» the prosecutor said, turning round at the door. «You've got a week to think about it…» He left a pause then went on, «Incidentally, there's been complaint about you. It would appear we'll have to launch an inquiry. An in-house one to start with and then we'll see. If you do decide, however, we're not going to spoil things for you. But for now, you're suspended.»

Lapin was gutted. He felt as superfluous as the teddy bear he'd given Severina when it had been tossed into a rubbish bin like an abandoned baby. He put his head down on the table and stayed like that until the evening when twilight crept into the office, gathering under the table and chairs, solidifying in the corners and settling in dark circles under his eyes. He picked up the paper about his transfer, scribbled his resignation on the back, rolled it into a tube and stuck it on the door handle of the prosecutor's office.

The clouds were clustered together like frightened sheep and the sun sought refuge behind them. The cold had settled in Savage's joints and he was doubled up with the pain of stomach cramps. He chewed the leaves and berries that used to deaden his hunger but now they merely tantalized. Savely was trying to find the tip, lurching at random like a drunk here, there and everywhere. He couldn't get Karimov out of his head. No matter where Savage looked, he could see Karimov's eyes black as crowberries, boring into his throat.

Pushing through the thorn bushes as if they were a crowd, Savage tripped and fell on the damp, squelchy moss. He felt lethal despair descend on him, keeping him down.

«So, Little Savage, did you imagine you could administer justice? Think you were running the show? Turns out the director of the play is someone else entirely!»

Savage gazed around to see where the voice was coming from until he realized he was talking to himself.

«He gave it his own meaning. After all, it's not only works of art that can have different interpretations!»

«How can life have an interpretation? Or events? Things either happen or they don't,» said Savage, interrupting himself.

«You can live life in any order, in any sequence! You can turn what's happened into something that hasn't happened by sewing a figment of your imagination on to the fabric of the past like a clever seamstress's patchwork.»

«But who's doing the sewing?» Savage yelled. «Who if not me?»

«You're just the patch!» said his inner voice, guffawing with laughter. «Wherever you're sewn on, that's where you'll be!»

And so he realized that the other Savely Savage who had been like a separated Siamese twin hadn't disappeared but had merely stayed behind in the forest. Then Savage ran towards the town, guided by the television tower rising above the forest like a signpost, while the other Savage laughed as watched him go.

The houses brooded like giants with a hundred glittering eyes. Empty-hearted people passed him by. Savage scraped together what change he had to buy a bun at the bread stall, choking as he chewed it eagerly. People looked round at his hunched figure in surprise.

The bread filled his aching stomach but the town had nestled into his breast, deadening the flood of emotion. Savage cursed himself for running away. He could tell that he was carrying madness inside himself like a baby that could kick out to remind him of its presence at any moment. The insanity that had split him in two when he was in the forest boomed in his head and terror was hot on his heels. He hurried home in the belief that crossing the threshold into his flat would act like an injection. He'd feel better and his memories would scatter like frightened rats.

They were waiting for him in the entry way. Hunched on the rough bench was a young man in a creased grey jacket of the kind usually worn by office workers or investigators who flick out their ID like a knife. He stood up to meet Savage. The man seemed familiar and it occurred to Savely that in a small town all the residents remember one another's faces so that everyone seems to be an open book. Turn them inside out though like a reversible coat to show the inside and you'd go crazy, realizing you didn't even know the people closest to you, the ones you'd spent your live with.

Savage stopped impatiently but Lapin said nothing. He'd had his questions prepared but they seemed ridiculous now. He felt he'd been lost in a maze for a long time, then hit a blank wall just when he'd found the way out. All of a sudden he wanted to reach out and ask whether it had been lonely in the forest, whether Savage had heard the whispering of the trees and how to go on living when you don't know what for. Savely shuffled from foot to foot, Lapin licked his chapped lips and their gazes searched one another like blind men's hands.

«Are you here for me?» Savage asked after a minute.

«That's right,» Lapin nodded.

They were both silent again, looking at their shadows which had merged with those of the trees that were thrashing in the wind. Lapin remembered the unkempt tramp he'd seen in the square, so unlike the nondescript character who now stood before him. He pictured him with a gun but couldn't imagine him as a killer. An eternity seemed to pass but the men didn't say a word. Lapin drew in the dust with the toe of his boot, wondering why not saying anything didn't make him feel uncomfortable.

A neighbour coming home with her shopping glanced at Savage and walked between them, breaking their interlocked stares and Savely shook off his stupor. He stepped back, still facing Lapin, and tried to key in the code for the lock without looking. The investigator strode towards him. Yanking the door open, Savage dashed into the entrance but Lapin raced after him and they climbed the stairs in step, eyes fixed on one another like boxers in the ring. Savely kept walking backwards and Lapin trod carefully after him. Savage quickened his pace and Lapin walked faster to keep up. Savely shot up the stairs and Lapin ran after him and when Savage pressed the bell, Lapin held on to the wall to get his breath back.

A police officer appeared on the threshold, looking from one to the other in astonishment. He stepped back to let Savage into the flat, slammed the door and turned back to Lapin.

«Haven't you been warned about getting under our feet?» the cop asked, nudging him with his shoulder. «What are you doing here?»

Lapin ran downstairs and the officer slowly followed him down. His Adam's apple moved nervously and the lines on his forehead were as taut as strings.

«Well, do I call for back-up?» the policeman asked.

«You've no right! You don't have the authority!» Lapin blustered, going down another flight.