flat! It’s going to be so beautiful here in spring, when these bushes are going to be green!’ He had then shown her the flat, which indeed looked like a hangar, large and empty, as his parents hadn’t moved in yet. Matthew explained that the building had just been finished and had no heating yet, so he was living there alone, alone in the last block of flats, on the last floor and in the last apartment. It was only the living room that was more or less furnished, or so at least she remembered, his study room had an armchair, the desk, a miniature TV set, the magnetic tape recorder and some ashtrays – no, actually there was only one. In his bedroom there was just abed and then large cardboard boxes, brushes, newspapers, cloths littering the whole apartment. She had left her overcoat on a chair and on stepping forward she had heard her footsteps on the bare floor.

He kept asking her if she was cold, adding that he’d got used to it, and his questions prevented her from being cold, even though the cold early March air was rolling in from every corner. She’d smile and answer she was fine and keep on quiet, cringing to herself with the cold and the silence of that place. To fill this silence of the place and maybe hers too, Matthew had played music.

Someone had started then to talk about the flags of impossible pasts, which were now lying in chains and in rags; about