Dr. Fertenger, returning home, thought with joy of the chance to get some sleep after three sleepless nights spent in the hospital in Cagonsierre, caring for victims of a children's bus that had crashed into butter. Looking beyond the red roofs of the neighboring houses, he caught sight of a rainbow formed by a light drizzle and could have sworn he saw a milk delivery girl in extremely short black shorts jumping across it. The same woman who always roller-skated, protected by white winter socks. A
computer company secretary, bound by Albanian thieves, struggles to free her slender legs from the rope, praying that none of those bastards will return, and that the ripping of her blouse and a brief game of licking her breasts will be the last item on their agenda.
Nefrasheba slowly approaches the riverbank and pushes aside the reeds surrounding her. After examining her reflection, she is irresistibly tempted to dip her foot in the water, taking advantage of the absence of her servants, for whom knowledge of Her Majesty's primitive desires could raise many philosophical questions. Immediately after immersion, however, she withdraws in disgust, discouraged by the low temperature of the algae habitat.
Lying on the sacrificial pyre, Deidaia decides to turn her head to the right one last time and notes with a small measure of satisfaction that over half the village has come to hear her final cry. With tears in her throat, she looks imploringly at the priest preparing his knife, then, with an instinctive movement typical of every woman, she slides her legs together, not allowing male eyes to feed even at such an unfavorable moment for copulation.
Seventeen-year-old Sabina combs her long, curly hair in front of the mirror and wonders how she manages to move her hand. What causes the thought commanding her hand to move upward to accompany the limb's flawless journey? What causes this thought to be accompanied by the question of its origins? What makes a mother always stay with her child?
Dreaming of a beach on the ceiling, old Victor jumps out of bed around midnight, clutching his heart in terror as it beats at an incredible speed, painfully tearing at his chest. The irreversibility of this process, as well as the impossibility of help from any side, dawns on him.
Dr. Fertenger awoke a dozen or so meters from his garden gate and raised his mud-stained hands. Suddenly, for no reason at all, it occurred to him that the creator of the absurd, unnatural army gait must have frequently made trips to the pharmacy for cough syrup.
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