It's midnight, and I'm still seated at my desk. The thought of that unfortunate woman won't leave me in peace … I can see the gloomy courtyard room with the antiquated pictures; the bed and the pillow stained with blood, and laid upon it that pale face with the eyes half-closed. And it was, to cap it all, a dull rainy morning. And in the opposite corner of the room, legs crossed on a chair and sporting a defiant air, sat that monster, the son who had lifted the hatchet against his mother's head …
Yes, there are people like that, and they are not always out of their minds! I pondered this scornful face, trying to read something in it. A malevolent, pale face, not ugly or stupid, with bloodless lips, the eyes dull, the chin sunk in his crumpled collar and a cravate loosely tied around the neck, one end of which he twisted between his slim fingers. Sitting like that, he waited for the police to come and take him away. Meanwhile someone kept watch outside, in front of the door.
I had bandaged the temples of the unfortunate mother, who had remained unconscious. Then I left her, after getting a call from a woman in the neighbourhood who asked me to attend her and in the stairwell ran into the policemen on their way to arrest the murderer. The inhabitants of this inner city tenement were very excited, and stood in groups in front of the entrance to the building and made comments about the sad event. One or two even asked me how things were going up there, and whether there was any hope for the victim. But I was unable to give them a categorical reply.
One person I recognised, a no longer quite …