I met her in front of the old church. It was an anonymous autumn day. People walked fast, hidden in their coats. “Here,” she said. She took a book out of her handbag. It looked lost and weary, the edges eaten by mice. “You should have it.” I opened it.
Read carefully, dear friend. And don’t go looking for the missing pages. It won’t help you. Yours, X
“Kreutzer Sonata,” she said. She looked nervously at the entrance of the church. “I need to go now.” She kissed me on the cheek, lightly. Her lips were cold. The book lay heavy in my hand, as I watched her disappear between the people on the square.