“Snow?”

He quivered as though I had struck him. Gazing at me in indescribable horror, he gasped out:

“I don’t know…” His voice croaked. “I don’t know you… What do you want?”

The spilt liquid was quickly evaporating; I caught a whiff of alcohol. Had he been drinking? Was he drunk? What was he so terrified of? I stood in the middle of the room; my legs were trembling; my ears roared, as though they were stuffed with cotton wool. I had the impression that the ground was giving way beneath my feet. Beyond the curved window, the ocean rose and fell with regularity. Snow’s blood-shot eyes never left me. His terror seemed to have abated, but his expression of invincible disgust remained.

“What’s the matter? Are you ill?” I whispered.

“You seem worried,” he said, his voice hollow. “You actually seem worried… So it’s like that now, is it? But why concern yourself about me? I don’t know you.”

“Where’s Gibarian?” I asked.

He gave a gasp and his glassy eyes lit up for an instant.

“Gi… Giba… No! No!”

His whole frame shook with stifled, hysterical laughter; then he seemed to calm down a little.

“So it’s Gibarian you’ve come for, is it? Poor old Gibarian. What do you want with him?” His words, or rather his tone of voice, expressed hatred and defiance; it was as though I had suddenly ceased to represent a threat to him.

Bewildered, I mumbled: “What… Where is he?”

“Don’t you know?”

Obviously he was drunk and raving. My anger rose. I should have controlled myself and left the room, but I had lost patience. I shouted:

“That’s enough! How could I know where he is since I’ve only just arrived? Snow! What’s going on here?” His jaw dropped. Once again he caught his breath and his eyes gleamed with a different light. He seized the arms of his chair with both hands and stood up with difficulty. His knees were trembling.