June 4, 2020 10:00 AM
When he woke up he found himself on a bed without sheets, in the corner of a small room. At the other side of the room a window, open, rattling. He put both feet on the ground, waited another five seconds, listening. No sound at all. Then he rose and walked towards the window.
He looked down. A street, empty. A lamp, shedding its yellow glow over cobblestones and facades. The air tepid, even when the silence suggested it was the dead of night.
“Summer,” he thought.
In the darkness behind the houses he became aware of hills. Between the houses and the hills a river might flow. He cocked his ears in order to detect a faint rustling of mountain water. But he heard nothing.
“Maybe the season has been dry.”
Two cars, parked. An old Volvo and a van, he didn’t recognize the make. Both had red, foreign number plates.
He walked back towards the bed. A pair of neatly folded pyjamas resting on the foot end. He put them on and lied down again, wondering in which country cars carried red number plates. Maybe Canada. But he didn’t remember crossing the Atlantic. And he was afraid of flying.
He must have come by car.