it feels itself touched. As soon as Gerrit removed his hand, the tension relaxed and Ernst's body huddled together again, as though something had given way in the spinal system.
"Ernst," said Paul, "wouldn't you do well to get some sleep?"
"No," he said, "I won't go to bed again. There are three of them under the bed."
"Three what?"
"Three. They're chained up."
"Chained up? Who's chained up?"
"Three. Three souls."
"Three souls?"
"Yes. The room's full of them. They are all fastened to my soul. They are all riveted to my soul. With chains. Sometimes they break loose. But I was dragging two of them with me for ever so long yesterday, in the street, over the cobblestones. They were in pain, they were crying. I can hear them now in my ears, crying, crying. . . . There are three under the bed. They're asleep. When I go to bed, they wake up and rattle their chains. Let them sleep. They are tired, they are unhappy. As long as they're asleep, they don't know about it. . . . I . . . I can't sleep. I haven't slept for weeks. They only sleep when I'm awake. They're fastened to me. . . . Don't you hear them? The room is full of them. They belong to every age and period. I've gathered them
