Despite the cloth over his eyes, it is as if he sees everything. Everything that happens in silence. The preparations. An amazing quiet prevails. The scent of a summer night. Nothing else. No seabirds, no mosquitoes, no owls, no sounds of nature in general. Not the slightest scratching of sand under the legs of the chair. Nor from all the other chair legs. He is so young. In reality, he has no idea what awaits him. However, he has been given a timeline. He knows that everything is for his own good. It will hurt. But it will be worth it. They told him this: it will be worth it. He is so small and yet he thinks about betrayal. What betrayal really is, if betrayal has nuances. And if this one here is not the worst of all betrayals one can imagine. It seems to him that he can make out the beach through the cloth with which his eyes were tied. Where they throw sand at each other, where they dive into the water, where they scrape their hands and knees on the seabed, where they climb the very slippery rocks, slide as if on a slide until their bottoms hurt and then make long dives, swim underwater searching for colorful stones.
A strange silence prevails this summer night. Until he hears a faint, dim growl, almost at the edge of imperceptibility. Could it be an engine? Then it disappears again. He thinks it is dark. It should be dark. They should now be in those few dark hours when the sun’s disk dips into the unknown behind the horizon. Yet he has no idea. He really has no idea. But something grows inside him. It is beyond his control. Two things grow inside him simultaneously. One is fear, terror, horror. He knows this is for his own good, but he does not want to hurt. He does not want to wait for the pain. He hates what will happen in the next few minutes of this July night. That is where the other thing is born, the one that also grows inside him at this moment. It is anger. Anger at the betrayal. And although he is so small, he knows that this anger will never leave him.