II
Yes, both of them, wife and daughter, were houses. Then he himself must be a house. Houses should not wear clothes. He went up to his room and took off all his clothes. He stood before a mirror admiring his own naked façade.
What kind of house was he? A large winged insect flew against the window screen and crawled slowly toward the top. It spoke with a little voice: “Let me in. I belong to your house. Let me in.” That was the answer to his question. “Bughouse! Positive, bug—comparative, parasite—superlative, paresis,” he murmured, and he smiled softly—so softly.