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“The devils! They are here. The devils! …”

I knocked over the chair and fell at their feet, screaming and twisting despite being tied up.

“What the fuck is this nonsense about devils?” the commandant asked in a worried voice.

“He sees them all the time,” Simon replied. “He claims they’re hiding somewhere in town.”

The man was standing, pliers in hand, watching me twist at his feet.

“There is something unnatural about all this,” he said. “Let’s exterminate them and be done with it.”

The devils opening the gates of hell

Will escape by the thousands

Black, red, sparkling with weapons and gold

To sow death and gladden Lucifer …

André began to recite. His voice seemed to come from another world. I was twisting and foaming at the mouth, pricking up my ears to hear what was being said.

“What’s that idiot saying?” the commandant asked.

“He’s talking about devils too,” one of the patrol members replied, visibly disconcerted.

“René described them to us,” Simon said in a declamatory tone. “He has seen them every God-given day.”

“I’ve seen them too,” André said softly.

“You, idiot, you’ve supposedly seen them too?”

“I’ve seen them.”

“When?”

“Every evening for eight days.”

“And who are they after?” the man with the pliers asked.

“I don’t know.”

“Who are they after?” the man with the pliers snapped, leaning over me.

“Untie me! Untie me!” I begged him, writhing. “They’ll be back!”

“Untie him,” ordered the man with the pliers. “And have Dr. Prémature come.”

“Will do, chief,” the corporal answered.

And he ran to the exit.

“He’s pretending to be a madman,” the agitated commandant said nervously, “but I have learned that you can’t be too careful even with real madmen. Admit this is an act. Admit that you’re not crazy,” he grunted, hitting me on the head.

“I am not crazy,” I said, “I have seen the devils. And they’ll be back. They are armed. They don’t have faces and they wear red boots. Black and red, in golden helmets, that’s what they look like. I tell you: when the devils return none of us will escape.”

“He seems sincere,” muttered one of the patrol members.

“And he doesn’t seem to be crazy at all,” the commandant answered. “In fact, he’s admitted he wasn’t.”

“I saw them,” I slowly enunciated. “Black and red, in golden helmets. They move without noise but in the midnight silence you can make out the pounding of their boots and the sound of their voices. Their voices are like hissing bullets. They kill too, and the spilled blood disappears with the rising sun. At the stroke of midnight, prick up your ears, if you’re not scared.”

“Were dead bodies found in the street these last eight days?” asked the man with the pliers, who was growing concerned.

“Dead dogs,” the commandant answered, “and three children on the outskirts of town.”

Dr. Prémature came in with the corporal, trembling.

“Commandant,” said the corporal, twisting his hands, “the women on rue des Saints, led by Germaine, are inciting the crowd with their tales.”

“Two merchants were found dead along the trail to the coffee farms and people claim they’ve seen great black and red shapes running in the woods.”

“Mercy, Holy Virgin!” Marcia moaned. “They’re on their way to my house.”

“They’re there!” I exclaimed in an implacable voice. “I see them!”

And getting up, I slowly walked to the door, looking straight ahead, my hands contorted. The doctor watched me in silence, hands in his coat pockets. He turned to the commandant and said quietly:

“Commandant Cravache, these men are not in full possession of their faculties. Torturing them will be a complete waste of time.”

“Are you sure they’re crazy?” the commandant whispered. “In these godforsaken parts, everyone is called crazy by someone else. Do you take full responsibility for this diagnosis?”

“Look for yourself!” the doctor said.

André had gotten on Simon’s back, and Simon was prancing around with a beatific smile, winking at the man with the pliers. I scanned the surroundings from the doorway, my hand over my eyes. The glint in my fixed,