difficult, of course, and very uncomfortable, but some time, deep in the night, curled up in a ball by the cistern, I eventually nod off. I awake in the early hours of the New Year, with the first light coming in the slat windows. My first thought is, “What am I doing here? Why aren't I safe in my bed?” Then I remember. I stare blankly ahead for a moment and then try to stand up. I am unable. I have to stretch myself first and massage my limbs to get my circulation going. I feel tired, I feel sore, I feel hungry, I smell and I'm more than a little confused. It isn't a good way to start a year. Nevertheless, I note, there is no noise from outside. I cautiously open the door and peep out. Nothing. Not even a sign that anybody has been there. I had been half expecting to find the house trashed by a dozen neo-Nazis or South African storm troopers. But it is just like it looks each day when I wake up. I walk carefully around the house, peering into each room and even going out the backyard. Nobody. Nothing. Not a sign. “Happy New Year”, I say out loud and go back into the lounge room. I sit down in my favourite spot, and put the television back on before I notice him. The Somalian child, with the old man's face, is still sitting quietly behind the corner chair. ...
