A colleague has had a futuristic experience. He comes back from a trip and thinks: this foot that I just put at home feels strange. He takes off his shoe and sees some bites on his ankle, seven or eight. God, what a bug has stung me. Clothes are removed in three seconds. Washing machine, shower. Review where he's been: a train, a hotel. Look on the internet for pictures of bites. Compare the color and arrangement of theirs with those of volunteers who show their fibs to the world. There is also too much variety in this topic of sting cataloging; I couldn't tell if theirs are grouped, or aligned in a group, chaos truly surrounds us. His worm could be a mosquito, but also a flea, a spider. Or a bed bug.
Consult the young pharmacist. He shows her the ankle: look, I've been eaten. It's a mosquito, he says, and lifts his shirt to reveal a mosaic of red notches on one side. Would you say they are aligned, or grouped vertically?, she asks. It's a mosquito, he repeats with suspicious firmness, they're unleashed.
Read that there is a plague of bed bugs in France. The thing could spread. It is not scratched. The possibility of the bed bug seems the worst to him. It is not scratched. A flea that jumps is loved more. After two days, he notices a twinge in his hand. Ten. He has a bite on his big toe and two on his index finger. Senseless gnat. After a week, he makes another trip by train. When he returns home, he notices the strange left side. Ten. Eight bites. In two seconds he undresses and puts his clothes in the suitcase, sprays it with insecticide, closes it and sits on top of it to reflect: are these different bugs? One, intimate and obsessive? I want to see your face, vampire, are you trying to inoculate me with some kind of metaphor, with that mouth?
It is not scratched. He distrusts the pillows, the family. Does anyone have an itch? Are the pharmacist and her alone? Disinfect, fight. On the next trip it is smeared with anti-insect liquid and comes back intact. But now she notices the strange shoulder, and sees two stings like two red eyes looking at her in the darkness of the forest. Speak, beast. Say what you have to say at once. On television, a dancer declares that she has suffered a massive attack of bed bugs in a four-star hotel. The future is here.
