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frightened now, sitting on his wooden stool by Mother’s plastic seat at the twelfth counter, holding his heart while his mouth urgently searches for air, that Father, our father—I’m nearing the end now, Father’s time is nearly up—that this man is the one they are asking for. He is, in fact, simply, unquestionably, guiltfully … Dapps!
    I N A WARD in the maternity hospital on Saint Mirgarita of Antioch Street (patron saint of pregnant women, who died in the Roman city of Antioch, now the Turkish city of Antakya), Dallia Dapps gave birth to two little girls. She named them Alva and Irva.
    Our birth certificate revealed that Linas Dapps was our father, though it did not reveal that Father was not present at the birth of us, his two daughters, or that when Dallia Lizbet Dapps, née Grett,screamed at the pain of giving birth to her two girls, she should perhaps also have been screaming out for the life of her husband.
    Alva Lina Dapps and Irva Lina Dapps. Identical twins with identical wails. I came first. Irva waited two more hours and then was forced to decide, after some exhausting coercion from Mother, that it was safe to come out. She never really wanted to come out, she’d rather have stayed in there all the while, she never really wanted to come out at all.
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LOST TREASURES OF ENTRALLA. THE CHAPEL OF SAINT PITER THE MARTYR. There would be no reward for any excursion to this region of the city, either optional or mandatory. It is a small miracle that this church—a superb example of fifteenth-century Christian architecture—stood for so long, being, as it was, predominantly made of wood, wood that had housed within it a population of insects whose numbers could have rivalled any of the great and famous municipalities of the world.
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SITES OF INTEREST. ENTRALLA CATHEDRAL IN MINIATURE. Postman Girge’s matchstick cathedral is still exhibited within our massive stone cathedral to this day, though it is now in ruins, destroyed by a piece of tumbling masonry the size of a man’s head; the earthquake broke both the cathedral and the cathedral’s model. Today the ruin in matchsticks reminds Entrallans of the ruin in stones, of the broken cathedral before it was fully restored.
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ENTRALLANS OF NOTE. AMBRAS JONAS CETTS. Former Mayor. Perhaps some people may feel, considering this man with his dazzling future, perfect features and healthy body, that he is the hero this history has so far failed to produce. And in a way, a kind of way, he is.
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INCIDENTALLY—for the following paragraphs it may be useful to view the map at the front of this book.

INTERLUDE 1
Coffee
    Market Square

Café Louis, Market Square 14. Open 10:00-23:30 tel. 316 80 24.
    Market Square is found easily enough on Arsenal Street in easy walking distance from Cathedral Square, and is always a worthwhile place to visit. The square abounds in cafés: there are no less than twelve open every weekday; on weekends five are available to accommodate the Saturday evening adolescents in search of noise and love and beer; or three are open for the benefit of the Sunday morning stroller in search of coffee and peace, but who may become irritated by the sudden arrival of the after-church family crowd. On Wednesdays, market day, the square is of course particularly busy and populated by many stalls selling fresh produce, electronic equipment, a wide variety of second-hand clothes, religious amulets, antiques, plastic objets d’art. The buildings that surround the square are all fifteenth century with terracotta tiles and wooden beams. But sadly, due to our earthquake, many are replicas.

    CAFÉ LOUIS, a red building with ‘LOUIS’ clearly marked on its front (in any case the café with the wonky awning), is where I would recommend our distinguished foreign visitors take their morning coffee break. If on entering you are initially disgusted by the smell of tobacco smoke, do not immediately rush out in search of another café—all cafés have this