Lars grabbed Theodore's arm quickly and roughly, and they walked together in silence towards the car. Although Gai was a small village, the man was accustomed to doing all his business exclusively by means of a vehicle, neglecting walking. Ted, out of habit, wanted to sit in the back seat as he approached the car. He jerked the door handle, but was immediately stopped by his father, ‘No, no. Today you're going to walk and weave around catching up with me. You are an athlete, a future world boxing star! So develop your sporting skills’.

There was nothing to do. The boy stepped away from the car and obediently walked towards the house. It was evening, and it was almost dark outside. The poorly lit dirt road was illuminated only by the headlights of cars passing in opposite directions. Theodore stepped confidently along the narrow pavement, on the right side of which, at a distance of 200-300 metres, there were low lanterns emitting a dim light. They were of little use. They only served to delimit the space around them from total darkness. Lars's car had long since disappeared from Theodore's line of sight and disappeared into the distance. The boy walked in thought, not realising what he had done to make his father so angry that he had been deprived of the opportunity to get home by car. By the time he was six years old, he was already well versed in the neighbourhood, so after 10-15 minutes, the boy was already at home.

The ground floor of Lars's small restaurant was closed, but there was light from the windows of the first floor, and a car was parked in the car park. When Ted climbed the outside stairs to the first floor and entered through the ajar door, he saw his father on the old sofa, staring at the wall. Apparently there was an unpleasant conversation to be had. The boy cautiously approached his father and tried to take his hand, as if trying to apologise for something he hadn't done, drawing his attention to himself. Lars pulled his hand aside and turned to the child.

Lars: ‘What did you tell the headmistress? Why did she come at me again?’

Theodore: ‘Dad, I didn't even talk to her today. I haven't seen her in days.’

Lars: ‘Tell me… you think I don't understand anything? How everyone's talking behind my back about how I'm not as good a dad as everyone else. I don't take care of you. Sons of bitches! Get me a beer from the fridge! Quick!’

The boy ran headlong into the kitchen to get a cool drink for his father from the fridge. He still didn't understand what he had to do with the whole situation. Lars opened a can of foggy beer and drank it in one gulp, tossing it towards the boy, almost hitting him.

Lars: ‘Bring another one!’

Theodore brought the second can of beer and hid behind the sofa, avoiding the tin can flying in his direction. His father started pacing back and forth across the room, clearly nervous. And with each drop of beer he drank, his emotions seemed to intensify. For a moment it seemed to Theodore that if his father gave in to the emotions raging inside him, he might lose control of himself. However, this was not the first time Lars had lost his temper after drinking too much alcohol. Each time it happened, the boy tried to be quieter than water, lower than grass, so as not to cause aggression. Lucky only with the fact that even drunk and inadequate, Davel Sr. never once raised a hand on his son. But the stress the child was under all this time, wondering whether he would fall under his father's hot hand or not, was great.