The target for this sudden outpouring of hatred was the unfortunate simpleton. He was the last person to see the young woman alive, they said. No one had seen anyone enter or leave her apartment. Nothing had been seen or heard by anyone, except the simpleton.
The soldier tried to maintain order, located one of his mates and asked for reinforcements which should have come instantly, but mysteriously never materialized, except belatedly, when it was altogether too late.
‘Knives!’ someone shouted. ‘You like to play with sharp things?’
Suddenly, somehow, the simpleton, who was being pushed about by the enraged mob, was on his knees, holding his belly. His intestines were hanging out like grey sausage. Later, the soldier, when he had time to reflect, considered that no one seemed to know who had so skilfully inflicted this wound.
The simpleton began wailing in pain and terror for the peddlar, who tried pushing through the crush of people to help, but he himself was soon being kicked, punched and beaten by the unreasoning mob.
When he finally reached the simpleton, crawling on his hands and knees, battered and bloody, he stared in disbelief at what the mob had done. And for a long time, he had wept. They had cut off the simpleton’s genitalia and member, and stuffed them down his throat, choking him to death.