Here is the continuation of the short story about a crocodile in the shower, written by J. G. Bas and named “The Crocodile”.
Pretending to ignore him, I started rubbing my back with the long brush and when I spotted his head, I landed a surprise hit on it with the handle of the brush; it was useless, because, with incredible speed, he lifted the rubber plug with its mouth, and like an eel, he disappeared down the whirl formed by the water.
I did not think about the incident again during the day and I did not mention it in the office to my colleagues; nor did I mention it to my children or my wife, because I am single and I live alone and I am fifty two years old.
Now that the nights are cold, I usually like to bring with me a hot water bottle to the bed. Before, I did not use to do that since I thought it was a sign of weakness. Until one day, I realized that it is stupid to have to overtake the cold of the linens and blankets at the expense of one’s own body temperature. The bed should provide one with heat and not vice versa.
I placed the bottle near my feet and I slept soundly for a while. Suddenly, I woke up with the feeling that something rough and cold brushed my ankles; it was what I expected. There was the crocodile, again.
This time, I proceeded cautiously to remove the covers and to slowly fold the four corners of the bottom sheets where he lay curled up, and so I lifted him up. He made no effort to break free. I noticed that I hardly felt his weight, as if the sheets were full of wind.