“The bats arrived”

     The bats arrived, attached to the coats of calves, gazelles; when I could, I plucked one off.
     And others, tamer, hung in the kitchen with their heads upside down; papa gave them wine, cigarettes. The women, dreamier, set out roses and orange blossoms, so that the intense perfume of blood and sugar in those flowers would calm them.
     One day, one bit me; but I carried on unscathed. I hear, yes, that “the children of the night make their own music”; but I don’t participate in the feast. I am like a witness. Or I do participate, and I don’t know