We sit in front of the TV until 10:00.  We watch the press conference with Schranz.  I top off Thomas���s glass of mulled wine, make remarks and comments several times, but Thomas maintains his icy silence for 2 �� hours.  I can���t believe it���s impossible to dispel his sullenness; I���m intent on at least getting a peep out of him.  When the announcer on the television says that Karl Schranz is going to be flying to Innsbruck, I say: Schranz should have a fatal crash tomorrow; he reached his high point now; that would be the finest exit for him. Because in the future things can only go downhill for him.  I was expecting at least a nod from Thomas, because death is his pet topic, and Thomas smiles or smirks like a shot at everything that has to do with death or has some connection with death.  He remained icy.  At 10:00 he stood up, said ���Good night��� to my family.  I accompanied him to the front door.  Ordinarily I walk with him to his parking space as we chat; this time I stayed put at the front door and said ���Good night��� only belatedly.  You see, he left without making any kind of salutation.

Karl Ignaz Hennetmair, from A Year With Thomas Bernhard, translated by Douglas Robertson