After sunset, darkness settled so thick in the house that walking to the bathroom or climbing the stairs felt like donning a blindfold. Despite all of Gail’s hysterical remodeling, she had never bothered to update the electrical wiring. Sensible light switches near doorways were rare. Most of the rooms were lit by ceiling lamps with long beaded chains, forcing the light-seeker to swat the air in hopes of catching the phantom string. In New York, Beth had detected no hint of Gavril’s nyctophobia. Their East Village apartment glimmered yellow at all hours, thanks to the constant light from the street. In Orient, however, Gavril complained that he felt drowned by the blackness, like a child adrift in the ocean. During their first weeks there, Beth often woke to find him calling out to her from the hallway, needing her voice to lead him back to bed. “I’m embarrassed,” he admitted one morning, eyes swollen from lack of sleep. “In the night, I had to go to the bathroom, but I was so scared I waited until dawn to pee.
