fooled once again although he was no longer physically present in the vicinity , the numbers , the color of freshly spilled blood , served as a warning of his omnipresence in my life and lurked in ambush wherever i turned : first a nine then a one followed by a three and finally a big seven , painted on the old birch-tree in front of which he was standing when i first laid eyes on him , defiantly intruded itself upon me .