He couldn’t take the morning pain anymore, he had fallen to the floor, he was screaming, clenching the foot of the bed with his teeth, bubbly foam streaming out of his mouth. The blisters pounded like a heart and he listened to the beats of all of them one by one, each one differing in speed and pain. The door of the room opened, he turned his head indifferently and he saw a soldier through the brown cloud. Mickey Mouse was standing in the room with a dinner tray in his hand. He shuddered, for a moment it seemed as if his teeth moved to the foot of the bed and gnashed together. He somehow managed to lean on his knees; he closed his eyes and opened them again; it was Mickey. He had brought food: soup, boiled wheat, tea, bread, butter and jam. Mickey’s hands and sensitive lips trembled; he w
