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If only I could muster some courage… How am I going to talk to Gamma? Accuse him right to his face? But what if I’m wrong? No, no, I’m not wrong, Gamma knows something. I can tell by that smile. He knows something, and he’s keeping it to himself, holding it inside like a balloon. Like a big, rosy-cheeked balloon… I suppose there’s no need to burst him, I could just untie him, and then I’d know what kind of air he holds inside…
That’s how I talk with my room, where the light is on day and night. During the day it seems yellowish, at night it’s bluish. And a currant bush peeps in through the window.
I remember how an artist friend of mine gave me a picture, how I carried it home, carefully planning each step. My steps were tiny, timid – walking is not easy when you are carrying Beauty!
