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Even today, after 50 years, he still had a small hollow at his hairline from the forceps. He often scratched that spot, as if prompted by a vague memory. Those who might see him on the street would not see that he had psoriasis, that under his newly ironed shirt were several patches of scaly skin. Or that he had a restlessness in his body that came and went. Deep inside his private universe there was a weak spot. In the midst of all the bright, airy, summer attire one figure stood out. You let her into your warm home. You go looking in the cupboard for raisins, you lend her money. The man was a real simpleton, he was really pathetic. Besides, what he said was nothing but babble. Are you going to buy a Nintendo. He stood there, staring down at the water. It was as shiny as glass, with a deep reddish-brown colour, like bronze.

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