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Jacob hid the mirror, because he didn’t want to share the
things of his heart. And the cadre went idle.
Father was reading a newspaper in his office, and, if
necessary, in the search for the sea, would bring in
personages from the newspaper too, but nothing would be
said to Jacob’s dad. Because secrecy flees from curiosity in
seven-league boots, long noses can’t catch a galloping
horse.
Jacob looks around in confusion, with the perceptible
shyness of the center of attraction, and he opens gifts. Eh,
machines, construction kits and various games. Jacob
smiles, because that’s nothing significant and profound.
Reality is in his heart, and only it is greater than these
snotty children, meaningless school and even the television,
except if it’s showing battle.
“Children, children, wash your hands!” Mama shows the
loud visitors to the bathroom.
Jacob eats a marinated pickle, to keep the digestion
working, because, if war is necessary, then much, much
strength will be needed.
“Children, children, to the table! Eat, and play afterward!”