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The birthday boy ran out into the hall, the sea flowed there
too, beautiful waves. From the little mirror salty drops fell.
In the clothes closet the sea made a billowing pond. Dad’s
shaving machine pinned froth and mist along the sides of
the mirror, the apparatus itself was soaked and crookedly
hummed “Greetings, long life! Greetings, long life!”
”Oh god! What kind of reservoir is that?!” mama cried, and
dashed off to the bathroom waving a cloth.
Father came out of the office and said: ‘The newspaper got
wet and fell apart in my hands. I can’t read any more.”
“Dad, look! See, my things from the theatre swim in the
water!”
“I see, I see. But do you know, they won’t come back, they
need open space, freedom and a scope of gigantic
dimensions.”
“I know, Dad! I don’t want to be miserly about it. There in
those circumscribed theatre spaced there’s nothing to
breathe. In the vast sea, let them remain!”
”Look, little Brenci!” calls father.
“Where?”
“Look – floating on the meat board and meowing. He
doesn’t want to wet his paws.” And father rescues the kitten