outside, and his human form costs him much of his magical power. Actually he's a wolf during the day. The weird tone, which simply does not want to tear off and in his sensitive ears must be like a cannon shot, makes it impossible for him to keep up the bill. I can see how his upper body strives for a stooped posture, how everything about him tries to stand on four legs again. "Gavan", he growls with the last of his strength and the boy freezes. Likewise his parents. The silence that comes, now that the little one can no longer stroke the strings with his bow, is downright heavenly.
My old mentor puts two fingers on each temple of the parents, mumbles a few words, then pushes us out of the room and closes the door with a loud bang. It shatters into a thousand pieces. A cloud of dust and splintering wood spreads around us, so we have to protect our faces.The fire in the hand of the deaf and mute goes out. "Ronga!", I shout, "What was that ?! Ronga! What is he doing in my memories ?!"
The flame flares up again as my companion collects water in his hand again. However, my teacher is gone and the door has disappeared with him. We stare at a smooth, white rectangle that contrasts with the moldy wall around us.
"Let's get out of here. I want to get out of here. The sooner we find the exit, the better," begs my companion timidly. I agree with him.
We descend the stairs, deeper and deeper into the darkness without opening another door. I know from somewhere that we have to go down a lot further to get to the exit. It feels like we're walking for hours.
Little by little, our environment begins to change. The railing has fewer gaps. The step surface is no longer so rotten. Here and there a residue of fresh paint shimmers through the doors. We'll be there soon, I can feel that clearly.Why does the thought scare me?
The fire suddenly starts to flicker. Detaches itself from the pond in the palm of your hand and just flies away. He still reaches for it, but doesn't get it anymore. "Damn it," he curses in Marco's voice. "Then we have to go on in the dark."
"Not necessarily," I murmur, spitting a torch from my own production into my hand and grinning. "I can do the trick too."
"We can't see the doors with the fire," he says sadly.
He's right. The walls are suddenly smooth and empty, not even moldy anymore. I'll turn off the flame again. "And now?" I ask.
"We could try this door here," he suggests, knocking on wood. "That was the last one I saw." Why not. I open it and am amazed when we enter a familiar shop that sells noodle soups. My companion takes a white shirt from the cloakroom and hands it to me so that I can cover my upper body.That seems completely logical to me. Everything here makes so much sense, seems so close, so real that I have the feeling that I have just woken up and am walking through my real life again. We both know exactly which table we are going to sit at. My bag with the stolen dictionary is lying on my chair.
We talk. It's like acting. We have already learned the text by heart, play our roles to perfection. He writes our predecessor's bill in full as he guides me through the menu. I ask him why he doesn't just take a pad with him where he goes, instead of always hoping to find pen and paper somewhere. He laughs, reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a crumpled ball, covered with unsavory tea and food stains, that used to be a notepad in his previous life. "I'm hopelessly clumsy. If I don't mistreat my pads, I'll lose them," he writes on the bill, which finally can't add any more letters.He looks around the next table for a new place to write while I heave the dictionary on the table, open it and push it in front of his nose. The inside of the cover is blank. The perfect desk pad. "Sure?" Asks his expression. "This is a book for words to write about, isn't it?" I stutter together and nod encouragingly to him. "Why did you buy a book about music?" I ask on the occasion. “Composers,” he improves himself by writing the Japanese word and the English translation into the book, “I want to know why they wrote music. Maybe then I'll find out why so many people listen to music, and almost always and everywhere. ”He eyes me as if waiting for an attack.
I think. Yes, why actually? "Maybe because we are making contact with it," I reply, which should mean that we associate something with it. “Memories or just a feeling.” His almond eyes grow so big that for a moment he almost looks like a European."You're the first not to laugh at me for it," he writes. Then he scribbles something underneath that I can't read everything because it contains too many unknown words. When I ask him to translate or explain it, he writes that I should do it myself when my Japanese has improved.
The fact that he thinks I can learn this devilish language makes me burst out laughing. I grab the white tablecloth, pull it over my head, still giggling, and lie down to sleep under it. The scene tips over on its side. People run from top to bottom and from bottom to top through my field of vision, people eat sideways at tables and the soup drips onto the ceiling. The picture moves further and further into the distance and I fall on my bed.
My deaf and mute friend lies next to me and sleeps peacefully. I feel like I've slept soundly all night. Smiling, I let myself fall into the pillow, relax my arm around his stomach and walk with my hand along the lowest costal arch, held together by the sternum, because I know how wonderfully ticklish it is there.I'm reaching into something wet.
I startle, sit up straight in bed from one second to the next. The hand in front of my eyes is dripping dark red. Only now do I notice the trail of blood breaking out from under our white blanket. A red trench about the width of a hand that leads through the endlessly long room that was mine before. Lavande is sitting on a chair about seven meters away. The trail of blood ends at her feet. Ronga stands behind her, arms around her shoulders.
"I want to put on record that I didn't kill him," she announced defiantly.
"Of course not," laughs Ronga and gently strokes her golden hair. "He was."
"That's not true!", I screech hysterically, "It was you! I could have imagined that you would get it. After all, you have the others too ...!" My voice is drowning. I have to stop because I howl like a castle dog. The two shake their heads mercilessly, synchronously like two wound-up toy robots."No, no, my dear. This time it wasn't me.", Luv insists, "You were all alone with his heart. This time I don't need to manipulate you. But don't worry, I won't go with a clean slate either. "
Ronga gives a disgusted chuckle, turns away from her, and walks backwards. His wife comes to me with her back to him. "Stay where you are!" I yell. She laughs shrilly and quickened her pace.
Suddenly I hear violin playing right in my left ear. "Shhht, don't cry. It's just a nightmare. Wake up," whispers one male voice into the other. Then I hear the music in stereo.
When I wake up, someone is holding my face in their hands and headphones are in my ears. "Better think of something nice," says the redhead from Tanaka's office over the soft tones. I have no choice but to turn up the volume.[/I]