Dear Sir,

I would like to apologise for my behaviour yesterday. Maybe if I try to explain . . .Would you be able to understand the real meaning of what lies behind these words? Will you . ..? I am not asking for pity or sorry; I am not even asking for sympathy for myself. I ask you only to know, to be aware, and to respond before it is too late.

Why YOU? I do not know with certitude; it is a mixture of elements: that’s you, Sir, as you have emerged from nothingness into my soul: somebody I do not know, and somebody I know so well, so well . . . Somebody I feel I want to cling to, somebody I have to run away from.

The other day . . . that stupid tooth of mine once again came loose and I was quite disappointed to have to go back to the surgery: I do not like dentists, you know. Anyway, anticipating a big row with the surgeon who had made that botched job, I felt encouraged to hurry there. However, it wasn’t the blond one in the clinic, it was you: a big guy, somewhat fat, young, with lots of selfconfidence, but, at least, approachable; in some way aggressive, but then ... willing to be friendly. Tall, powerful, steady; a young professional with a whole life ahead to be enjoyed ... you reminded me of “the other one”, long ago. So similar you and he . . .! Even your hands! Even that polite aggressiveness! That smile of yours . . . of his . . . the way you looked at me ... he looked at me . . . and said: “Sh! do not worry little one, do not be afraid. Sh! Little one, little one . . . Sh!” He was leaning on his side on the upper deck of the bunk.