Lucia Daramus

Hannya

I

This story, dear folks, is a real one. You will get your gains if your patience lasts two chapters – a time you’ll spend in children’s shoes. But don’t worry: your beloved grown-up people’s condition will be waiting for you right after!

So, then… the story starts in 1944 when Hannya – the girl with a smile about her lips – was taken from her cozy bed into a train together with her family and others just like them. It was called the death train by the many, just like they had the death chambers or the death holes, because the machinery had proven a huge blackened-eye iron monster whose giant mouth gulped souls by the hundreds. To Hannya – the girl with a starry smile – it had turned to be life’s train. It was nighttime and very, very hot. The children were sobbing, the grown-ups were trying to comfort them. That night Hannya was holding onto her father’s hand, tightly. She didn’t understand it. So she cuddled her luggage – a tiny bundle, and letting go of the dark wagon deck, she started to explore the mysterious land known only to her friends and herself. This dreamland… it really exists: it is LIMELFIA. Hannya and her three friends Sooty, Yolky and Reddy had already been there several times. I forgot to tell you: Hannya was a very beautiful and forbearing Jewish little girl who just loved reading. She enjoyed stories and she even made up tales herself. She also liked painting. That is what you would have found in her bag – had you searched it – : a blank-page book where she hid her tales, Sooty, Yolky, Reddy, and lots of colours. So as stood crowded among the other Jews, she heard voices coming out from her magic bag.

“Hey, Hanny, take us out”, said the first elf. Hannya loosened it up just to give the three of them a fresh breath and took a glimpse to see …. what?! The land of Limelfia, shining full nested in Reddy’s cap. The girl smiled a wide smile. The wagon door banged open and the moon shone directly in the soldier’s unkind face. Several tens of other Jews were standing out waiting to be loaded, but the train was overcrowded. He eyed Hannya’s lively countenance first thing. He didn’t like it:

“Wer ist das?”, he asked in a pressing, malicious voice.

“Das ist Reddy, tinkled the girl’s. “He is my friend. Yolky and Sooty are his brothers. They are the three elves I got last year from a German gentleman.” She took all three out: “Talk to the gentleman, he is very kind. Come on, say Gutten Abend!” She looked up to the soldier and explained: “They are child-elves and they’d rather draw and paint. Reddy paints poppies, Sooty paints tulips and Yolky paints sunflowers. They are very good. That is why in the summer poppies offer you their fiery red, in the spring tulips play Blackest-Black with the raw earth and the sunflower, … the sunflower trusts itself into the hands of Yolky the painter who makes it the most beautiful. It has won a beauty contest, too. She’s been wearing the crown the sun presented her ever since. This luggage is mine. There are paints in it, and there is …. Sooty!?, have you hidden my book? Wo ist das Buch? A-ha, there it was!… my blank book. I stuff all my stories into it”, said the girl and spread her little hands empty.

“But do they fit?”, asked the soldier, his frown melting at the thought she was a smart spontaneous child. He, too, had a daughter back home.

“My book is just like this train”, Hanny went on, “the more Jews on it, the larger it gets. My stories pile up on top of each other, like us. They don’t argue, because they are many kinds, and they love each other. I’m Hannya. Wie heiBen Sie?”

Ich heiBe Bohm.” Mr. Bohm was staring in amazement at brave little Hannya’s face. For a second he thought the Jews were also people and stopped pushing and hitting them.

The wagon door banged again. In the dark they could long hear the heavy thump of wardens patrolling along the train, German words, and, occasionally, gunfire coming from a distance. The Jews in the train hoped for tomorrow. They wished some place would get them, somewhere the yellow star on their coats wouldn’t have prompted anger, mockery and fury in the passers-by. They were trying to put themselves to sleep, hope alive.

Hannya didn’t understand why they had to sleep standing. And, as was her habit whenever something went wrong, she opened her eyes wide and started stringing words together to go straight into her book.

“Hey, wake up, Miss”, Yolky said and began snarling a little song:

Thousands of white birdies

Animals, some large, some small

Flying, singing, grazing, all

In the green-green fields are waiting,

Come away, oh, dear child

In the magic fairy land

Call its name – Limelfia.

Zeenurfs float in sugar mist

Bathing in the seas of Dream:

The sun’s lazy spying glass.

“What a beautiful metaphor you coined”, said Sooty. “It is a plastic metaphor, isn’t it?”

“Beg-your-par-don?! A plastic metaphor?!” Reddy commented.

“No, dope, plastic as in plastic arts. A plastic image, that is.”

“You are the dope now. You can make plastic… pails uh, hmmm… or plastic… huh, anyway, not metaphors” Reddy said emphatically, snotty-nosed with intellectual pride.

Sooty went black with anger. He lifted his hand and whoosh, slammed his head.

“There you go, you deserved it! Where were you when we studied the metaphor?! If only Miss Dwarfeen had heard you….”

“Ha-ha-ha”, burst out laughing the other two. You mean to say Miss Elfeen. Elfeen, not Dwarfeen.”

“Stop it”, Hannya interposed, “none of you is much of a school-goer. It would do no harm to really open up you minds this once to what I’m going to say. And you’d better lock it up right after, lest these things should fly who knows where. Metaphors fall into two categories: the revealing sort and the plastic one. That’s all for now, it’s time for us to fly to Limelfia. Reddy, which part will you take us to?”

“Right off its borders. There will be plenty of water for these train-people there. It’s just that I need lots and lots of steam”, he sniveled and conscientiously blew his big red nose in a maple leaf.

“Shouldn’t worry, I’ll get it! All you’ve got to do is get the cap ready.” Reddy took his cap off and pushed it towards the girl. Hannya’s eyes were riveted to the cracks in the wagon’s top where moonbeams shone.

She said:

“Lady Moon, Lady Moon, please tell your volcanoes to hatch and when they have heated up enough and start coughing, please tell them to purse up their lips to Reddy’s cap. We want to get off Limelfia’s borders.”

“What will my gain be if I do as you ask?” The Moon gave its vaporous dress a slick trim and then glanced into the magic mirror she always carried with her. That’s how her graceful body gets into each and every water on earth every night. The child took a moment’s thought and answered:

“That part of Limelfia is rich in clouds and rainfalls. The local zeenurfs even look a bit rained-under. They really work hard. They are almost all in trading, selling clouds to the zeenurfs that inhabit the inner border of Limelfia. There’s no rain there, only the desert. No wonder the outer zeenurfs are tired. I’ll join them and sell clouds myself. Whatever money I raise will buy you…

Dolphins to enchant your sight,

Singing to your heart’s delight

And a nursing maid from me

With a basketful of anchovy.”

“I’m content with your offer. But tell me yet, why do you want to travel there?”

“It’s because my place now isn’t very comfortable anymore. There are hundreds of us. And the wagon’s got hot. Some people can’t breathe. And others are dying of thirst. Remember last night when I visited you, I said you could come along in my bed to rest when you got tired. I would have given you vanilla ice-cream, too… I could see you were hot. But now, I don’t know why they turned us out into this place. I’ve got to save the people, just like I wanted to help you. I’ve got to fetch water from Limelfia.”

Lady Moon stretched her arms to lift Hannyta closer to her eyes behind the wagon cracks and smiled lovingly.

“Well, then, let’s get the volcanoes to work. But we must put them to sleep first. It is only when their sleep reaches its bottom that they start boiling and steaming and coughing.”

“Very well, madam. Sleep they will. We’ll keep quiet.”

“They need lulling to go to sleep, my dear. I’m no good at singing, so you do it.”

Hannyta’s song started trickling soft and clear. It told about the One Who had created all the beautiful things that there were in the sky and upon earth. It was Eli,Eli! – a little song her mom would murmur in the evenings, at bedtime. That language was very dear to her – the old land’s language, brimming full of so many real stories. People made the mountains weep and the dead talk in these stories, their staffs would turn into snakes and the waters into blood. He believed every word her parents used to tell her Jewish stories. And oftentimes these melodious words that came from so far back soothed her sleep. But now it was her turn to sing them. Their many-thousand-year-old magic would tame the world. Hannya believed in them. All the stars elbowed their way to the first skies to catch a glimpse of the tiny human whose beautiful voice had reached them and their hearts. Its crystal harmony blanketed the soldiers’ heavy trot, the scary shouts and the sobbing within the wagons. But the voice had discomforted the soldiers who were now smacking the wagons’ sides yelling: “Shut up! Quiet!” Hannyta went on.

Soon the moon volcanoes were all sleeping tight. The snoring had just started and steam was coming out rolling through their nostrils. Occasionally, they choked and coughed. Redddy’s capswelled with a powerful very warm breeze. They had hardly thanked the Moon for her help that they were off and into Limelfia, their beloved country.

The zeenurfs knew they they would come and had been waiting. And yet, to get into this place, one had to be tried. At the Great Gate, there was a Baediantrope, a cheerful round thing with a big red nose and incredibly long arms who assisted people through Big-One, Little-One?test.

Hannya’s first trial surely looked simple but it really wasn’t. A green white-and-yellow flowery carpet was unrolled in front of her. Right in the middle, there was a hop-scotch to go through. Piece of cake, isn’t it, my dear Big Ones? Hannya threw the stone and started hopping – always on one foot – through the squares. When she reached the stone the carpet gave way, and she fell into a big hole. He tumbled down the hop-scotch spirals to the very last room which appeared to be a deadend. However, there was parchment right in the middle of the table (there was a table, too). This great-great-grandparent of the book stood there wrapped in a literally royal posture, in spite of all its scratches and animal odour. The old letters were strung out in long sentences with none of the usual breaking that we have now.

Hannya read: “Every human is the metaphor of a gem. Living polishes him to the limit. All unnecessary corners are ground away. His beauty and radiance are but a reflection of his contributions to others. In the end man takes the appearance of a gem. He becomes one. If you want one, prove your mere kindness.”

Having read this, Hannya started thinking. “What am I supposed to do?”, she wondered. She took one of the streets on the right. They were the streets of the ** rainbow that hung up the branch of a tree. She walked and walked until she got hungry. And since there was nothing to eat, she sang. Her words kept rolling, the very words that had once created light and the waters and the earth, until they made an opening in the walls of the ** rainbow. Hanya watched it in amazement, the hole growing wider and wider as her voice poured strength in the old words. There were people there, beyond these walls, all chained up, everyone who had once been a child but forgot it and thus couldn’t remember the word kindness, mere kindness..

She couldn’t leave them there. She had to rescue them. She asked them to come over. They stepped over the threshold and fell into the big dark scoop of a scallop which immediately closed. A voice spoke full of grace, as if coming from deep waters. “The grown ups can only enter Limelfia carried on your voice. For this you must remained sealed in the scallop forever and sing. It is your choice.”

The girl did not hesitate much. She swam through the transparent waters, carried by a seahorse at times, and humming a merry tune she used to sing on *Hanuka. It was her favourite holiday and she would get ready for it almost a month in advance. She rehearsed everything at the piano with her father. She put on every dress in the wardrobe and passed everyone in the familyto see how many compliments a particular dress would earn. That helped her make up her mind. And still on Hanuka, the lucky dress was a different one. She always stayed in the balcony at the synagogue. It was from there that she could best see the great rabbi taking out the Torah, saying the prayers, praying for her, getting into the special clothes. To the little girl everything was touched by a mysterious aura. It made her feel safe, just as she felt when she was sick and her mother would hold her tight, so tight she felt the warm breath. It relieved her and she went to sleep in seconds. But the dearest moment was when all the children were called upon to sing and dance holding hands. The merry tune spoke of Eli’s kindness, his keeping Menora aflame for eight nights and days, defeating the darkness. The grown-ups would join in: Mi Camoha Baelim Hahsem? (Who, among the mighty, is like you, oh, Lord?). When it was over, the little ones were given nickels, sweets and apples. Her mom baked and coated the apples in cinnamon and sugar. Hannya would sing and sing.

She was going through the water, unafraid, on the seahorse’s back, her memories summoned back by the song. It was all there, the holiday of light, fresh caramel scent in her nostrils and she could almost taste apple sap on her tongue.

Well, things did not just freeze. Hannya did not remain encapsulated in the scallop. Her three friends, though absent from the metaphor class, were very skilled with words. They showed up before the Baediantrope and proceeded:

“I am Reddy and I speak a red tongue

The girl – red Hannya – red

Little one – red, warm-hearted – red

Proved herself to be.”

“I am Yolky and I speak a yellow tongue

Hannya – yellow innocent child – yellow

Twice – yellow – she’s sacrificed…”

“I am Sooty and I speak a black tongue

Hannya – black, water – black

The Jews – black, the train – black….”

Reddy and Yolky burst out laughing : “I wonder, is there such thing as black dumbness?!” The Baediantrope couldn’t help it, either. Rolled back, his huge belly upwards, he was laughing his head off: “So gifted are you at the gab that I got it straight: it’s colourful!!! Oh, I had a good laugh today. Hey, he turned to the Minor Baediantropes, bring the little girl to me!” He was the Major Baediantrope.

On reaching him, Hannya explained why she was there. Everybody was seized by compassion deeming the child a very model of kindness. The Baediantrope caught hold of Limelfia’s Ocean’s nine corners and gave it a good shake so that a portion of it spilled over in large drops that eventually reached the Jew-packed wagons and dripped through the cracks.

Hannya did not forget her promise to Lady Moon. She stuffed a couple of clouds in Yolky’s cap which she sold in Desertland. It really looked deserted there. Though half-plagued by draught, the cacti were each jealously guarded by strange creatures, half lizard-half dragon. Our three fellows Sooty, Yolky and Reddy took them for exotic fruit and even ate some. Whatever their effects and whatever adventures lay ahead of them and bright warm-hearted Hannya you will find out after Mr. Bohm’s story. You do remember Mr. Bohm, don’t you? He’s the one Hannya managed to give a flicker of a smile.

Oh, yes, and you must write to Hannya, lest the words in this book should vanish and take hannya and her friends with them. Here is the address:

To Hannya and her three friends,

Street: ** Rainbow

County: Limelfia

Country: TREEBRANCH

Young Bohm II

It was raining. The luminous early-summer night was sliced through by large drops hitting the wagontops. From a distance, such as from Mr. Bohm’s window, this rain seemed a fluttering lace curtain. The moonbeams pierced it every now and then. Mr Bohm lived in one of the rooms in the house next to the station platform. He was sleepless. The intense heat of the summer night kept him awake. He paced his room up and down. “Tomorrow’s going to be another day, for sure”, he whispered. He was to escort the train to Auschwitz. He didn’t really like this thing. He had already been to that place where the word kinder was not mentioned. Where everybody – children, grown-ups, old people – were called by the name Haftling He had seen little ones whipped with horsewhips and wireropes, hit with riffle butts and heavy military boots.

His own daughter Hilda’s image often had him think plainly of the Jewish children, as of any children, although he sometimes felt guilty with the thought. He did know these kids were not part of the new human species – a pure one, but of an impure race that the world had to be rid of. All these ideas came along in the ideology classes. Although a medical student, he had taken them too. And he had never practiced. War took all by surprise. After all, an Arian’s life most important goal – to purge the world, to rid it of impure species, was far more important!

As he stood by the window, feeling rather lonely with his thoughts and all, he startled at the sight of a whirlwind coming straight to him.

“Come, get on”, a strange voice bellowed.

“What?”, gasped a flabbergasted Mr. Bohm, his eyesockets barely doing their job.

“You think I have all night for this?”, asked the funny creature, coming in sight His voice sounded merry and, for all its oddity, his whole apparel matched the sound: a winged bright-spirited golden-headed little chick dressed in what appeared to be a yellow jellyfish.

“Get on the bike!”

“Bike?! What bike?”, Mr. Bohm gasped again. He couldn’t believe his eyes.

“Ooooh!” went on the cuddly freak in a slightly reproachful tone, .”draw it! Green frame-red wheels-blue handlebars-yellow brakes-silver spokes-all in a golden haze. Ready!” He had uttered it all in one breath so for a moment the soldier was left agape although he had always thought of himself as rather atop.

“Where should I buy all these colours? We’re at war, shops don’t take such orders anymore.”

“One has to buy it all here, doesn’t one?”, the zeenurf inquired. “Come along.”

The chick grabbed Mr Bohm and dashed into the neighbouring grainfields where he collected the yellow. The soldier was not very accustomed to roaming the fields, but there was no way around. The ears kind of prickled, but he did manage to gather a pocketful of yellow.

“What’s next, blue?!”

“I’m the guide, so I say blue. Look up!”

By now, you have certainly understood that the zeenurf was a chick-zeenurf. They bolted upwards into the skies. This reminded Mr. Bohm of his own childhood when such flights were quite of the ordinary. He’d even drawn a map, a real sky-map. He would point to the Swan blindfoldedly, he knew every corner of the Greater Bear and the Lesser Bear alike. Not to mention the many times he had ridden the Milky Way on either of them. It took him seven days and nights on average. If he got hungry, all he had to do was thrust hands into the road and drink the milk. These memories gave him butterflies. He was sure he would hear the stars’ crystal song again, that the Swan would recite for him and the Bears would shake in hope of a lollypop. At least, that’s how it used to be.

“Oh, please, do be more careful! You’ll crease my wings if you don’t stop fidgeting”, the chick-zeenurf snorted. “Where is your head? I tell you it will do no harm to have a star fall down on it and give you a splinter of mind!” The tiny winged creature could not come to terms with grown up clumsiness at all.

“Hey, cut it a bit shorter, will you? I was thinking of my childhood. I bet you don’t know there are caeruleacaeanus flowers on Milky Way far more beautiful and smiling than anything that grows on earth when they bloom. Well… do you?”

“What colour are the caeruleacaeanus flowers?” the little zeenurf wanted to know.

“Just a second…. Eh….” Mr. Bohm’s body was beginning to shrink because, let’s face it, it has been quite a while since his last visit and what with the altitude and the cold… and the speed… They were doing some 99999999999999 trillion mph!

“Mr. Bohm, please Mr. Bohm”, the fair-haired chick’s voice came again, “tell me about the caeruleacaeanus. I beg you.” Mr. Bohm had never been quite able to understand it – children’s irrepressible curiosity.

“Look, I’m trying but I’m no good at words…”

“Never mind, just keep talking. It’s easy. They are colourful, aren’t they?”

“Yes, indeed.”

“It takes words to speak, doesn’t it?”

“Of course it does.”

“Then it’s simple” the weirdo burst volcano-like. You take the words, then colour them, then whisper them colured in my ear. I’ll get the picture, don’t worry.”

As they were talking this kind of nonsense, there came big circular splash, echoing very close-by first, then farther and farther, surround-system. They had entered the sky’s waters.

“I wonder how come these waters don’t get washed down on earth? And what glues the trees in place? Wouldn’t it be easier to travel if you drilled the earth? Do you have any idea what’s on the other side, anyway?”

“Too many questions! What? How? Why? Which? Take it easier. On our way back I will stack your arms with some books: physics, geography… Or better still, I will stash you in a library.” he shouted. He was trying to get the water out of his eyes, the same gesture some doctors make when they see zeenurfs and they do not know it’s winged aliens they face. As for Mr. Bohm, he really looked gone with the waves. Unawares. The chick shook his head and wings and gave the literatus a big smile.

“I don’t read. There are no books in my world, just Limelfics which we use Limelfeese for. When one limelfees there is a sound coming out, like silver. Each note of it is a crystalline story, fluttering, trickling down like harp music.

As they were paddling their way to the island where the blue was, the zeenurf started limelfeeing. The sounds were magical and as they fell into the rippling waters, they were carried away. So soon the universe resounded. Even I caught some of them and tried to memorize them for you.

Arosa nance in the carment his is

Cyan adawn letovian through rema

The exile of flowers divinely oouzes

Cruxlilaceulum hema.

Hearida, hearida, moon intasfo

Bumbum sinoise redhasnits

Fluae, fluae pearleen fresco

Fly-yawletuulum heights.

Who are you, who are you? butterfly kiss

Silver breeze gulping at words

Roses through the air, the scent of angel

Heraldic circles and violet dreams.

Arosa nance in the carment his is

Cyan adawn letovian through rema

The exile of flowers divinely oouzes

Cruxlilaceulum hema.

Hearida, hearida, moon intasfo

Bumbum sinoise redhasnits

Fluae, fluae pearleen fresco

Fly-yawletuulum heights.

“Is this Limelfeese?”

His little friend nodded

“It looks like a caeruleacaeanus flower”, added the soldier. The branches of a tree butted into their conversation. They had reached land, the island’s shores. Mr. Bohm remembered that sort of tree. But this one was a very sorry sight. It was supposed to be blossoming full and its flowers were supposed to be the famous caeruleacaeanus. But here on the far reaching dry branches there were only a few petals, hanging dry too. The island was scorched. It had a bright red colour and a heavy odour, like smoke. They tread on the barren soil among the trees looking for the blue. There it should have been!

The fair-haired midge literally sank in and started to sob:

“My flowers, where are the flowers in these trees?”

“Wait a moment! Is this where the blue was supposed to be? Is it the flowers of these trees?”

“Yes.”

“But these are the caeruleacaeanus trees. It’s their flowers that I’ve been talking to you about.”

The zeenurf went sadder still. He could not contain himself:

“They are magic trees, they have powers. What’s happened to them?”

Watching his folded wings, Mr. Bohm startled with a sudden understanding of the meaning of tears.

“Hush, little one, stop crying. Look, I will draw you a caeruleacaeanus flower when we get back on earth.”

But the fair-haired could just not be stopped; he was crying away.

“Magic flower trees! My magic island… who hurt you?! I want you all back, my flowers, my magic flowers. There is no place else to pick the blue now, no blue for my bike, no magic, no flying!”

The tiny zeenurf’s tears rolled down on the crooked tangle of roots he sat next to, seeping along. Out of the red sky it bloomed. The magic of caeruleacaeanus began. The whole sky went dazzling caeanin blue. The birds, by any account inexistent the moment before, sent their violet-blue trills into the air.

“This man ought to stay on the edge of the skies”, sang one, and fell asleep.

“Jewish children are children, African children are children, German children are children.”, went another one, and fell asleep.

“You forgot to laugh, you forgot to water a flower, you forgot to give a child a hug”, took over a blue-billed yellow bird, and fell asleep.

“The magic of caeruleacaeanus flowers has vanished when you entered your deep sleep. The flowers needed a kid’s voice, a baby’s innocent whining.” a chaffinch added. It had blue eyes, a red bill and yellow feet. And right after it fell asleep.

“Ha, will you just believe it, they all fell asleep”, the fair-haired chick’s voice rang, this time cheerfully. “So it was you who crushed the magic bloom. This scorcher here….”

“…. is but a mirror to the fire on earth.”, ended the sentence Mr. Bohm, who by now was fully awake. He was suffering from the pains of every persecuted child on earth. His eyes looked down, heavy with remorse, shame and guilt. He was waiting for the zeenurf to leave so that he might be alone, far from any conceivable eyes. That was how it worked in his world.

But not in this one. The midge flew restlessly about, taking each slumbering bird into his palms and kissing them in turn. He then faced Mr. Bohm, as if nothing had happened, and whispered:

“I will teach you flying and loving and you will teach me geography and physics. Start with a map, waters first, drawn in starry powder paint. Thus I will be able to drill my way to any point on it and learn it all.”

Mr. Bohm burst into laughter.

“But this is not how one studies geography. You ought to …” He took a moment to think. The chick was right, though. He was the one who ought to. He had lost touch with this world so long ago. He would have to…but their conference had to stop with the huge flapping, at least 1998 trillion per second, of the chief bird.

“You would think everything is so simple, wouldn’t you? Once the magic of the caeruleacaeanus has disappeared, the great Land Lord, whose life is the source of all life, put a mystery seal on it. If you want their blue, or to partake of their magic, you will have to dig out a nut at the heart of the island first. The mystery is within it.

“To dig?! Mr. Bohm frowned.

“Don’t worry. It’s my chance to start geographics.”

They needed the caeruleacaeanus flowers’ magic, which was so well kept inside the mystery inside the nut. So they went to the heart of the island and took to digging the earth with sharpened splints of wood. And they really made it! Sweat was coming out in seven waves a time and the sun shone up like lime but they kept digging in spite of everything.

When the moon entered the sky’s waters to bathe, which was the cue to sleeping on earth, they came across a trickle of water.

“Where do you come from, flowing crystalleis?”

“What did you call it?”, Mr. Bohm couldn’t refrain.

“Crystalleis. It’s a crystalleis, a thin one. Look, there’s stars in it!

“Yes, indeed. Seven,” said the soldier, “how strange.”

The zeenurf started laughing and soon the whole island was echoing with laughter. The seven stars of the crystalleis had opened and other crystalleises were flowing out of them. This wonderous thing filled the little zeenurf with amazement. He grabbed his friend and took him flying over the island in concentric circles. Seen from above, the whole crystalleis blooming looked like a map. The two were so thrilled they could barely talk.

“It is one of the seven roads. It stands to reason. It will take us to the nut.”

“What’s a reason, can it also fly?”, the little one inquired.

“Something that follows the logic, it can be demonstrated, it follows steps and it takes scientific arguments.”

“What about arguments? What are they?”

“Way too many questions. How about searching for the nut instead?”

Mr. Bohm was still clumsy at dressing himself up as a child. Which is worth trying, every now and then! They set off in their adventure, heading westwards from the mother-crystalleis. The map looked like this:

The Caeruleaceanus Island

All the crystalleises were very important, but number six and seven were topmost. When they left the mother- crystalleis, these two summed up a distance of 999999999999 trillion kilometers, which gives about three standard round flights, or 9.9 thrice multiplied zeenurf flaps.

‘There is no doubt, he said, our nut is halfway between the sixth crystalleis and the seventh.”

“That’ll be somewhere between 16 and 17 degrees west latitude, right?”

Vizualizări: 18

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