I am standing on the platform of the tram, utterly uncertain of my status in this world, in this city, in my family. I couldn’t even say offhand what claims I could make justifiably in any direction. I have no defence at all for standing on this platform, holding onto this strap, allowing myself to travel in this vehicle, nor that people should get out of it’s way, or walk silently, or pause in front of the shop-windows. After all, nobody is requiring me to do so, but that doesn’t matter.

The tram is approaching a stop; a girl stations herself near the steps, ready to get out. She appears as distinct to me as if I had run my hands over her. She is dressed in black; the folds of her skirt hardly stir; her blouse is cut close, with a collar of fine-meshed lace. She is holding her left hand flat against the side; the umbrella in her right hand is resting on the steps below the top. Her face is brown; her nose, slightly narrow at the sides, finishes broad and rounded at the tip. She has thick brown hair, with little wisps at her right temple. Her ear lies small and close to her head, but, standing near so her, I can still see all the back of her right ear and the shadow where it joins her head.

I asked myself at the time: how is it that she does not marvel at herself, that she keeps her lips closed and doesn’t say anything like this?