Das erste Jahr Babybuddha jetzt auf:
oder über den Online-Buchhandel
Again a dream intrudes. Again it is set in a rich city we happen to be visiting, showing its superabundant wealth and its decay. Grains of plaster are trickling off the facades of splendid buildings. Everywhere we hear this gentle sound. At first we mistake it for summer rain. We recognize its source when we look into the faces of the rich city’s inhabitants. Numb faces, neither friendly nor unfriendly. Then we notice that our baby carriage is empty! We left out baby in the hotel room. We rush back immediately, but we can’t find the way. We ask people for help, but they don’t understand us, nor do we understand a single word of their language. It is so difficult to push the baby carriage along the bumpy streets that we are soon exhausted. Desperately we turn to the owner of a particularly dilapidated house and offer to repair his façade if he will direct us to our hotel. He nods and laughs silently and shows us what has to be done, and gives us a tiny tool and an extremely small pail filled with white paint. No sooner have we started working than we realize we are in front of our hotel. We want to run into our room right away, but the proprietor’s voice holds us back. There, kneeling in the place where he stood, is our baby, painting words in the foreign language onto the baby carriage with white paint. We wake up together.