Paris 1977
To Robin

“You have really beautiful hair” he said. She smiled and went on combing it. “But why don't you ever let me touch it?”

She hesitated for a while and then replied uneasily “You see, it gets darker if somebody touches it.”

“Irreversibly?” he asked doubtfully.

“I think so.”

“Let me try” he said without a single gesture.

She frowned.

“Don't you believe me?”

“Sure I do” he said convincingly.

“So you don't like this colour now.”

“But you're crazy, I admire it, really!”

She made up her mind.

“Okay, go on, touch it.”

He did.

“Can you see how it changed?”

He look intensely at her head and said finally: “no, I cannot. I don't think it changed a bit”.

She started crying quietly.

“What's happened? It didn't change the colour, I swear!”

“That's why I'm crying” she half-whispered.

“Because it didn't change?”

“No, because you didn't see it before”

He opened his eyes wide and after a moment said slowly “I don't see at all what you mean.”

“I know that” she said apologetically.

She looked in her mirror. What she saw there was her face just as it was before. No change on it, only the hair one tone darker and some tears on their way down her cheeks.

    the same, in Polish