At which point my natural … shall I call it arrogance? No. Curiosity? Yes. I think I’ll call it curiosity. My natural curiosity got the better of me. I’m not sure if that’s grammatical (even logical). But anyway. I began looking at the coat somewhat more attentively, and I won’t pretend that I wasn’t quite … quite fascinated by the little narrative that quickly unfolded on the surface of those old skins.

It was certainly very ancient. Older than I had originally conceived of. I suppose you might call me something of an expert in the curing and preservation of skins. Miss Hahn had chided me (slightly earlier) about my having ‘an interest in native antiquities’. And she was right. I did/do have one. Quite an active interest, in fact. And this coat was immensely old and exquisitely ornate. I really was quite taken with it. I started setting Miss Hahn straight on a few of the details … the ancient story, the watering holes, the stream, the journey, the great star …

As I talked I could feel – perhaps I’m getting ahead of myself here – I could feel Miss Hahn leaning in. She was leaning in. And her eyes – once affixed to the coat – were now … not affixed to the coat any longer. But to me. She tucked her hair behind her ear. It’s a nervous gesture. A tic, of sorts. She tucked her hair behind her ear. And I felt the movement and I looked up and I stared into her grey-green eyes and I said, ‘You keep tucking your hair behind your ear, Miss Hahn.’

This wasn’t an especially interesting or profound thing for me to have said (I accept this). It was simply an observation. An intimate observation. Then I lifted my … I raised my hand to … to … In fact I’m not entirely sure (on deeper reflection) what I planned to do with that hand. Did I plan to touch her cheek? Or the hair itself? I don’t know. Either way, I lifted my hand and Miss Hahn (in her turn) just … she automatically jerked back. In sheer horror! As if I was intending to … to strike her. Then my crutch clattered to the floor. And I was … I was … I felt … Just to be … to be so repeatedly, instinctively rejected by Miss Hahn. Or if not … I don’t know. So I lashed out. Which is typical of me, when I find myself in a corner. I lashed out and said something cutting about Miss Hahn’s ridiculous hair-clip. And then Miss Hahn said something sharp back. As well she might. But the funny thing was that as she said it, as she said it – and I don’t remember her precise words right now – as she said it the imaginary Miss Hahn uttered the exact same sentence! Then she (the real Miss Hahn) said something else, and the imaginary Miss Hahn also … etc. … and then I realized that the two Miss Hahns were now miraculously conjoined and that … well, that both were rejecting me! Together! In unison! And I felt very hurt. And bereft. And angry. And I made some ill-considered comment about a sea cow, or a giraffe. Then I had a sudden change of heart and began trying to apologize, but the damage was done. The damage was well and truly done.