Are there dwarf animals? Dwarf giraffes? A panther, a hippo, a bird? A dwarf landscape? There are dwarf planets. You told me that, Jonás. Maybe now I can tell you a story.

Once upon a time there were seven dwarves who sang in the forest. Doc, Grumpy, Happy, Sleepy, Bashful, Sneezy and Dopey. The seven dwarves in a row, from Doc to Dopey. Dopey is a little dwarf. Maybe he’s just a little dopey.

Meanwhile, deep in the thick, dark forest, a voice thunders from the top of a castle: ‘Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who is the fairest of them all?’

The seven dwarves arrive home and ask in unison who’s asleep in the bedroom. They think a monster has got in. The monster is sleeping across three beds. They want to kill it before it wakes up. Grumpy says: ‘Ha, she’s a female and all females are poison! We have to get rid of her.’ She wakes up, and the seven dwarves duck out of view. ‘I wonder if the children are back,’ says Snow White. She’s scared when she sees the seven little faces. ‘Why, you’re little men!’ ‘We’re as mad as hornets,’ one replies. ‘Can you make dapple lumplings?’ ‘Apple dumplings!’ the other six shout back at him. ‘Yes,’ says Snow White, ‘and plum pudding and gooseberry pie.’ ‘Gooseberry pie?!’ the dwarves cry in unison. ‘She stays!’

Not unlike tramps in a stage play, with that jolly little dance as they walk, draped in rags, the smudges on their faces meticulously added with make-up: that’s how they are in the cartoon. The seven dwarves have hats, white beards and red noses. They’re tubby, they sing in unison. The dwarf on the block has a cane, a sober demeanour. Grumpy’s anarchy consists of not washing. I imagine the dwarf on the block has voted for the left for as long as he’s had a voting card, in the hope that the path we’re on might change.

What would the ideal politician be like?

Instead, we’re stuck with cartoons. And they do so much harm.

I remember there’s a point in Waiting for Godot when the characters swap hats again and again. A bit like politicians.

I wonder. What do I wonder?

I miss you, Jonás. I’d sleep with you tonight on those three little beds.

Today, among other things, I bought a kilo of red apples at the market, thinking of Snow White. I thought I spotted the same Fernando Pessoa I saw a while ago at the fruit stall.