I dreamed Jonás was sick. My mother was looking after him. When I entered the scene, Jonás, lying in bed, was furious, and my mother, who had a little towel in her hand, was upset. I wanted to understand what had happened, but Jonás was saying something hurtful to my mother. She responded in kind, handed me the towel and left the room. I didn’t recognise Jonás, there was even something strange about his voice. And my mother would never have reacted like that. They get on well, my mother’s fond of Jonás. My whole family’s fond of him. I woke up feeling like I was holding the towel, convinced I was a long way from reality. I thought the beach looked further away than before.

Am I getting closer or am I getting further away?

I saw the dwarf on my block going into the bakery. Well-dressed, as always, talking on the phone, picking up the metal tray and tongs in his other hand. The king of small things, the lord of everyday life, the hero of the notebook thriller. Him so elegant, and the bigger stories so badly dressed.

On the way home, I thought about him. Blind people develop sharper hearing; deaf people learn a sophisticated system of signs. There are ways of compensating for disabilities. Being a dwarf isn’t a disability, and yet those centimetres that separate them from other people need to be compensated for. If the dwarf were tall, would he dress so elegantly? Perhaps the attention to detail in his outfits is like a kind of animal fur. Just as animals with no fur find a means of covering themselves, and animals that can’t attack find a means of camouflage, and strong animals seek to kill, the small ones, those who live on a smaller scale, have detail as their weapon. The marble tip of the miniature cane of the dwarf on the block, for example.

The days all look so similar to one another, like waves. And so, if not through details, how else can daily life be defended?

Don’t be alarmed if this isn’t going anywhere. Don’t expect theories, reliable facts or conclusions. Don’t take any of this too seriously. That’s what universities are for, and theses, and academic studies. Personally, I like cafés, bars and living rooms. Not to mention comfortable cushions. So nice and cosy.

I’m so much like the cat. Now, batting around a little ball with a bell inside. My little ball: what’s the relationship between voices and silence? No, the bell isn’t ringing yet. Let me try again. Is silence the absence of the voice? Maybe they’re family, and silence is the mother of the word. And maybe the word, when it was born, was music and poetry at once. The day the birds sang. Something like the day the voice was born.