But, Gideon doesn’t come into my room. First, it’s just people who look important; they are dressed well, and have very well-planned, coordinated outfits. Some are eccentric-looking old people. These appear one by one or in couples or small groups at the door to my freak-show room and pass by me as they look at the work. They put on the headphones that are hanging from hooks on the walls, and look at the paintings. Some of them don’t seem to see me. I stand very still, and stare into space. Others, though, watch me for a moment while they are wearing the headphones. My lips go very dry. I stand still for a long time.

Gradually, the number of people increases, and they start gathering in the middle, facing away from the walls and pictures, and chatting loudly, drinking from flutes. A different type of person starts to arrive too: famous people. A comedian drifts eerily around the edges of the room on his own, peering over the tops of his glasses at the paintings; he is one of the few who pays attention to the work. There are also well-known artists who are so high up in the art world that it seems they don’t feel they have to look at other people’s art anymore. One of these is a textile designer who arrives wearing a suit made entirely from fine, gold thread. Once he arrives, the light shining on the artwork seems to dim, and the other guests’ attention moves onto him. I observe from the shadows, feeling more and more like part of the architecture, blending into the wall, feeling the bricks behind me with my hands and imagining my skin merging with them.

A man with a camera comes in to photograph the room, everyone looking candid, the comedian hovering in front of the painting of the Bearded Lady, the textile designer in the middle of the room looking like a figure in a jewelry box, the other people standing in groups here and there, chatting; they all pretend they can’t see the photographer. Only I say hello to him, and he’s also the only one who acknowledges me, but not with words. The man moves me twice so he can get photographs of the room from different angles without me in it. He does so by placing a hand on the back of my T-shirt, and then grabbing the fabric like it is the scruff of my neck, and gently leading me to the part of the room where he wants me to go.