At the time I was reading Wittgenstein’s Tractatus, and everything I saw or did only heightened my sense of vulnerability. I remember that I got sick and spent a few days in bed and Claudia, always so perceptive, took the Tractatus away and hid it in Daniel’s room, giving me instead one of the novels that she liked to read, The Endless Rose, by a Frenchman called J.M.G. Arcimboldi.
