“Now Leo,” I say to him, “it isn’t altogether fair, but because you’re a kid, the people working here might worry that you are going to touch or break something, so when we walk through the galleries, we should fold our arms behind our backs, like this.” I turn to show him my arms crisscrossed behind my waist. He crosses his in imitation. “Then the gallery attendants will look at you and think, my goodness, what a very grown-up and well-behaved little boy, which, of course, you are.” And so we go, walking like strange birds through the galleries with our arms folded behind our backs.
