Excerpts from
Silke. A Metamophosis
By Bent Haller
Once upon a time there was a little girl called Silke. Now, that's not a very ordinary name, but her mother and father thought it a lovely name that perfectly suited their little gold nugget, who was born a Pisces, under a beautiful full moon on a Sunday. And people say babies are as soft as ripe peaches, pure Chinese silk and freshly picked rose petals.
Silke was a very ordinary little girl, and yet her skin was certainly not as smooth as ripe peaches, pure Chinese silk, or freshly picked rose petals. It was actually rather rough and spotty.
Mum and Dad took her to the doctor, who was a clever old man. He said they had nothing to worry about.
"It's just fish skin," he said, taking his glasses off and putting them back on again three times. "Not at all unusual. And she was born a Pisces, ha ha."
And he laughed.
Mum and Dad found it quite reassuring to hear the doctor laugh, so they laughed too.
"But," said Mum, getting serious, "she lies in her cradle scratching herself, and she's so restless."
"Oh well," said the doctor, "little babies just are restless."
When Silke was big enough to be able to get about the flat on her own, she would often climb up on a chair in the kitchen and turn on the tap. Sometimes the water would splash out onto the floor, and she seemed to enjoy that.
Once, she did the same thing in the bathroom, and Mum and Dad found her trying to climb into the bath, even though it was almost full of water.
"She wants to take a bath," said Dad. "That's what she's trying to tell us."
"Well," said Mum, "there's nothing wrong with that."
But Silke was different. For she wanted to take a bath all the time – morning, noon and night. Five or six times a day. She could lie in the tub for hours, and would scream like mad whenever they tried to lift her out.
"This just can't go on," Dad said one day.
"Mmm, we have to draw the line somewhere," said Mum. "We must be firm."
But it wasn't that easy, for Silke could be firm too. If she wasn't allowed to take a bath, she would get very firmly impossible and start howling. She could be heard all over the building. And people might think they were treating her badly.
"There, there, little Silke," Mum would try to soothe her. "Take it easy. You're mum's little treasure, mummy's little jewel."
Silke had quite a strange way of crying. She almost seemed to be gasping for breath.
"I just hope it isn't asthma," said Mum, looking through a big book on childhood illnesses. "My grandma had asthma, and she died of it."
The only thing that would make Silke stop crying and gasping for breath was to give her a bath.
"Back at square one again," said Mum.
"And her skin's going really red," said Dad.
"Ye-es," said Mum, "but then she has been crying."
"So we'll give her another fifteen minutes," said Dad. "But that's all."
Translated by Kevin McCafferty
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