YIDAKI

When cats dream, they assume the august attitudes of mighty sphinxes stretched out in solitude and they seem to fall into a sleep of endless dreams. Magical sparks burst from their fertile loins and particles of gold, like fine grains of sand, dimly sparkle in their mystic eyes.

Charles Baudelaire

There was only a week to go before the start of the Christmas holidays when Peter found out that his holidays were going to be different this year. His parents had promised to pick him up that evening at six, but, as usual, they didn’t keep their promise. He waited for them at the gates to his boarding school for some time, watching how other boarders left school for the holidays, how the old iron gate closed and how night spread its cloak over the city. It was not one of those pleasant afternoons when you want to go for a walk in the park, but one of those wet and cold afternoons you get in winter when darkness devours the day before its time and the best spot in the whole world is next to the fireplace at home.

Peter sat waiting on a bench for hours and hours with a pile of suitcases next to him, his body shrinking from the cold as he hoped the small drop of rain that had just fallen on his nose was not the beginning of a downpour.

When the family limousine finally arrived to pick him up, he was hardly able to move a muscle and, cold to the bone, he got into the car with chattering teeth.

His mother gave him a kiss on the cheek, giving one of her usual excuses for being late, which he barely paid attention to. The truth was he didn’t care. More than three months had passed since they’d last seen each other, and that had been on his first day at the school.