Fr 22

﻿Already at the dawn of my self-consciousness, I had noticed my sisters' aversion towards me. They terrorised me continuously, tort ured me in many a resourceful way and, when they had the chance they beat me. When they did not have a reason, they simply created one, and then justified it to my parents with all kinds of shameful lies. The long and short of it is that they made my life h ell, and no parental care was able to protect me. Nevertheless, I continued with my observations in spite of these unfavourable conditions. The bitter antipathy that resided in me because of my sisters' underhand behaviour did not prevent me from further studying their bodies as part of my scientific research. Consequently, when the time of the evening bathing came, I strategically took my place at the kitchen table with my painting books. For a long time they did not pay the least bit of attention to me. They believed they had nothing to fear of the little lad still chewing on the end of his pencil. At least not until I became absorbed in the admiration of my sister Sigrid's breathtakingly curvaceous form - that time it was already more than a mere scientific observation. She noticed me and started to yell infernally: 

- What are you looking at you little brat? Don't you feel asham ed? Get lost! 

Then she struggled into her bathrobe and stormed out of the kitchen. 

That was the last time she took off her clo thes in front of me. Whenever she wanted to take a bath, she chased me off rudely and ruthlessly. Moreover, she probably told my other two sisters about my early interests, as from that moment on they also stopped allowing me to assist during their cleaning ritual. I felt deeply disappointed that Fate had dealt me this unfair blow. 

I did not yet know that life closes one door only to open another. 

<span style="font-size:14.666666666666666px;font-family:Arial;color:#000000;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">Not long after I fell in love for the first time. There was a carpenter living in our street and he had a beautiful, rosy-cheeked daughter. Her golden locks fluttered cheekily when, with a sudden and sweet nod, she smiled at someone. Her ianthine gaze made the hearts of many boys leap - although she was only five years old. Lads built her dolls houses and presented her with hearts moulded from red plasticine. And when we had to line up in pairs there was always a stampede around her; we all wanted to hold her hand. She was well aware of her irresistible appeal. She consciously held herself with a charming pride, sharing her grace like a capricious princess, bestowing her favour on whomsoever she fancied at that precise moment.