вернуться домой ✽ гостевая

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i had bound myself through my own guilt to an evil tonnenter. she did not understand everything but she saw; she saw my changed expression, heard the change in my tone of voice, and felt that I was cured and had been restored to her. and now began the feast of my readmittance to the fold, the return of the prodigal son.

на запотевшем стекле

✽ нужные ✽

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unquestionably i belonged to the realm of light and righteousness; i was my parents' child. but in whichever direction i turned i perceived the other world, and i lived within that other world as well, though often a stranger to it, and suffering from panic and a bad conscience.

воссоединиться

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there were stories of sons who had gone astray, stories i read with passion. these stories always pictured the homecoming as such a relief and as something so extraordinary that i felt convinced that this alone was the right, the best, the sought-for thing.

семейный фотоальбом

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to the right of the glass door hung my father's hat and my mother's parasol; they gave me a feeling of home and comfort, and my heart greeted them thankfully, as the prodigal son might greet the sight and smell of old familiar rooms.

завтрак в кругу семьи

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between fits of headache, nausea, and a raging thirst an image came to mind which i had not viewed for a long time: i visualized my parents' house, my home, my father and mother, my sisters, the garden. i could see the familiar bedroom, the school, the market place.

обед для двоих ✽ межфандом

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at least for me it smacked of rebellion. i can remember that night with remarkable clarity. we started on our way home through the damp, past gas lamps dimly lighting the late night: for the first time in my life i was drunk.