One of the following days Cosmin had gone to a neurologist surgeon to whom he had a recommendation. He, in the hospital, had learned to lazhen and often complained in this state: the arm did not hurt him anymore, he had only annoying tingling at the tips of his fingers, he was quiet at the mood of his dear friend. It hardly urges him to persuade him to go to a doctor. The result was vague. She had told them that an operation had to be tried, but later, without specifying when.

All summer stayed in Bucharest, because they did not have enough money to leave.

Cosmin’s girlfriend had to defile him; at the hospital she had lost her current life notions, casting large amounts to the left and right, to overpayments and exaggerated gifts.

First of all, he was supposed to do nothing. In the morning, after dressing, she began to massage her arm with oil and talc after a proven technique, then dragged him out of bed and begged him to take part in the house’s chores. He used the siretlics to put his arm to work, and he managed to make small steps before, to teach him another movement, slow and shy. Until then he wondered: “Will he remain infirm all his life? Well, he had an iron will …

He understood perfectly: integrity was his dominant requirement, but in a personal conception, which, if he fit with the other people in his anatomical being, became further subjective in an abusive and intolerable way. She ipso facto tolerates it, as the paratrasnet tolerates the trauma.

She slept in the evening holding her hands, continuing to move her fingers through her sleep, waiting for a reaction, an annoyance, jerked when she felt a strain.