“Anything the matter?”
“You’re awfully quiet today.”
“About that.” Pomi pointed to the ceiling.
“That’s an attic ladder.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Tell you what? That there’s an attic?”
“It’s not just an attic. It’s the attic of a landmark building. This place is so old, the wooden panels in the hall downstairs are protected. We cannot even hang a painting there.”
“This place is old, yes, at least 300 years. Why would you want to hang a painting downstairs? The panels are paintings.”
“Dark and oppressive ones. But the attic is interesting, I’m sure. Maybe we’ll find a treasure there.”
“Treasure? What treasure could there be? This building was home to impoverished widows and young women in need. They didn’t have a penny to their name and I’m sure they had no treasures to hide.”
“Ok, then maybe we will find a journal with heartbreaking entries written by one of those women. Or maybe there is a bundle of love letters up there, tied together with a tattered piece of string.”
“Why would anyone keep love letters in the attic?”
“Why not? I’m going up there.”
And so he did. When Pomi decides something there is no stopping him and the next moment he was dangling in the air trying to pull down the attic ladder.
“Let me help you.” I offered and pulled down the stairs.
“Are you going to join us?”
“Thank you but I don’t think so.”
“Coward.” Pomi climbed up the stairs talking to himself: ‘Some people have no sense of adventure.’
At the top of the ladder my little crochet guy stopped.
“What? I thought you were going to look for love letters.
“I am not sure I can. There is 300 years’ worth of dust up here. And nothing else. Absolutely nothing.”
“So what’s the conclusion?”
“Conclusion? This is a dusty attic. And there is no treasure. But still it’s cool to live in such an old building, a cultural monument that’s included in the UNESCO world heritage list. Only those paintings downstairs. Why don’t you do something about them?”
“I can’t. Those paintings are protected. Do they bother you?”
“Yes, they do, they are so dark. Depressing! I prefer colours. The painting in the living room. The one your friend painted.
It’s pleasantly bright and beautiful. It’s perfect and I love it.”