"...In my childhood I had a feeling that everything that was real fun, that was different from the daily routine -- was connected to him.
He had a desk in black oak with legs like the claws of a lion. I would sit under his desk, hug its leg, and dream. When I was four, five years old.
When I lay in my bed trying to sleep, I was imagining the bed was a boat. I had a swing in the garden and sitting on it I was imagining the swing was a boat.
He died when I was eight years old.
It was a shock.
I felt betrayed. Such treason! Why should he die, how could he do that. I didn't want to mention his name anymore..."