Sinka Miléna: Ein Fleck Gesundheit im Bett

I close my eyes.

I say the word 'bedroom'. First, I see a room in an ancient castle with massive natural stone walls, dark, carved, with a four-poster bed. The windows are small, barely letting in any light. The servant moves around with a candle in hand, carefully fluffing the snow-white sheets before the master arrives in a floor-length nightshirt, a tasseled nightcap on his head.

In the following scene, I see a bed with sparkling white, lacy sheets and huge, bright windows. A young woman tosses a pillow into the air, gently pats it as loose feather fluffs fall softly around. She pulls in the heavy, creaking blinds, kicks off her slippers, and rests her head to dream.

In the third picture, a Japanese room unfolds before my mind's eye. The master of the house stretches his tired limbs on the futon placed on the tatami (reed mat) floor. With his eyes closed, he takes a deep breath. He can smell the fresh scent of rice paper, wood, and reed.