Paul sah zum Himmel auf; der Wind strich nur nahe am Boden, denn der bleigraue Himmel schien unbewegt. Er schritt durch das Gittertor über den hellen gefegten Sand des Hofes. Außer einem Burggendarmen und dem Wachtposten war niemand da. Im Parterre vor dem Schloß knieten Gartenarbeiter auf den Rasenflächen und schichteten gelbgrüne verblichene Rasenziegel. Die Beete lagen entblößt, und ihre schwarze lockere Erde war aufgewühlt. An die Sockel der sandsteinernen Bilder hatte der Wind braune modernde Blätter zu Haufen angeweht. Irgendwo klangen Stimmen. Paul sah auf; ein Mann, der zwei Kinder an der Hand hielt, kam über den Wiesenhang von der Gloriette herab. Die offene luftige Säulenhalle schien unkörperlich und flach an den Himmel gepreßt, der in wolkenlosem Grau dahinter aufstieg. In fahlem Gelb zog sich der steile Wiesenhang herab, jäh abgeschnitten durch die steinerne modergrüne Rückwand des Neptunbrunnens. Zwischen all den matten erlöschenden Farben, schien das Grün des Tannenhintergrundes sich schwarz zu einer Höhle zu vertiefen, aus der die steinernen Hippocampen sprengten.

We went then to the roundabouts. He chose to ride not on a dappled horse - I had noticed already his dislike of horses -but on a swan. He enjoyed it, but he didn't want to go round again. It was an experience complete in itself.
Then came the Wurschtlmann. He's so famous the Prater is named for him and you can see why. A hideous rubber man with a red nose who, for a few kreutzer one can thump and pound and wallop to one's heart's content, knowing that he will right himself undamaged and come up for more. Give him a name - that of your mean-minded boss, your bullying commanding officer - and you can punch him insensible and walk away, purged.
'Would you like to have a go, Sigismund?'
Even before he shook his head I saw him instinctively shield his hands, hiding them behind his back - and that was the first time I remembered the concert.
In the end, though, the Prater is about the ferris wheel whose fame has spread throughout the Empire. It towers over everything else, its carriages take you a hundred metres into the sky. To be up there and look down on the city is to ride with the gods.
So I asked him: 'What about the giant wheel? Would you like to go on it ?'
His hand tightened in mine. A tremor passed over his face. She had not been frightened even at six years old, but the boy was scared.
'The view is very beautiful from the top. You can see all Vienna.'
He stood still in the middle of the path. He tilted his head and gave a small sniff.
'I want very much to be brave,' he said in his low, cracked voice. 'I very much want it.'
And suddenly it all dissolved - my long antagonism, my restraint, the resentment that I felt at being asked for what belonged only to my daughter. I saw him sitting beside his dead mother in the Polish forest, waiting for her to wake … Saw him wobbling on the Encyclopedia of Art, playing and playing because he could no longer talk. I remembered the silent patience with which he'd endured his uncle's bullying, saw the graze on his forehead of which he'd said no word.
And I knelt beside him and took him in my arms.
'You are brave, Sigi. You're very brave, my darling,' I said - and kissed him.
So now I can tell you this. They are entirely exact descriptions of what happens, those ones in the fairy tales which tell you what occurs when you kiss an ugly frog, a hairy beast, with proper love.Sigi didn't kiss me back or cling to me. He just straightened his shoulders and then in a calm, almost matter-of-fact voice, he said: 'Now we will go up,' - and then led me to the brightly painted carriages swaying high above our heads.