It is an unbearable thing to live in the same town as our worst enemy. It is enough to force us to move away, leaving the town, our friends, country, language. So off we go across the ocean.
Each day we live in the hope of finding the strength to go back. But we never do. We stay in bed. And as there is no limit to cowardice, we make anonymous phone calls to our worst enemy. We wrap the receiver in a corner of the sheet to disguise our voice.
Time passes and we gradually forget. So we tie a knot in our sheet to remind us to call our enemy tomorrow morning. But tomorrow morning we don't call him. However, each day we tie another knot. Then when our sheet is no more than a string of knots we cannot sleep in, we call without disguising our voice. And our enemy says "Come home, my friend, there's been a misunderstanding."
And as cowardice is a bottomless pit, we untie our sheet to pack up our bundle, and we set off back home, knowing fine well that we will be getting no explanations. We're going home because we never managed to go away in the first place. Because we hope to find a bed with no knots in it. But back home, it's all different now. Our friends have forgotten who we are, or else don't understand us any more, we no longer speak the same language. So we put the sheet over our head, wrap ourselves up in it. And we run around the streets in it. we feel ourselves flying. For the first time we discover how gutless we really are.