"...Do you think the baby kangaroo is still alive? ' she asked me in the train.
'I'm sure it is. There wasn't any article about it dying. If it had died, I'm sure we would have read about it.'
'Maybe it's not dead, but sick and in some hospital.'
'Well, I think there would have been an article about that, too.'
'But what if it had a nervous breakdown and is hiding off in a corner?'
'A baby having a breakdown?'
'Not the baby. The mother! Maybe it suffered some sort of trauma and is holed up with the baby in a dark back room.'
Women really think of every possible scenario, I thought, impressed. A trauma? What kind of trauma could affect a kangaroo?
'If I dont see the baby kangaroo now I dont think I'll have another chance to. Ever,' she said.
'I suppose not.'
'I mean, have you ever seen one?'
'Nope, not me,' I said.
'Are you so sure you'll ever have another chance to?'
'I dont know.'
'Thats why i'm worried.'
'Yeah, but look,' I shot back, 'I've never seen a giraffe give birth, or even whales swimming, so why make such a big deal about a baby kangaroo?'
'Because it's a baby kangaroo,' she said.
'That's why.'
I gave up and started leafing through the newspaper.
I'd never once won an argument with a girl. ...."
Quoted from the short story 'A perfect day for Kangaroos' by Haruki Murakami.
Combined with the photo taken by me in Paris a while ago.
Just because.
