Imagine a child, a daydreamer, always gazing out of the window. His grandmother, busy in the kitchen, keeps an eye on him. The child stares at a balcony on the opposite building, watching the black-haired girl as she dances her reckless dance. For a love like this, a child can push himself to extreme feats. He can turn into explorer or cabin boy, cowboy or castaway; he can fight duels to the death, or even master an unfamiliar language. His grandmother is not articulate, but does not lack imagination, and her love for the boy is immeasurable. She tells him about the entrance to the underworld, engraving indelible images in her nephew’s mind. An irresistible book, as sharp as the swords of fantasy hidden under the bed, as precious as a family jewel, in which the discovery of love and the discovery of death follow each other, marking the end of childhood.