The other day, while surfing on the internet at work
as a bit of a break, more or less by chance
I came across a very interesting home page.
My pulse beat harder as I clicked in turn on the pictures.
Photos of female brains of every conceivable description.
Brains of secretaries, waitresses, schoolgirls, nurses,
schoolmistresses, tractor-driving girls, housewives.
Female brains covered by mysterious satin and silk veils
or palm-sized stretch material, at times with no more than
the curves of the convolutions being hinted
at through the fabric, at other times the forms being spread
quite nakedly before one.
Brains in the light and the shade,
on the sea shore and in the kitchen,
in alcoves, in the bathroom and in the office,
in misty art photographs, poor-quality amateur snapshots
or razor-sharp exposures.
In some cases two or three
almost throbbing veined hemispheres,
higgledy-piggledy, in alluring poses;
in others, together with male brains,
just in the act of exchanging ideas,
brazenly, in full public view.
I could not breathe, my throat was dry,
my pulse raced, beads of sweat formed on my brow.
I heard a noise so, hands trembling,
I hastily closed the window lest
anyone should catch me.
Meanwhile it flashed through my mind
that the other day my male colleagues made mention,
with great sniggers, of there being a home page
where they put female souls on display,
in full colour, so it was said, mauve-coloured,
each one like the outspread wings of a butterfly.

Translated by Tim Wilkinson