The stones and the planks of her heart resonate with the pick-axes and the hammers. My grandma’s mansion loses its head, arms and trunk. His hidden life in the Malaysian woods during an old war, usual silence of the empty nights near her granary, which was always filled to the brim, night wind rattling the lone window of her top scary storey, her maid’s calumnies tickling the eardrums, haunting forebodings, ecstasy of the reunion… I see all in her yellow kaleidoscope. Broken stones and planks are heaped up before her wrinkled emotions. She watches all in silence from the kind veranda of her son-in-law. The present is only a ghost of the past.