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'That is enough, Eva. That is a fine answer.'

The woman opposite glanced across at me. I was sure that she had overheard some part of our conversation, but she smiled quickly, then averted her eyes. Meanwhile, her friend released her hands, broke off a piece of bread, buttered it, and then placed it on her plate. The woman looked quizzically at him and I wondered if my glamorous woman was truly happy with her old man.

The door opened wide and cold air rushed in. It was now dark outside and the rain was cascading down. A tall, elegantly dressed woman, in a thick black coat with an elaborate brown fur collar, made her entrance. Quickly, somebody moved to close the door behind her and keep the heat inside. The woman hardly broke stride. She was led past those who still congregated in the doorway to a space where a single chair and small table suddenly appeared. Papa looked up at her.

'That's the singer, Leyna,' whispered Papa.

Other heads turned.

'She's going to America next week. It's all arranged.'

The woman opposite reached into her handbag and again pulled out her cigarette case. She gave a cigarette to her friend, lit it, then took one for herself. One of the two waitresses bolted the door to the café, turned the sign in the window, and drew across a curtain. But the large windows to the street remained undraped. Papa turned from Leyna, raised his hand, and beckoned the waitress who had previously served us. She was tired. It was nearly time to go home. Papa ordered another large glass of wine and a coffee and then, with his eyes fixed firmly on Leyna at her single table, he idly wafted smoke from his eyes with a slow branch-like movement of his arm. The old man immediately stubbed out his cigarette, but the young woman did not appear to notice. I looked at Papa and realized that his family and his dead friend were far from his mind. Papa continued to stare at Leyna.

I SAT on the side of the bed and watched as Margot packed her suitcase. I wondered if I should tell her about Mama's strange behaviour, but I decided against doing so. It seemed better that Margot should leave without this additional burden. As she folded her clothes, Margot spoke loudly and with the recently acquired confidence that her new friends seemed to have instilled in her. 'You see, Eva, in spite of everything that we have lost, they still hate us, and they will always hate us.' I did not want my sister to see me cry. I looked at the window where the snow was banking into the corners and beginning to obscure the view. 'Papa must not wear spectacles in the street because they love to hit such people straight in the face. And men will probably start to ask you to prostitute yourself for them. They pretend it is a joke, but there is more to it than this.' Margot closed the lid of the suitcase and sat next to me on the bed. For a moment, she followed my gaze and looked up and out of the window. 'You see, in some ways it is easier for us women.' Margot shrugged her shoulders. "There is no trouser check, for one thing.' I wondered if Margot might talk now about her boyfriend. I knew that she must have one. But Margot stood up. 'You too must go into hiding. But we mustn't be apart for too long.' I tried to smile, but I couldn't. 'Peter says it is painful to have to walk on earth that is saturated with the blood of our people. He says we should have seen what was coming.' I looked at Margot. 'Peter?' For a moment our eyes locked. And then Margot pushed me back on to the bed and started to laugh.

Yesterday they beat me. Having wiped my tear-stained face, Mama insisted that, in future, she would walk with me to school and then meet me again at the end of the day. And so this morning we had set out together, with Mama tightly clutching my hand. I looked around as we passed through a grubby courtyard, a short-cut that Mama was introducing me to. The truth was, I was ashamed that I had let Mama know the true nature of my distress. I had run home, my face streaked with tears, but once she had cleaned me up, Mama simply sat me down and changed the subject. Three boys had pushed me and kicked me and called me names, but it appeared that all Mama wanted to talk about were her daughters. About how different we were from each other, and how I was the more studious and determined, and Margot the more fanciful. And then, when Margot returned from her club, the three of us sat together and Mama told us about the problems of young girls, and how they differed from the problems of young boys. And then, looking closely at Margot, she began to share with us her understanding of the many difficulties of love, and offer advice as to how best to cope with boys. She even spoke about Papa's courting of her, but this was a story that she had related to us on many occasions, although Mama seemed to have forgotten this fact. As the candles burnt low, and Mama began to revel in the warm glow of her private memories, it began to upset me that she never once referred back to the fact that I had just been beaten. Finally, after Mama's anecdotes and advice had run their course, and as Margot and I began to make our way to bed, she looked at me and confirmed that, from tomorrow, she would be accompanying me on both the journey to school and the journey back home at the end of the day, but she mentioned this as though it were an afterthought.

We passed out of the filthy courtyard and turned right on to the main street. On this broad thoroughfare the destitute former musicians gathered, and all day the place was awash with mournful song. In a week or two, I knew that most would have been forced to sell their instruments, and they would be reduced to merely standing on street corners. But there were always new musicians to take their places, with old violins wedged hopefully under their chins. Mama quickened her pace and then, from a small alley, a column of men swung into view. They walked in perfect step under the assiduous scrutiny of a pair of youths in uniform. The prisoners' faces were emaciated, the details of their crimes almost certainly invented. Mama tugged at my hand to tear my attention away from these men. But what else was there to look at? The skies were grey, the buildings dull, and the other people who walked these streets did so with their hands pushed deeply into their pockets and their eyes peeled, searching for crumbs and morsels that they knew did not exist. All about me, shoulders were habitually hunched and hats were worn with sad resignation, for there was nothing rakish or jaunty about people's lives. What else was I to look at besides this column of prisoners?

As we neared the school, we passed the place where the boys had cornered me on the previous day. Assaults in the street were becoming increasingly frequent, and even decently dressed people were being waylaid by uniformed brutes and ordered to scoop up dog filth with their bare hands, or lick clean the windows of a nearby shop, or simply hand over their money and valuables. Only the previous week I had witnessed the sight of a lady in a fur coat being forced to remove her lower underwear and scrub the icy streets with the garment. She was then made to put the dirty wet rag back on and proceed on her way. Mama knew about such incidents, but they were not to be talked about. And then something had happened to me. It appeared that even this was not to be talked about. Just before we reached the school, a uniformed man passed by. Mama stopped, and there was silence. In fact, everybody stopped until this man had passed from sight, and then, as though being awoken from a hypnotic trance, we all resumed our lives.

At school I always sat near the window, for, when the teacher was not spying on me, I liked to look outside. From my classroom window I could see the street, and I could therefore follow the lives of the people down below. Mama had warned me about dreaming at school, but these days she did not seem as interested in how well my studies were going. We both knew that I would soon have to leave this school. Last night, when talking to Margot and me, she again told us of how she had given up her studies at the university to marry this serious young doctor. He was a young man of medium height, bespectacled and shy, a man who dreamt of a future he could not afford. She told us of his diligence, his determination to learn to dress himself in the fashion of this big city, and his desire to secure for himself and his family a life of leisured comfort and happiness. And in spite of her parents' feelings, Mama had insisted on marrying this man, and, having done so, she watched her own future walk away from her. Mama paused at this point, and she looked closely at her daughters. And then she reminded us that although she loved this shy, bespectacled man, she had prepared her own girls for something else. Hadn't she always encouraged us to dream beyond marriage and children? The world would be ours in a way in which it could never be so for her generation. Mama reminded us of this.