“We don’t want our letters to cross each other,” said Milena, always practical. “Helen and I will write first.”
“Fine,” said the two boys.
“Right.” Helen shook herself and took Milena’s arm. “We’re going on up. I don’t have much time left.”
“We’d better get a move on too,” said Milos. “Or we’re going to be late. I don’t fancy sending a friend to the detention cell.”
And they rushed on downhill.
“You’ll write first, then?” the taller boy confirmed, turning back for a moment.
“Is that a promise?” asked Milos, forefinger raised as if to threaten them.
“It’s a promise!” said the two girls at the same time, laughing.
As Helen and Milena walked into the consolers’ village, the chilly drizzle surrounded them like liquid dust, its tiny droplets glittering in any light from the street lamps or windows. The brick houses, crowding close to each other all along the road, looked like miniatures. You went down a few steps to reach most of them, and you almost had to bend to get through the doorway.
Milena stopped at the first house. “I’ll wait for you here. And don’t forget me if your consoler’s cooked something nice. I’m starving.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll remember. I just hope it’s warm for you in the library.”
To make sure, Helen followed her friend into the tiny, low-ceilinged room. A flame was flickering behind the glass door of the wood-burning stove, and it was indeed warm.
“They never forget, do they?” said Milena.
A lighted lamp on the table welcomed visitors, and halfway up the wall were two shelves with a hundred or so well-worn books on them. As Milena took her coat off, she was already looking at them, deciding which to choose.
“I’m off, then,” said Helen. “See you soon. Have a nice read!”
She herself had been here several times as companion to Milena or one of the other girls. She loved the library, a place cut off from the rest of the world where no one ever disturbed you and you could read and dream in peace. It was like a nest or a cradle, she thought — somewhere warm, in any case, where no one ever wished you harm. And no one else would come in except, from time to time, a quiet man who must be married to one of the consolers, coming to add a log to the stove on the hearth. He would ask kindly, “Enjoying your book?” You assured him that you were, and he went away again. She had only once had to share the room with another companion, a boy who read for a few minutes but then sat huddled up in a corner with his head on his knees and went to sleep.
All the girls loved being chosen as companions and having the chance of two hours in this library. Sometimes, of course, they would rather have visited their own consolers, but Rule 22 was quite clear: Girls acting as companions are not allowed to visit their consolers. And the severe punishment didn’t encourage anyone to disobey: no outings for the rest of the year.
Helen went straight ahead, turned left at the fountain, and started along a sloping road. As she reached Number 47, she found herself smiling. She knew in advance what happiness she was going to give and receive. She went down the three steps and tapped lightly on the window rather than the door. The panes were steamed up inside. In a moment a small hand rubbed one of them and a bright little face appeared. The child’s mouth opened wide, and Helen could see his lips shaping the two syllables of her name: He-len!
A few seconds later Octavo was throwing himself into her arms. She picked him up and kissed his chubby cheeks. “You’re so heavy!” she said with a laugh.
“I weigh fifty-seven pounds!” said the child, very proud of it.
“Is your mama here?”
“In the kitchen. I’m doing my homework. Will you help me like last time? I like it when you help me with my homework.”
They went into the living room. It was not much larger than the library, but stairs to the right went up to the second floor, where there was a bedroom, and a door at the back of the house led to the kitchen. This door opened to reveal the monumental form of Paula.
On one of her first visits, Helen had cried her heart out and then fallen asleep in Paula’s arms. When she woke up, she had murmured, “How much do you weigh, Paula?”
She was only fourteen at the time, and this tactless question had made the fat woman laugh. “Oh, I don’t know, my dear. I’ve no idea. A lot, anyway.” When she hugged you, it was hard to make out where her arms, shoulders, breasts, and stomach were. Everything merged into a sensation of sweet warmth, and you wanted to stay there forever.
Paula opened her arms now for Helen to snuggle up in them. “It’s been a long time, my beauty.”
Paula often called her “My beauty” or “My pretty one.” And she would hold Helen’s face between her hands to get a better look at her. Helen had heard herself described as a number of things — emotional, odd, a tomboy — but no one else ever said she was pretty or beautiful. Paula did, and she meant it.
“Yes, last time was before the summer,” Helen said. “I wanted to wait until December at least, but I couldn’t manage to hold out.”
“Well, come on in. I’m just making supper for Octavo. Baked potatoes, and there’s some of the pear tart we had for lunch left. Will that be all right?”
“Couldn’t be better!” said Helen happily. Everything she ate here, far away from the hated school refectory, tasted delicious.
Octavo was already impatient to get back to his homework. “Come on! I can’t do it on my own.”
As Paula went back into the kitchen, Helen rejoined the little boy and sat down beside him. “So what are you learning at school, then?”
“Words that go in pairs for males and females.”
“Right. Like what?”
“The teacher gave us the first one. It was husband and wife. We have to write down three more pairs.”
“Have you thought of your three?”
“Yes, but I’m not quite sure about the third.”
“Go on.”
“Wizard and witch.”
“Very good.”
“Bull and cow.”
“That’s fine. How about the third?”
“That’s the one I’m not sure of.”
“Never mind, let’s hear it.”
“Fox and foxess.”
Helen found it hard not to laugh. At the same time a deep, strong wave of melancholy swept over her. Did she have a little brother of her own somewhere? A little brother puzzling over his homework? Sticking his tongue out as he concentrated on the past tense of the verb to do or a problem like 3 × 2? No, she didn’t have a brother or sister anywhere. Or parents either. She thought of the orphanage where she had spent her childhood, and the autumn day when she left it. How could she ever forget?
Three grim-looking men push her into the back of a large car. They lock all the doors and drive off in silence.
“Why have you locked the doors?” she asks the man next to her. “Do you think I’m going to jump out or something? Where are we going?”
He doesn’t reply, doesn’t even turn his head. All the way she smells the strong odor of his leather jacket and the cigarettes that the other two are smoking in the front of the car. They drive through the countryside for hours, and then the road runs beside the river to the nameless little town and the gray boarding school building.
About a hundred other girls are waiting in groups of five or six, coats over their arms and small books in their hands. They are all surprisingly quiet. She is led along shabby corridors to the room outside the headmistress’s office, where she has only a few minutes to wait. Then the door opens and a girl comes out, also with a coat over her arm and a book in her hand. She is small, wears thick glasses, and looks even more downcast than the others. This, as Helen will learn later, is Catharina Pancek. She just murmurs, “Your turn to go in,” and then walks away. Helen cautiously goes through the doorway.