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he windows inside have fogged over. Cowberries lie
scattered on an old writing desk. A light slowly
dawns at the edge of the horizon, seeping into
NadezhdaMihailovna’s room.
She finds it hard to get up in the mornings. Blanket pulled
over her head, she delays this moment of waking. Then,
very carefully, she raises the blanket, forming a tiny gap,
letting in just enough light to register that the morning has
arrived.
First Nadezhda always senses her legs. They are heavy as
logs cursing with an odd current, which drags her
downward. Then they start to itch and tingle. She in turn
bends and straightens them, then stretches her toes. Every
morning her legs feel like the mechanism of an old, rusted-
out bell. When moved, it slowly comes to life and begins to
rock the whole thickset body.
Looking at herself in the mirror, Nadezhda Mihailovna has
often fantasized what the parents who created her would
have looked like. She has a wide face, slanted eyes and a
flattened nose. It appears as if somebody has drawn a heavy
palm over her face, leaving it – downward-stretched. She is
small of build – stocky and thickset. From the back it
appears as if she constantly has her head drawn into her
shoulders, but from the front one can see that her neck is
short.
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