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patted her warm little
face which he found to be
as soft and smooth as the
delicate skin on the inside
of a woman’s thigh. ‘Yes,
tell Julienne I said you
could go.’
The next day Julienne
grudgingly unlocked the
apartment
door
and
watched
as
Amanda
disappeared down the
stairs to the street.
There was very little traffic
in that part of the town;
the
odd
automobile,
sometimes an army truck,
a horse-drawn carriage
or a hand wagon pulled
slowly by tired country
people
Amanda crossed the street
and when she reached
the pavement outside
the florist’s she turned to
look for her window in the
apartment block opposite.
She saw it almost straight
away even though there
were many windows. Her
curtains were red, the
brightest red there was.
She had picked them
herself; back before Mama
got so sick.
Before she’d left her
room Amanda had put
her favourite doll on the
window ledge facing out
so that the doll could
watch her. She saw her
doll
standing
behind
the glass, with the red
curtains on either side,
and remembered the
ballet she had gone to
see when she was little,
Coppelia
. Amanda waved
at the doll, wishing, but
also fearing, that the doll
would wave back. She
didn’t, of course, but
Amanda felt glad to sense
the doll’s eyes watching
her; nothing could hurt
her as long as the doll