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Now it’s evening. Mama and I are standing by the window.
Mama says I should look at the stars, I should find my own
star and give it a name. Then she talks. Poor Lucija, she says
… She experienced so little good, always in that hole with
no windows. Watching the door, all her life. Seeing who
came and who left, taking in mail for the other people in
the building and that’s how it went. Silvester was nice. He
played the organ in the church. Poor Srečko. What will
happen to him, eh? What do you say, my beautiful
Ballerina? And she takes me to bed. It’s dark. I listen to her
footsteps. They’re moving away. Now I know my mama is in
her room and that
Tata
is already asleep.
•
THE POSTMAN SAYS THERE IS no good in the world since
they went to the moon years ago with Sputnik. He says the
stars will take revenge and that things will be worse and
worse in the world. As he says this, he puts a telegram on
the table. I’m standing in the kitchen, looking at him.
Tata
is standing, too, looking through the window toward the
yard as if he can’t see the postman. The postman is
standing in the door, looking at the telegram he’s put on
the table. Mama is looking at it, too. I’m looking at the
postman. Mama doesn’t get a glass, she doesn’t pour him a
drink. I’m standing in the corner, watching. I’m wearing a
gray shirt and a blue skirt. Mama says that I got the skirt for
my twenty-fifth birthday, Mama says I’m thirty now and