After a silence, Lucas says, "You thought Victor would receive a lighter sentence. You even hoped he would avoid prison and live out his days in an asylum."

"I was wrong, that's all. I couldn't know that the psychiatrists would judge Victor responsible for his actions, nor that Victor would act like a fool at his trial. He showed no remorse, no regret, no contrition. He just kept on repeating, 'I had to do it, I had to kill her. It was the only way I could write my book.' The jury deemed that no one had a right to kill someone solely because that person was preventing him from writing a book. They also declared that it would be too easy to have a few drinks, kill an honest person, and get away with it. They concluded that Victor was a selfish, perverse individual who was a danger to society. Apart from me all the witnesses gave evidence against him in favor of his sister, who led an honorable, exemplary life, and was appreciated by everyone, particularly her clients." Lucas asks, "Were you able to see him apart from the trial?" "After the sentence, yes. I was allowed to go into his cell and stay as long as I wanted. I kept him company up to the end." "Was he afraid?"

"Afraid? I don't think that's the right word. At first he didn't believe it, he couldn't believe it. Was he expecting a pardon, a miracle? I don't know. The day he wrote and signed his will he certainly had no illusions. The final evening he said to me, 'I know I'm going to die, Peter, but I don't understand it. Instead of just one corpse, my sister's, there will now be a second, mine. But who needs a second corpse? Certainly not God, he has no use for our bodies. Society? It would gain a book or two by letting me live, instead of gaining an extra corpse which would benefit noone.

Lucas asks, "Did you go to the execution?" "No. He asked me to, but I said no. You think I'm a coward, don't you?"

"Not for the first time. But I understand."

"Would you have gone?"

"If he had asked me, yes, I would have gone."

7

The bookshop has been converted into a reading room. Some children have already got into the habit of going there to read or draw; others come in at random when they are cold or tired from having been out playing too long in the snow. These children stay a quarter of an hour or so, just long enough to get warm and flip through some picture books. There are also those who peer through the shop window and then run away when Lucas comes out to invite them in.

Now and then Mathias comes down from the apartment, sits down with a book next to Lucas, goes back up after an hour or two, and returns for closing time. He doesn't mix with the other children. When they have left, Mathias rearranges the books, empties the wastepaper basket, places the chairs on the tables, and wipes down the floor. He also keeps accounts: "They've stolen another seven colored pencils, three books, and they've wasted dozens of sheets of paper."

Lucas says', "It's nothing, Mathias. If they asked I'd give them these things for free. They're shy, they prefer to take things in secret. It's not important."

Late one afternoon, while everyone is reading in silence, Mathias slides a note to Lucas. It says, "Look at that woman!" Outside the window, in the darkness of the street, the shadowy figure of a woman, a faceless silhouette, is looking into the brightly lit bookshop. Lucas gets up and the shadow disappears.

Mathias whispers, "She follows me everywhere. At recess she watches me over the playground fence. She walks behind me on the way home from school."

Lucas asks, "Does she speak to you?"

"No. Once, a few days ago, she offered me an apple, but I didn't take it. Another time, when four other boys were holding me down in the snow and were about to undress me, she scolded them and hit them. I ran away."

"She's not evil, then. She defended you."

"Yes, but why? She has no reason to defend me. And why does she follow me? Why does she watch me? Her look scares me. Her eyes scare me."

Lucas says, "Don't pay any attention, Mathias. Many women lost their children during the war, so they get attached to another child who reminds them of the one they lost."

Mathias snickers. "I'd be surprised if I reminded anyone of her child."

That evening, Lucas rings at the door of Yasmine's aunt. She opens the window. "What do you want?"

"To talk to you."

"I haven't time. I have to go to work."

"I'll wait for you."

When she comes out of the house, Lucas says, "I'll walk with you. Do you often work at night?" "One week in three. Like everybody else. What do you want to talk about? My job?"

"No. About the child. I just want to ask you to leave him alone."

"I've done nothing to him."

"I know. But you follow him, you watch him. It bothers him. Do you understand?"

"Yes. Poor little thing. She left him."

They walk silently down the empty, snow-covered street. The woman hides her face in her scarf; her shoulders shake with her silent sobbing.

Lucas asks, "When will your husband be freed?"

"My husband? He's dead. Didn't you know?"

"No. I'm sorry."

"Officially he committed suicide. But I heard from someone who knew him inside, who's now been released, that it wasn't suicide. It was his cellmates who killed him because of what he did to his daughter."

They reach the front of the large textile factory, which is lit up by neon lights. From all sides shivering, shadowy figures hurry in and disappear through the metal gate. Even out here the noise of the machines is deafening.

Lucas asks, "If your husband weren't dead, would you take him back?"

"I don't know. He wouldn't have dared come back to this town in any case. I think he would have gone to the capital to look for Yasmine."

The factory siren goes. Lucas says, "I'll let you go. You'll be late."

The woman raises her pale, youthful face; she has the brilliant, dark eyes of Yasmine.

"Now that I'm on my own, I could maybe, if you like, if you wanted, take the child in."

Lucas screams louder than the factory siren. "Take Mathias? Never! He's mine, mine alone! I forbid you to go near him, watch him, talk to him, or follow him!"

The woman retreats toward the factory gate. "Calm down. Have you gone mad? It was only a suggestion."

Lucas turns on his heels and runs back to the bookshop. He leans against the wall of the house and waits for his heartbeat to slow down.

A young girl enters the bookshop, comes up to Lucas, smiles.

"Don't you recognize me, Lucas?"

"Should I?"

"Agnes."

Lucas tries to think. "I'm sorry, Miss, I don't recall."

"But we're old friends. I once came to your house to listen to music. I suppose I was only six at the time. You wanted to make me a swing."

Lucas says, "I remember. Your Aunt Leonie sent you."

"That's right. She's dead now. This time it's the factory manager who sent me to buy some picture books for the children in the day-care center."

"You work at the factory? You should still be at school."

Agnes blushes. "I'm fifteen. I left school last year. I don't work at the factory, I'm a kindergarten teacher. The children call me Miss."

Lucas laughs. "I called you Miss as well."

She hands Lucas a bill. "Give me some books, and also some paper and pencils for drawing."

Agnes comes by often. She browses at length among the books on the shelves, she sits with the children, she reads and draws with them.

The first time that Mathias sees her he says to Lucas, "She's a very beautiful woman."

"A woman? She's just a kid."

"She's got breasts, she's not a kid anymore."

Lucas looks at Agnes's breasts, enhanced by a red sweater.

"You're right, Mathias, she does have breasts. I hadn't noticed."