"We could read you the letters you get."

"Nobody must read the letters I get."

We ask:

"Who sends the money? Who sends the packages? Who sends the letters?"

She doesn't answer.

Next day, while she is in the cellar, we scour her room. Under the bed we find an open package. In it there are pullovers, scarves, hats, and gloves. We say nothing to Grandmother, because if we did she would realize that we have a key to her room.

After the evening meal, we wait. Grandmother drinks her brandy, then staggers over to open her bedroom door with the key that hangs from her belt. We follow her and push her from behind. She falls on her bed. We pretend to search and find the package.

We say:

"That's not very nice, Grandmother. We're cold, we have no warm clothes, we can't go out anymore, and you want to sell everything Mother has knitted and sent for us."

Grandmother says nothing, she cries.

We say again:

"It's Mother who sends the money, Mother who writes you letters."

Grandmother says:

"It isn't me she writes. She knows very well I can't read. She never used to write me. Now that you're here, she writes. But I don't need her letters! I don't need anything that comes from her!"

The Postman

From now on we wait for the postman in front of the garden gate. He's an old man with a cap. He has a bicycle with two leather pouches attached to the carrier.

When he arrives, we don't give him time to ring: very quickly we unscrew his bell.

He says:

"Where's your grandmother?"

We say:

"Don't worry about her. Give us what you've brought."

He says:

"There's nothing."

He tries to get away, but we give him a push. He falls in the snow. His bicycle falls on top of him. He swears.

We search his pouches and find a letter and a money order. We take the letter and say:

"Give us the money!"

He says:

"No. It's addressed to your grandmother."

We say:

"But it's intended for us. It's been sent to us by our Mother. If you don't hand it over, we'll keep you from getting up until you freeze to death."

He says:

"All right, all right. Help me get up, one of my legs is crushed under the bike."

We pick up the bicycle and help the postman get up. He is very thin, very light.

He takes the money out of one of his pockets and gives it to us.

We ask:

"Do you want a signature or a cross?"

He says:

"A cross will do. One cross is as good as another."

He adds:

"You're right to stand up for yourselves. Everybody knows what your grandmother's like. There's nobody stingier than her. So it's your mother who sends you all that? She's very nice. I knew her when she was a little girl. She did well to leave. She would never have been able to marry here. With all the gossip…"

We ask:

"What gossip?"

"Like how she was supposed to have poisoned her husband. I mean, your grandmother poisoned your grandfather. It's an old story. That's why they call her the Witch."

We say:

"We don't want anyone to speak ill of Grandmother."

The postman turns his bicycle around:

"All right, all right, but you ought to be informed."

We say:

"We were already informed. From now on you will give the mail to us. Otherwise we'll kill you. Understand?"

The postman says:

"You'd be quite capable of it, you've got the makings of murderers. You'll have your mail, it's all the same to me. I couldn't care less about the Witch."

He leaves, pushing his bicycle. He drags his leg to show that we hurt him.

Next day, warmly dressed, we go off to town to buy rubber boots with the money Mother has sent us. We take turns carrying her letter under our shirts.

The Cobbler

The cobbler lives and works in the basement of a house near the station. The room is enormous. In one corner is his bed, in another his kitchen. His workshop faces the window, which is at ground level. The cobbler is sitting on a low stool surrounded by shoes and tools. He looks at us over his spectacles; he looks at our cracked patent-leather shoes.

We say:

"Good morning, sir. We would like warm, waterproof rubber boots. Do you sell them? We have money."

He says:

"Yes, I sell them. But the lined ones, the warm ones, are very expensive."

We say:

"We absolutely need them. Our feet are cold."

We put what money we have on the low table.

The cobbler says:

"It's just enough for one pair. But one pair should do you. You're the same size. You can take turns going out."

"That isn't possible. One of us never goes out without the other. We go everywhere together."

"Ask your parents for more money, then."

"We have no parents. We live with our Grandmother, whom they call the Witch. She won't give us any money."

The cobbler says:

"The Witch is your grandmother? Poor kids! And you've come from her house all the way here in those shoes!"

"Yes, we have. We can't get through the winter without boots. We have to go into the forest to find wood; we have to clear the snow. We absolutely need…"

"Two pairs of warm, waterproof boots."

The cobbler laughs and hands us two pairs of boots:

"Try them on."

We try them on; they fit us very well.

We say:

"We'll keep them. We'll pay you for the second pair in the spring when we'll be selling fish and eggs. Or if you prefer, we'll bring you wood."

The cobbler hands us back our money:

"Here, take it. I don't want your money. Buy yourselves some good socks with it. I'll give you the boots because you absolutely need them."

We say:

"We don't like to accept presents."

"And why not?"

"Because we don't like to say thank you."

"Nobody's making you say anything. Be off with you. No.

Wait a moment! Take these slippers and these sandals for the summer and these shoes too. They're very strong. Take whatever you like."

"But why are you giving us all this?"

"I don't need them anymore. I'll be going away soon."

We ask:

"Where are you going?"

"Who knows? They'll take me away and kill me."

We ask:

"Who wants to kill you, and why?"

He says:

"Don't ask questions. Leave now."

We pick up the shoes, the slippers, and the sandals. We have the boots on our feet. We stop at the door and say:

"We hope they won't take you away. Or if they do take you away, we hope they won't kill you. Goodbye, sir, and thank you, thank you very much."

When we get back, Grandmother asks:

"Where did you steal all that, you punks?"

"We didn't steal anything. It's a present. Not everybody is as stingy as you, Grandmother."

The Theft

With our boots and our warm clothes, we can go out again. We slide on the frozen stream, we go look for wood in the forest.

We take an axe and a saw with us. We can no longer collect the dead wood lying on the ground; the layer of snow is too thick. We climb trees, saw off the dead branches, and chop them up with the axe. During this work, we aren't cold. We even sweat. So we can take off our gloves and put them in our pockets so that they won't wear out too quickly.

One day, coming back with our two bundles of firewood, we make a detour to go see Harelip.

The snow in front of the shack has not been cleared, and there are no footprints leading to it. The chimney is not smoking.

We knock on the door, no one answers. We go in. At first we see nothing, it is so dark, but our eyes soon adjust to the gloom.

It's a room that serves as kitchen and bedroom. In the darkest corner, there's a bed. We approach. We call out. Someone moves under the blankets and old clothes; Harelip's head emerges.