When it’s our turn to show our papers the man in uniform looks very closely at Igor, and a muscle in Igor’s jaw starts to twitch as he clamps down with his teeth. I think of what Magda whispered to me in the car about being careful of him, as he would always want to be the first to ‘break in’ the new girls. Why would Petre want him to come with us? The man studies our papers far longer than any of the other people in the queue, and calls one of his colleagues over. Mother Mary, please let them see into him. The men talk to each other in low, hushed voices, a deep ridge appearing on the younger man’s face, right between his eyes. He looks at me closely, then at Magda, who manages to smile reassuringly at him, and takes my hand. The two confer again and then inexplicably wave us on. No, please, help us, do something, stop this kind of a man doing this kind of a thing. Or maybe these men avail of his services. Our services: Magda’s and mine.

We follow the line of people into a low tunnel that leads to some steps. My legs feel hollow and spindly as I climb to the doorway of the metal flying machine. I think of Mama stamping in her rain boots. ‘How can something so huge get off the ground and how does it not drop from the sky when it’s up there?’ I start to shake my head from side to side to clear the jumbling thoughts when Magda turns to me and holds my chin steady in her hand, and looks into my eyes. ‘Don’t do that in public.’

I feel Igor poke me in the back of the leg with his pointed shoe.

Again Magda whispers, ‘Not in public. People do not like cruelty to children.’

He pretends it was a joke, a jokey kick. Then he pats me on the shoulder, ‘Ok, kid. Excited?’ he says, in loud broken English, for show.

I nod along. I know my job is to pretend, but right now I feel sick rising in my mouth as we walk down a row of seats, so many bodies and stressed faces, so many mouths breathing in the small amount of air in this tight space. I pretend I have gills and can breathe in liquid when all the oxygen has been used up.