I think of Mama’s words about food soothing fear, although right now I don’t feel anything, just numb. I look up and out the window and see that the light is draining from the sky. I turn the page down at the corner, on page 88.

Sammy picks it up. ‘Did you read all this today?’

I nod.

‘Looks like a right pile of crap.’

I understand from her tone she means stupid. Yes, it is stupid, but not as stupid as life in this house where we pretend everything is normal – where we eat, watch television, read, talk, move freely inside, waiting for the night to come, waiting for the men to come and do with us what they want. Magda said it would be easier than that place of ten men a night. Anything has to be easier than that.

At least the woman in the cellar is straining at her ties.

28. Sammy

28

Sammy

Roomie has her head stuck all day in a shit slasher-type book with the biggest print I’ve ever seen. Her huge, far-apart, alien eyes have almost dissolved into the pages, and when I speak to her, she looks really pissed, like I’ve interrupted her from studying Shakespeare the night before an important exam or something. Just my luck to be paired with this one, and then I think of the girls in the kitchen, and vow to make a huge effort in case she complains to management, and I’m moved on and out.

A documentary comes to mind, the one with the posh blonde dude who goes to live with weirdo tribes, and takes their drugs and summons up spirits – and puke. There were masses of naked women’s shrivelled breasts, usually with a babe attached, and the witch doctors wore loin cloths and carried spears. Imagine if those girls came from somewhere like that. Maybe they’ve been voodoo’d. I’ve read about girls like that, girls who have been cursed and cast out.

The day passes watching daytime soaps from all over the world. The best is from Russia: all the women are such beautiful cold bitches, smothered in make-up, hitting or kissing each other, everything said in a sigh. The Americans and Aussies have fake baloobas that don’t jiggle when they run. I’m pretty sure this isn’t straight UPC or Sky; I reckon Irina, or whatever her name is, got this multicultural TV thing going on so that all her little charges would feel right at home.