Francis is sleeping wrapped in his sheets. He still wants to see his son and his granddaughters. He tries to tell Ella that, but all that comes out is:

“Argharghargh?”

“What rot are you blurting now,” Ella shouts. “Go on –

sleepy-byes, spoiled hand and foot just like the king of spades.”

Down the spiral stairs once more. She must wash those breakfast dishes. And start cooking. The beef bones in one pot, beets in another. Francis likes his beet soup, a thick one, enriched with sour cream. Ella puts the dirty gauze into a wash basin to soak.

Her daughter-in-law died in her early prime. Probably she did herself in. When Ella went to find out what had happened, her granddaughter, white as a sheet, was standing at the garage door and warned her not to come near. And not to show up for the funeral either. Her son cried, screamed and pounded the wall all night long. She wanted to call the police, but her son’s eyes flashed in anger. He tore away the telephone receiver and shook a fist at her. Ella felt hurt and broke into tears.

Well, yes, yes. Francis is still of the opinion that his daughter-in-law had saved his life at the time when there was no dividing wall erected to separate them. Francis had had meningitis.

Ella did think that he was just faking, just caught a bit of a cold, that’s all. She made him sit up and urged: “Pull yourself together, pull yourself together …”

Her daughter-in-law, without consulting anyone, called for an ambulance. He had barely been saved in the hospital. Well, yes, yes. But how would anyone have known?

But see how the amaryllii are blooming! Like never before.

It must be some kind of a sign, thinks Ella, while washing the beets. It is clear that Francis won’t last beyond the spring.

When the house was divided, they got the front half. Their son moved into the as yet unfinished section. Their son’s youngest daughter’s room had remained in Ella and Francis’ part of the house. She was graduating from primary school that summer. But what can be done if it turned out that way? Ella made her granddaughter move out. In farewell she gave her ten ruble coins. A lot of money for such a child.

If only the trees would leaf sooner. Tired, she is so very tired, climbing up and down those spiral stairs. And how will it be, when all of them arrive here? They too fight among themselves – the sisters with the brother. God knows what the cause of that is.

But see, the flowers don’t argue with her and certainly not among themselves. Hardened off for the whole summer, they just bloom and bloom. Upright and lean. Like Ella’s life. If only everything surrounding it hadn’t got in such a muddle. When Francis passes away, she will untangle all of it as fairly as she can. She has enough strength left for that.