I heard Pani Kolecka’s coughing, sharp and thorny. Then I turned to the radio, lowered the volume, and moved the indicator to 101.2, the frequency still etched in my mind after all those years. I lay on my bed, the speakers to my ear, holding my breath. At first it was only music, but already I was calmed. I felt like that music, just for its origin, was cleansing me. And then, not long after, the familiar voice—deep and comforting and clear. There had been several of them who’d read the news over the years, and this was one of them. He was still there. It brought me back to the first time we’d all sat together, the three of us, around the radio in Mother’s room. A voice that could not be spoken over, that would be listened to until the very end: “Radio Free Europe. News at four o’clock. Friday, the tenth of October 1980.”

He talked about the strikes that had gripped the country, halting production in dozens of known locations, including factories, mines, and shipyards. Workers had laid down their tools, demanding the revocation of the increase in meat prices, as well as better working conditions, the protection of the right to free speech, and the ability to form independent trade unions. There had been no violent clashes with the authorities so far. The strikes had not yet reached the capital. But insider sources indicated that they would, most likely that very afternoon. “Residents are asked to remain indoors in case of any violent clashes with the authorities.”

I thought of Mother, of her pointless life, her passivity. Of the years she’d spent listening to the radio, explaining her truths to me, and all of it for what? She’d died a submissive employee at the Electricity Office and had never dared to speak up or live out any of her ideas.

“Your mother died out of loneliness,” Granny would always repeat, claiming it was because she had never remarried after my father. But I think it was despair that killed her. Having done only things she didn’t believe in, she must have been dead inside for years before her body finally gave up too.

I switched off the radio and got up, took my bag. I told Pani Kolecka I was going out for a walk.

She nodded weakly and whispered, “Look after yourself.”

Outside, the air was pregnant with strife. The wind shook the trees, dry leaves rustled and dropped. I thought about where the demonstrations might be. The ones involving workers had always ended—violently or not—on the small square in front of the Party headquarters, by the National Museum.