Her eyes fill with tears at the mockery of their religious doctrine. It’s the basis of her faith, and now they make it sound dirty, sexual. It gets to her every time, even though she tries to deny it. She knows he is watching, always watching. But she imagines he is watching her from above, through the eyes of others, or from dark corners. He watches from inside her heart and soul. But to imagine that he’s watching inside her body, watching her orifices, she finds that too disturbing.

She hates the girls for this.

Later that day she finds a dead cat in her bag. Blood from its corpse is smeared all over her books, her snacks, her money, her pocket prayer book. She knows which girl did it, because she smirks when Leila reaches into her schoolbag. A person has to stand up for her faith, so now Leila finally stands up for it. She hits and scratches, she hears nothing except her own raging scream, she feels nothing other than the glorious pain of her nails carving into skin. The other girl screams too, blood flowing down her face. For a moment Leila feels content.

She is summoned to the principal’s office afterwards. The principal has a moustache and a bald spot on the top of his head. He keeps a photo on his desk of himself holding an oversized fish in his hands. Leila closes the door, her face still flushed from anger and crying. The principal takes off his gray jacket and places it on the chair. He unbuttons the sleeve of his shirt and stops right in front of Leila. He smells of mint and cigarettes. The girl, her lips quivering, tries to find the right words to explain how it felt to touch the stiff, dead flesh hidden among her books; how she’ll never be able to get rid of the stench – how even her holy pocket prayer book stinks of death. How the carcass will forever remind her of Aunt Márti, at home dying. She says none of this.

The principal slaps her in the face as hard as he can. Leila holds on to the desk so she doesn’t fall over. She doesn’t raise her hands to touch the burning skin on her face, she doesn’t want to seem weak, but she’s afraid she might be bleeding. She drools from the impact of the blow but doesn’t even dare to wipe it off. Silence hangs over the room. She’s trembling from the shock.

‘How dare you attack my students?’ says the principal, filtering the words through gritted teeth. Before Leila can reply, he hits her again. She gasps, and she knows it’s a sign of weakness. She knows she is weak. Others surely endure much more than this for their faith and don’t make a sound.