Mama did not eat with them, as she always ate alone. She sat in the kitchen, ears glued to a portable radio, keenly gobbling up the food, almost choking herself on it. She had been eating like this since her childhood. The taste of the food never mattered, the goal was to wipe the plate clean as fast as possible, because only what you had eaten was truly yours. Everything else could be taken away, as history had proven time and time again to people in the country. You had to eat fast, because who knows if there would be food the next day. Her gray hair was covered with a black scarf; she wore knockoff yellow sneakers bought at the market, an old, long skirt and a blue housecoat. She didn’t care whether her clothes went together; only practicality mattered. She derived no enjoyment from the beauty of things, or of people. She rolled the meat chunks around in her mouth, silent like the hills. She was listening to a daily program that played music for people over sixty. Apparently that’s the age when one starts to listen to operettas, a genre dead for well over a hundred years but kept alive by this one daily show. All the singers performing had been deceased for decades now, but still they kept crooning from scratched old tapes, lulling their audience towards the calm of the grave with songs about nothing at all.

‘My darling’s heart is filled with sorrow, and so I’m sad too,’ chanted the singer now, and Mama listened. She found no joy in music either, but listening to these songs was part of a tradition kept up by the elderly. She had to honor tradition because it was the only thing in the world that mattered.

In the afternoon the family traditionally takes a nap, freeing the mind and the body of that which is unnecessary.

Emese and Nóra hid behind the shed; Nóra took out a pack of cigarettes from a worn backpack. She offered one to Emese too. Emese hesitated. She had never smoked before, and she didn’t feel any particular urge to try it just now. What if Mom and Dad sniffed out the smell of cigarettes? But she didn’t want to ruin her budding friendship with Nóra, and they had come here to experience rural life anyway. Apparently life in the country involved smoking.

She drew a cigarette out of the pack and let Nóra light it for her. She took a drag and expected her body to be seized with a fit of coughing, like first-time smokers in movies, but it didn’t happen. The smoke dipped into her lungs and then left without any issues.

‘It’s good,’ Emese said with a smile. She took another, deeper puff. Her head felt light, like it was filled with air.