‘Who was it?’ he asked Nóra. ‘One of your classmates? That blond one?’

Nóra wiped a tear from her face.

‘Does it matter, Dad?’ she asked, her voice trembling with suppressed rage and exposed fear.

‘Yes, it does, and don’t call me Dad, because the daughter I raised isn’t a slut! And you had to do it now, right before the harvest? With guests around to watch?’

Nóra murmured something under her nose.

‘Louder! So I can hear your excuses!’ Gergő shouted at her.

Nóra hit the table, her face contorting into a mask of anger.

‘If a boy sleeps with someone, you applaud him, you give him drinks and crack jokes. Why is it reserved just for boys? It’s only okay when you fuck?’

Gergő slapped his daughter again.

‘Go to your room and don’t come out until I tell you!’

‘It only works when they’re innocent,’ Gergő said over a beer. ‘If they’ve done it once, no matter how old they are, they’re spoiled. I trusted her too much. Other families check their kids before harvest, you know. The girls, at least. But not me . . . not me . . .’

He buried his face in his palms. ‘We’ll lose one now,’ he sighed. ‘That’s one-seventh of our harvest. A terrible loss . . .’

Hugó’s heart raced; this was his last chance to get close to the farmers in a way few outsiders could.

‘What about Emese?’ he asked. ‘My daughter. Wouldn’t she be good?’

A grateful smile spread across Gergő’s face.

‘Nobody is closer to their children than we are, here, in the country,’ Erzsébet said as she rolled up Andrea’s sleeves. ‘We see their essence. As children, we went through this too, and so will their children as well.’

Andrea gulped. She knew the right decision now would be to run, grab her daughter and run. What would that do to her marriage, though? In a marriage you have to consider the other person’s wishes too, not just your own.

‘But couldn’t it hurt her? I mean . . .’ She realized how meek she sounded and she felt ashamed. ‘I mean, I’ve never done this before.’

Erzsébet smiled encouragingly, like an older woman teaching the ways of life to a young girl, even though they were both of the same age.

‘You can’t get it wrong,’ she said, then stirred the snail oil.

Mama arrived, dragging Emese behind her like a dog.

‘Let’s hurry,’ Mama said. ‘Night will be here soon, and we don’t have anything ready yet.’

Emese’s stomach tightened; she felt as if an ice-cold concrete block had been wedged in the center of her body. The room reminded her of a slaughterhouse, though she had never been to one. It reeked of shit and vomit and blood and fear.