I kept bringing him fresh compresses all day, wiping his sweaty forehead with a damp towel. In the afternoon Aunt Juli, an old lady who lived on the street, checked in on us, bringing fresh water and some food as well.

‘Is Karcsi going to die?’ I asked her.

Right by her mouth there was a huge mole with soft hairs sticking out of it like antennae. Her face reminded me of a rotten apple, and every time I looked at her it made me terrified of getting old.

‘I don’t know, son. Either he will or he will not.’

‘Shouldn’t we take him to a hospital?’

‘We are processing, son. You know we can’t.’

Then she left.

In the evening Karcsi started to speak. He was having fever dreams. At first I couldn’t understand him. He muttered random words, turning his head from one side to the other on the soaked pillow.

Then he opened his eyes and looked right at me. His pupils were dilated, his eyes unnaturally dark. Some kind of colorless secretion flowed from his nose; I wanted to wipe it away, but I was afraid to disturb him. He sat up in bed, but without leaning on his arms; it looked like someone was pulling him up by a string. I didn’t dare to move. I feared that if I moved I would cut the strings holding his body up, and he would fall back dead instantly.

‘Mom?’ Karcsi asked in the voice of a child. The voice was totally unlike his, and yet I could hear a younger version of him in it. I felt my heart paining for him. I think this was the moment when I first understood his loss, and the façade he had been hiding behind ever since. The façade of a tough kid suffering from a terrible tragedy.

I didn’t know what to say.

‘Mom?’ he asked again.

I started to panic. Karcsi’s eyes were filled with despair.

I reached out and held his hand. It was burning hot, like sand under your feet in summer.

‘I’m here,’ I said.

‘Mom! I’m so happy you’re here! They said you died!’

He squeezed my hand so hard that I thought he would break it.

‘You just had a nightmare. I’m right here. Just sleep now, you need to rest.’

I leaned in and kissed his forehead, like I imagined his mother would have done.

Karcsi smiled. His head fell back on the pillow and he closed his eyes. He fell asleep right away. He regained his strength a couple of days later. Later he didn’t remember any of this, but I could never forget.

That’s why I couldn’t really be angry with him when he stole the meat.

He chewed the piece of flesh and swallowed it with a grimace.

‘How does it taste?’ I asked.

‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘Like something . . .’