Misha felt it first in the pit of his stomach and it rose inside him until his face broke out in a smile. Finally, he was free of that man. The day was brighter than the day before. Last night Lena had told him how much she loved him. He put his hand to his beard – his hair had grown long. He would go to the barber’s; this was a new beginning.

First he went to the cabinet maker’s house and was glad to find that the old drunk wasn’t yet up. Quickly Misha ran up to the attic room and retrieved his revolver. He’d bought it in case he needed to defend himself against his grandfather and had taken it with him up the mountain and fired it once for practice. He checked the chambers – one missing bullet – and tucked the weapon in his belt, under his coat.

At his mother’s house he was greeted by the smell of fresh bread and coffee. Vanda was alarmed to see him.

‘Is it Edith? Has something happened to her?’

‘No, Mother. Not Edith. It’s the butcher.’

‘What about him?’

‘He’s dead.’

For a moment Misha thought she was going to faint. He caught her and helped her to a chair.

‘Dead?’ she said.

‘Yes.’ Misha knelt beside her. ‘Una shot him. But the mayor believes it’s suicide.’

‘It’s justice, that’s what it is,’ said Vanda. ‘Long overdue justice.’ She stood and wrapped her shawl round her. ‘I’ve dreamed of this day for a long time and never thought it would happen.’ She put her arm through her son’s. ‘Una won’t be arrested, will she?’

‘I don’t think so. Though she keeps saying she shot him.’

‘Then she’ll be arrested and charged and…’

‘Mother, I’ve never seen the mayor look more relieved, and the doctor and even the priest have agreed to say the butcher killed himself.’

‘The priest? That shit,’ said Vanda.

It was as if all the village were waiting at the butcher’s house. Vanda drove them aside as she would geese. Inside, the cuckoo clock struck the hour.

‘I want to see him,’ said Vanda.

She followed Misha into the bedroom and stood silent for a moment then said, quietly, ‘Hell is too good a place for him.’

The sound of Sorina’s hysterical laughter made her look up and she hurried to the kitchen. Misha closed the bedroom door behind her. The butcher had ruined the lives of too many people and Misha was determined that his dead finger should point at no one but himself. Carefully, Misha placed his revolver where he imagined it would have fallen if the butcher had fired it.

In the kitchen, Vanda gathered Sorina to her and sat her down as the girl’s laughter turned to tears.

‘I shot him,’ said Una to her sister.

‘Not a day too soon,’ said Vanda.